The dreaded callings in the LDS church in no particular order....
Girls camps director
Relief Society president
Everyone fears them, no one wants to do them. Everyone wants to be released, or choose another calling. There seems to be only one exception: Seminary. Once you get called, you realize how wonderful it is and you never aspire to another calling for the rest of your life. Why?
makes you want to poke your eye out,
makes you laugh & cry (sometimes at the same time),
endears you to the youth,
attaches you to the scriptures so you might as well wear a fanny pack,
teaches patience, endurance, courage,
fills you up until your joy is untameable,
reaches every corner of your life,
changes your view of the world,
drowns out monotony,
enriches the soul,
makes things sacred,
give you hope to be better.
And so many more things. I think back to when I was first called to be a seminary teacher. I knew it was coming and I didn't think I could do it. A few things were mixed up and the stake supervisor got to me before the Bishop had extended the calling. It was an adventure from the start.
Now three years later, I sat across from the Bishop's counselor after the release and said "are you kidding me?! no way!". They had to pry the calling, so to speak, out of my clenched fists. Because that's how callings work as we are in and out of many during our lifetime. It's a form of molding done, by the Lord himself. It's a lengthy process, sometimes painful, but most often joyful.
When I start to think I know best, I think of the Current Bush.
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.” That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”
The message I gather is this: you can't boss God, nor should you. He always knows best as He sees the grand beautiful picture of what we can become. It should be liberating instead of terrifying.
I'm working on it. Meanwhile, it's clip, clip, clippity clip...