Rebbie Brassfield: An LDS woman who deserves a reality TV show but will never get one

When I think about Jenna, the image that pops up is of her teaching singing time in Primary with a broken foot.

I had been trying to sneak a peek at my kid through the door, but instead she caught my attention — naturally pretty with long brown hair, a pink-knit maxi dress draped over one of those scooters people use instead of crutches.

All I knew at the time about Jenna, not her real name, was that she had recently had her fourth child, her eldest son had a rare genetic disorder, and yet there she was, doing her congregational calling in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while wounded.

I’m sorry to say the sight made me mad. Why did the church ask so much of people? And why was Jenna saying yes?

Jenna’s baby grew, her foot healed, and my impression remained that she was one of those ideal Latter-day Saint women who gives whatever she is asked for the Lord.

Then I got called to be the ward choir pianist, which I should have thought twice before saying yes to, as I had not played the piano for some 15 years. It was a talent I long ago had hidden, but I figured I could handle accompanying an occasional hymn. The bishopric set up a meeting for me and the new choir director, and I gulped when Jenna walked in. She expressed devastation at being released as the Primary chorister but willingness to try this new challenge.

Within a few days, she had sent me a binder full of sheet music. The songs were not hymns but rather sprawling Sally DeFord arrangements that had me paralyzed with fear. She created a Linktree profile with recordings of all the songs (including their individual parts) and I thought, “Great, she’s a pioneer woman, and she’s tech savvy.”

(The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) A young woman plays a hymn on the piano from the church's Spanish hymnbook.

I want to be clear that I liked Jenna, in that vague way you like people from church. But I didn’t know her, and I assumed I wouldn’t get to know her because she was righteous in ways that intimidated me.

My first few choir rehearsals made it apparent how much I should have said no to the task. I was too visible, self-conscious about making mistakes, unfamiliar with the vibe of music people. I began to practice at a pace I hadn’t since my 18-year-old senior recital; motivated solely by the fear of messing up.

From playdate to dinnertime

Then Jenna invited me over one day for a playdate for our sons. It was 2 p.m. as we walked into her spotless house to find her making dough from scratch for empanadas. As the kids settled in, I joined her in the kitchen and commented on how impressed I was at her dinnertime ambition.

“You should stay,” she said.

“For dinner?” I asked. It was 2:15 at this point.

“Yes,” she insisted. “I get so bored being home alone all day.”

I laughed nervously and deflected it, then stealth-texted my husband.

Me • She invited us to stay for dinner. Do you think she really wants me to or is she being nice?

Husband • Dinner? That’s in three hours.

Me • I know! What do I do?

Husband • Ha ha. I can’t wait to find out.

I told myself I’d go outside for 20 minutes and see how it went. My social anxiety was on high alert, but it turned out she was right. It was so much less boring to be a mom with a friend. And I was weirdly clicking with Jenna.

Before I knew it, 5 p.m. came and we were side by side slicing avocados. She had gone to change a diaper when, to my horror, her husband came home from work and found me in his kitchen. “Oh, hi,” I blurted. “I’m just here because we had a playdate and then she said we could do dinner and then …”

“Rebbie lives here now.” Jenna cut in dryly, rescuing us both.

Soon enough my husband joined, and we had a lovely meal. Our collected kids sat at a Fisher-Price table in the living room, giggling at potty jokes while we asked get-to-know-you questions. I had the strange thought that maybe I didn’t actually know anyone at church.

Finding harmony

(The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) Latter-day Saint congregational choirs sing hymns as part of worship.

The weeks have stretched on and choir has become more fun. Having never been in a ward choir, I don’t know what it’s usually like, but this one feels good. The regulars include a 6-year-old boy in the soprano section, an elderly man who recently lost his wife, and two teenage brothers who sing tenor while elbowing each other on the couch. It is odd to realize that while my attendance is born of duty, everyone else seems to be there for joy.

Jenna and I see each other more: over treats after choir, at playdates, when my printer breaks down and she offers hers. At one point, I get a pickleball injury and tell her I may need to skip a week of rehearsal. She demands I take the month off, because she knows pain sucks. At our next playdate, I ask about her foot and learn it hasn’t quite healed and might never do so. I tell her she’s born to be the choir director and she says, “Are you kidding? I barely said yes to this calling.”

We share more dinners. One where it’s leftover night and, as I start the quesadilla station for our kids, she pulls out Tupperware after Tupperware to ask what I want. Butter chicken? Chicken Marsala? Corn chowder? I pick corn chowder and am struck by the thought that perhaps the most intimate thing you can do with a friend is eat food out of their Tupperware.

Maybe nice is simply nice

(Rebbie Brassfield) Jenna had these Christmas ornaments made for all the choir members.

I’m not sure why I feel so compelled to tell you about Jenna. Perhaps because I’m sick of people putting Latter-day Saint women into boxes. Perhaps because I thought I was above putting them into boxes until I found myself doing it to her.

By the time the holidays roll around, Jenna has pulled out all the stops. She’s arranged a version of “He Is Born, the Divine Christ Child” that, in her words, “is a bop.” There’s a flute involved, the choir sings a verse in French, and I practice more than ever because the first two lines are a fast-paced, accidental-filled frenzy only the piano plays.

We’ve been practicing since October, but as the piece comes together at a December rehearsal, I realize I feel it — that warm buzz I have in my best moments at church. I have always connected the feeling with the divine Christ child, but maybe it’s also to do with my having found an outlet for a talent I thought was lost — a talent that for so long connected me to the divine, and does again, thanks to Jenna.

I am ready for the fireside, er, carol-side, until I sit down at the piano. Between the packed meetinghouse and the formality of everyone in Christmas best, my performance fears come flooding back. I botch the intro, playing loud and fast with plenty of accidentals, just not the ones written on the music. Thankfully, I’m soon rescued by the singers and recover enough to accompany the rest of the song.

Afterward, I think of texting Jenna an apology. I know how much work she put into this. But before I can, she has sent me a message thanking me for how beautifully I played and saying how grateful she is that we get to work together.

Is Jenna just being nice? I wonder again. But the more I think about it, I’m not sure what that even means. Is niceness fake if it is done with effort? Is a friendship void if it starts out of obligation?

For years now, I’ve been complaining online that there isn’t any mainstream film or TV centered around active Latter-day Saints. The reason, people tell me, is because “real Mormons” are too moral, too levelheaded, too boring. I’m told viewers want MomTok drama, or to “investigate” Ruby Franke, or to see whether a good Latter-day Saint girl will spend a night in the fantasy suite of “The Bachelor.”

But let’s imagine Jenna’s show, just to see.

We’d get lots of Jenna at her computer late at night rewriting church music (boring). In her kitchen scooping leftovers into Tupperware (unglamorous). Attending school board meetings she doesn’t have time for in order to advocate for her disabled child (tedious). Maybe hitching her baby onto her hip — at home, at the store, at the park, during choir (monotonous).

Maybe we’d see Jenna working to make friends with someone who kept trying to put her in a box, and then them making quesadillas together (snooze).

It’s a show so boring even I wouldn’t watch it, but I feel pretty lucky to live it.

(Rebbie Brassfield) Tribune guest columnist Rebbie Brassfield.

Rebbie Brassfield is a writer and creative director in the advertising industry. In real life, she’s a mom of two boys living in the suburbs. Online, you can find her overanalyzing media representations of Latter-day Saints on her Instagram account or podcast, “Mormons in Media.”

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Commentary: A Latter-day Saint woman who will never get a reality TV show