This column is going to shock some of you. It involves a crime, possibly a felony.

A few months ago, a woman came into the Mormon ward library where I work every Sunday making copies and handing out chalk.

I also give out chocolate to Relief Society sisters who, I happen to know, do most of the work.

Anyway, this particular woman was rubbing her hands as if in pain. When I inquired, she said it was mild arthritis or possibly carpal tunnel, but she hadn’t been to her doctor yet. I told her that I suffered from both.

“What do you do for it?” she asked.

This posed an immediate dilemma. Do I give her some advice and send her on her way to teach a bunch of squirm monkeys while in pain, or do I actually try to help her?

I decided to help her and in the process selfishly help myself.

Me • “Gimme a quarter.”

Her • “What for?”

After some discussion in which I hinted at poverty and that it was just a quarter, she dug 25 cents out of her purse and handed it over.

I brought out a jar of Colorado pain balm and told her to try some on her hands. She cautiously sniffed and said it didn’t smell good.

“Eventually, that’s part of the allure,” I replied. “Go on. You’ll see what I mean.”

Two hours later, she was back. “That really helped. What is it?”

I told her that our little transaction was almost certainly a first. It made me the first Mormon to sell weed out of the ward library — and her the first Mormon to buy it.

That’s when I explained that the cream was marijuana based, specifically a 1:1 ratio of CBD and THC. I’d been using it for at least a year.

Because we were both Latter-day Saints, I could read her mind from the look on her face. “Oh dear, did I just break the law AND the Word of Wisdom? Is this something I need to tell the bishop? What about my temple recommend? Am I addicted now?”

This soul-searching took all of about three seconds, after which she asked, “Could I have a little bit more?”

This confession could have some major fallout. I might get released from the ward library, a calling I like.

I’d rather work in the nursery, but I’m guessing that’s no longer an option. If I’m selling illegal substances in Heavenly Father’s house, there’s no way they’ll let me interact with little children again.

There’s a possibility that I could be sanctioned in some way by church leaders. I’m not terribly worried about that. There’s nothing they can do to me that I haven’t already done to myself.

But what about the cops? Is it possible that next Sunday a police tactical team will kick open the library door, toss in a flash-bang, and then drag me and a completely innocent Brother (Brett) Baker off to an interrogation room while they tear the library apart looking for the drugs and money?

Yeah. But that’s a whole other column.