"I'm Claiming It"

How one woman learned sometimes you have to act to receive blessings

Rosemary Laufer, Stake Historian (Shoal Creek Valley Ward)

Courtesy Pixabay

I’M CLAIMING IT!

Joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while in college and growing up in the Bible Belt of the American South meant I got a pretty fair exposure to other Christian denominations along the way.

As I child, I liked the Southern Baptist monthly administration of The Lord’s Supper because they put Welch’s grape juice in the tiny glass cups. (Welch’s was a rare luxury at home.) Then I discovered the Episcopalians used real wine and a communal chalice, the lip of which the priest wiped with a cloth after each person took a sip. When everyone had participated, he then not only had to finish up whatever was left in the cup but he also had to eat all the leftover wafers representing the body of Christ. Sitting quietly in a pew, behaving myself, I watched friends join snaking lines of people toward the front of a chapel and a minister who laid hands on them and caused them to speak in tongues. I learned many old wonderful hymns which now are appearing in the new LDS hymnal. I witnessed baptisms by immersion and by sprinkling, and one bestowal of the Holy Ghost by an Archbishop in elegant robes. All in all, it was a very good thing to bump against my fellow Christians on the faith road.

In some of the churches people–mainly senior-age men–scattered around the front of the chapel would pass judgement on the preacher’s sermon: “Amen!” “Yes, Lord Jesus!” “Praise God!”

What I did not hear were a couple of exclamations that now seem to be common: “I’m giving it up/lifting it up to God!” (meaning, turning over to Him what seems to be an insurmountable problem) or “I’m claiming it!” (meaning a blessing you think God wants you to have).

Because I live in an occasionally irreverent household, we sometimes use these expressions in moments such as having to make repeated visits for an auto repair or hoping to secure a good parking place.

However, I do have a fine illustration of “I’m claiming it!” although at the time I didn’t know to use those words.

Immigrating to Utah as an impoverished 20-something, I took a low-paying job as a research secretary at one of the big universities. My new boss had the reputation of scaring off the staff. At the end of my first year he was preparing to spend a mini-sabbatical with colleagues in Denmark. 

“Tell him to bring his own secretary,” was the cry from the staff where he was headed. 

“OK,” he said, and wangled a short-term job for me at the same place, at their expense. 

(No, I don’t speak Danish. Yes, this was ridiculous.) But, I required a Danish work permit, so as soon as I could I sent my passport and official invitation off to a Danish consulate in California for processing. A week before I was to leave I still had not received the passport back with the work permit. 

I called: “Yes, yes, we have it; you will get it in time!” 

Very courteous. But it didn’t arrive. Two days before departure I called again. 

“We have it! We are putting it into express mail!” 

It still didn’t arrive. 

The day before departure I called yet again.

“We are putting it in the overnight mail today and you will receive it tomorrow!” 

Still very courteous.

So that night after work I went home, packed, and my kind landlord gave me a blessing in which he pronounced: “Your passport will arrive and you will travel as scheduled.”

I was a woman of faith! The next morning I went to work and sat at my desk waiting for the passport to arrive (yes, it was coming to my work address). My plane was to leave at 12:05 pm. 

About 10 am I thought YIKES. So I once again called the consulate, confirmed it was sent, and then called the downtown SLC post office. 

“Oh,” they said, “That mail truck is on the way here from the airport right now.” 

I explained my predicament and told them I would be there right away to pick it up. Stepping aside into a quiet spot, I prayed: “You told me I would travel as planned. When I get to the post office I want someone to meet me at the door with my passport.”

Some of my coworkers who were thriving on the drama of the situation scooped me up, and we first raced to my apartment to pick up my suitcase. I could not find my key. Mercifully my landlord “happened” to come ambling along and let me in. 

We then roared into the loading dock at the post office and yes indeed someone opened the door–without my knocking–and said, “Are you the person needing the passport?” 

It turned out I had them looking for it coming from Los Angeles, but I had misspoken and it was coming from San Francisco, so they had to hunt a bit.

By now it was, like, passing 11:30 am. We sped to the airport, where first the check-in person and then the gate attendant yelled, “ARE YOU THE GIRL GOING TO DENMARK?”

They hurled completely-insignificant-little me from the empty gate area onto the packed American Airlines 747 flight, slammed the doors shut, and immediately took off.

And what is the—or one—moral here? Blessings are pronounced. But that doesn’t mean you can sit quietly on your backside and wait for them to distill upon you.

Sometimes you must, um, act and….claim them.