Of history and priorities

I've been meaning to post this for forever, and just haven't gotten around to doing it. But, now I will delight you with the story I've been keeping to myself.

For the Martin Luther King holiday, Jake did a project at school that involved listening to a brief history of MLK's life and accomplishments and coloring a small booklet about him. When Jake gets home from school, I go through the contents of his backpack with him and talk about his day. When I pulled out the book o' King, I asked Jake, "Who is this?"

"I don't know. Some brown guy my teacher was talking about."

"Oh. *giggling quietly* What did you learn about him?"

"Well, my teacher said he had a dream, but it wasn't about dinosaurs. I asked."

I had to leave the room, I was laughing so hard.

"I have a dream, sometimes when I've had a rough day, that a T-Rex chases me over the green fields of Mississippi. I catch him and ride him all the way to Mobile, Alabama, where he can really do some damage."

How white are we?

Some musings I had to let out of my soul.

I've been thinking about redemption a great deal this week. My lesson tomorrow is on the Fall of Adam, and that necessarily means its also about the Atonement. Both the Fall and the Atonement are essential components of "The Great Plan of Redemption." Without the Fall we would need no redemption, as we would never have had the chance to do anything that needed redeeming. The Fall caused us to need redemption from death--we cause ourselves to need redemption from sin. We are redeemed for both that which we are culpable for, and that over which we have no control. I think this is true of more than just death and hell. You see, I have spent my adult life trying to overcome the destructive and self-defeating habits and attitudes I was taught in my broken home. There are things that I have done for which I desperately need redemption. There are things over which I had no control that shaped and formed who I was and how I lived that I need to be redeemed for as well. I am redeemed--from all the things, whether I am guilty or not, that keep me from coming back to God. That redemption comes through no work or act of will of my own, but through the selfless, eternal, and infinite sacrifice of a perfect Savior. He helps me change. He makes me better. He teaches me that I have power to "act and not to be acted upon." I take that power and choose to be more than what comes naturally.
With all this thought of redemption, I have been touced all week by how it has shaped me into something that, while wildly imperfect, is far more than I could ever hope to be alone. As I am redeemed, my heart yearns to offer redemption. To save as I was saved. To rescue a soul from itself. I know of ways that I can reach out, and I pray my eyes can be opened to see where there is need, and not let my fear block the way to my action. How else can I show how truly grateful I am? How else will He ever know that as He did everything for me, I would do everything for Him?

Reverence Does Not Require a Glacial Pace

I read an hysterical blog post over at Mormon Mommy Wars, and it got me thinking about hymns.

Let me preface this with an anecdote that will illustrate my personality and attitude towards worship well:
We have really struggled this year, and have had to lean heavily on our faith, our hope, and our trust that tithing works and we will make it through. Through most of it, I have had to be the bright, shining beacon of optimism, as it seemed no one else was up to it. In public I have been the happy cheerleader; "It will all work out! We can do it! Go team poverty!" In private, its been a little less peppy. I was bearing my testimony about this experience, and was very emotional. I related that the reserve of optimism finally ran dangerously low, and I had a little talk with the Lord. "Look, Lord, I trust you, and I know you'll take care of us. But if we don't get some help by Friday, I'm probably going to have to freak out." I was very sincere. I was very emotional. And this line got a laugh. I was puzzled. I asked around. It turns out most people don't talk to God like that. I find this baffling. How is the Savior supposed to be your best friend if you don't talk to Him like He is? Evidently, while I have a deep faith and respect for and in the Savior, I am a whole lot less formal than most in my worship.
There. Now you know.
I love the hymns of Zion. Few things bring me more comfort and peace, and some of my most powerful spiritual manifestations have come to me through hymns. That being said, do we have to sound so mournful all the time? When you sing at a funeral's pace, its bound to sound like a funeral. I have personally wondered if my arm was going to fall off while conducting sacrament hymns with 1 verse, no chorus, but an organist that is playing like my five-year-old reads: A....mi....tee...fo-or-tress...i-is our....God (with a fermata! Hold that for eight counts!) Even a one-verse hymn takes 15 minutes when it has 8 fermatas. Sure, it says to sing "with dignity," but my dignity is not painfully slow! I just timed how long it takes to sing this hymn at sacrament speed: 1:07.23. I just banged that thing out in a reverent 40 seconds flat. So here's my final question:
How much trouble to do you think I'd get in for taking a pen and adding to every mood instruction, ",but briskly" so "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" would read, "With dignity, but briskly."
It's a lot more subtle than, "Pick up the pace, people! Even God is falling asleep!"

