Sunday, November 8, 2009

Sunday Night


I should be in the basement but I haven't yet built up the intestinal fortitude to face the devastation. Yesterday while I wasn't in the basement, Josh was. As the older kids were basking in the warm glow of the computer screen, absorbed in the game "Spore", he was dumping out board games. So many board games. I'm sorely tempted to dump the whole mess in a garbage bag. None of these games have been played either ever or in years. If you've ever dealt with older kids trying to play a game while fending off a younger, fundamentally destructive sibling, you may understand why.

So I'm hiding out, avoiding. If I was really smart I'd just cut and paste the talk I gave this morning and face it head on. But you know me.

Three of the four talks at church today were about tithing (the other was about fast offerings) and all three of us quoted Malachi 3:10:

“Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you a windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”

That's sort of the go-to scripture for this topic. Only a youth speaker mentioned The Widow's Mite and, not surprisingly, only my husband mentioned Smoots.

(His father lives 210.16 Smoots from the Fresno Temple. And one ear.)

I think it went alright but I never, ever prepare enough to speak extemporaneously and for that I'm bummed. I think it would be great to get up and be so well-versed in what I want to say that I would only need a brief outline. So eloquent that my words easily prompted the congregation to repentance and a fresh start. But guess what? (like you don't already know) I'm super-fallible and marginally articulate and these talk assignments are guided by the Spirit and given to those who need them more than most.

Following that logic, I ought to be giving talks every week.

(Do Not tell Geoff Simm)

What else could I tell you? Tonight I was listening some-what patiently (read: not at all) to one of my children complain about the behavior of a sibling. I responded with, "Forgive them; for they know not what they do". I just assumed the referrence was plain. Not so much. This child turned and said with disgust, "Mom! You sound like Yoda!". Yes folks, I've got my work cut out for me.

Tonight Sierra made an apple pie and it's all gooey and pecany and sticky sweet Fabulous. I'd really like to eat it in it's entirety but in all things Sugar I've become a conscientious objector and (aside from a sweet stolen pecan or two) have only inhaled. Yes, I inhaled. Oh. My. Gosh.

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