This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2014, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

On Sunday, I was presented to my LDS Church ward for official sustaining as a nursery worker. The bishop — and only divine inspiration could have prompted such a terrible idea — thought I'd make a good caretaker of small children.

I had to stand up in the middle of the congregation and endure a show of hands as to who would support me in my new calling … and who would oppose me. The ward voted in the affirmative. Morons.

It wasn't unanimous. I voted against myself. Fat lot of good it did me, though. When I tried to explain why, I was charitably invited to shut up and sit down.

So I'm a nursery worker. Officially. Sunday was my first gig. I'm pleased to report that it went mostly well. Two hours and nobody got hurt.

It helped that I have a co-worker in the form of middle school science teacher Luke Talley. Luke knows about kids. Also two of his sons (one an actual demon) are in the nursery.

While other meetings in the ward consist of nothing more than someone talking until every set of eyes in the room are crossed, nursery is actually divided into stages.

First, we needed an opening prayer. When I asked for volunteers, Quentin Probst's hand went up. He's only 3, so I had to help by whispering in his ear.

"Thanks for our blessings. Keep us safe. Bless that Brother Kirby won't say bad words. Amen."

Then it was activity time. For half an hour the kids played with a collection of battered toys while Luke and I watched and tried to reinforce the gospel concept of sharing without biting.

After that was a lesson — taught by me — titled "I Can Be Happy." We talked about smiling. We practiced smiling. We discussed why Heavenly Father wants us to smile. We sang songs about smiling.

The message didn't catch on with everyone. Halfway through a song one of the kids suddenly didn't care what Heavenly Father wanted. Mom wasn't in the room, so he went into full meltdown.

While we tried to locate the child's mother, another kid chose that moment to build in his pants a log cabin so vile it had people flinging windows open on the other side of the church.

Note: Sorry if that was difficult to understand. The nursery supervisor — a woman — insisted that I not say "dumped a load" when referring to these occasional moments of nursery "unpleasantness."

After things had calmed down and were thoroughly ventilated, it was snack time. We deloused the children with hand sanitizer and passed out pretzels, fruit chews, crackers and cookies.

The kids loved this part of nursery. For 15 minutes the only sound was that of hamsters chewing. Why isn't snack time a regular feature in other classrooms? Imagine how much more tolerable Gospel Doctrine would be if it came with a buffet.

Then it was over. Parents came by and reclaimed their kids. I took some migraine meds and went home.

All things considered, I like working in the nursery. It provides me with insight into a side of religion I never really considered before.

Trying to manage and love a group of fractious, opinionated, self-entitled and smelly creatures that alternately hug and bash each other over nothing makes me feel a little sorry for God.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley. —

'Evening with Robert Kirby'

You're invited to "An Evening with Robert Kirby," a celebration of his 20 years at The Salt Lake Tribune and the release of his latest book, "The Essential Kirby Canon." Kirby and The Tribune's Jennifer Napier-Pearce will chat about his life as a columnist and his cheeky observations about all things Utah. You can also expect a cannon video and a bit of roasting.

Join us Thursday, Nov. 13, at 7 p.m. at The Depot, 13 N. 400 West, Salt Lake City. Admission to this family-friendly event is $5 per person. Find ticket information here.