When she tells people her husband is the Bishop of their ward, sometimes she gets a look that says: "Oh, darn."
It's been a little over one year, and she has had 1 moment in all that time when she understood that look. It had something to do with 3 in the morning and the phone ringing. Her favorite line on the answering machine: "sorry to call you so late...." Her alarm was going off in 3 hours, didn't the caller mean...early?
And then, it happened again. 4 hours of telephone calls from a stranger in need. Her husband tried to get to the bottom of how he could help. It was complicated, multi-layered and there were some shifty parts. In the end, she volunteered to take care of a baby while his Dad worked out a few things for the night. As the calls continued and plans were forming, she kept asking: What's the baby's name? She just wanted to think of his little identity and soul instead of thinking of him as an unnamed nuisance.
She finally found out his name.
They waited for the baby to be delivered at their doorstep. She gathered her softest dishtowels to act as burp cloths, found a baby blanket that had been turned into her daughter's baby doll's blanket, and paused, smelled it, wished she had time to wash it. She checked the tub to see if it was clean so she could bathe the baby if need be, because she knew he had been staying in a shelter for a while, and might need a good soak. She made calls to borrow the bottle, pack n play and other necessities. She sent her husband over to pick up the items, and then waited.
She waited for 2 more hours, and then realized that the baby was bait for something else. Some unspoken need. She went to bed knowing she would not be woken up by the baby on the front step. And she felt so bad for the little lost baby. She was willing to soothe him the entire night if he needed it. One night of comfort in the middle of all that turmoil. A soft blanket, a little rub on the back, a song in his ear. She was willing to give him one night, and actually, more than 1.