I am the Holy Grail

The Gospel Doctrine lesson this week is on temple and family history work. Since the Church has the fabulous New FamilySearch, I was using it to trace my family line. I had read earlier this week a teacher can't be a hypocrite (bad news for me!) so since I had asked two others in the class to do something in family history this week, I should too.
So, through one of my lines, I descend from the Birds in early Virginia (founders of Richmond). They descend from a long line of nobility going back all the way to Edward Longshanks (the bad king in "Braveheart"), William the Conqueror, and Charlemagne. Pretty awesome. Another ancestor clear back there is a descendant of the Merovingian kings in France. If you've seen "The Da Vinci Code," you may remember the Merovingian line was purported to be the descendants of Christ's daughter Sarah, who grew up in France and married Antenor, King of the West Franks, making the Merovingian kings descendants of the Son of God, and the Holy Blood line. It was an interesting story, but kind of weird.
So I keep hitting the little button to go further back in time and see who each person's father was. I come to Antenor, King of the West Franks, and his wife, Sarah-Damaris Bat Yeshuah. I think, "Man, that's a Jewish name if ever I heard one!" I go back to see her parents, and they are listed as "Jesus Christ, lineage of" and Mariame migdal eder. I think, "No way! They have Jesus on the New FamilySearch?" And they do. I click on His name, and look in the box below the pedigree for more information. I click the link for LDS ordinances.

It says they are not available.

And I laugh and laugh and laugh.

You can't make up stuff that good!

To summarize:

1. New FamilySearch is fully awesome and user friendly
2. I lucked out and am related to royalty so I can trace my family history WAY back.
3. It appears I am a descendant of Jesus Christ.
4. No one knows the date of His baptism or other priesthood ordinances.

Maybe I'm bad for thinking that's hysterical....but I bet He thinks its funny too.

UPDATE! I kept clicking back for ancestors of Antenor, and after going through Russia, Turkey, Troy, ancient Greece, and more, someone has decided that the first king of Troy was mothered by an Israelite, Judah's daughter-in-law whom he impregnated when she pretended to be a prostitute. Well, with a lineage like that, its easy to go back to, you guessed it, Adam. I have a family line that goes all the way back to Adam. I am that Mormon.

I realize these connections are spurious at best, but it's still interesting. Plus, kind of funny!

Accomplishment

Rejoice with me, for I have a sparkly clean kitchen! Tomorrow--living room!

Look out piles of laundry! I'm coming for you!

I hate mess...and my whole house is one.

The good news for you is, you can pretty much rest assured you are a better housekeeper than I.

My baby has been sick this week, so my whole house has been turned into the Disgusting Land of Puke and Ickiness. I am not a good housekeeper at the best of times, so when my dryer still isn't fixed and I'm on laundry overload and all my time is spent caring for a tiny, screaming person, home-making disaster ensues.

Instead of trying harder to work on my mess, I've been playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. Inside, I hate myself for being too much of a coward and slacker to just go upstairs and face the mess. As I played my last round, I heard the deep, dramatic voice of the game tell me "Good," and "Excellent," and "Awesome," everytime I did a particularly neat move. It occurs to me I may get more done if that happened in my actual life--if everytime I got something done I had that voice giving me a little instant gratification.

How do I ever change into the kind of woman who always has her house together? How do I learn to not be so overwhelmed by the mess that I walk away from it? Why can't I see messes utnil they are GIANT and hard to overcome?

Any thoughts? Anyone?

Eye of the Tiger? More Like Eye of the Bunny.

Jake played soccer this year on the city league, with the fabulous Gwen and Stephanie coaching. His team is the Roadrunners. This would imply some speed and swiftness, would it not? If you could see Jake, you'd have to agree it would not. Joe and I are both very competitive people. Whatever we do, we are in it to win it! We've learned to tone it down over the years, hoping to avoid alienating people who think competitive people are jerks. Plus, a few of my friends in high school got a lot of mileage out of my competitive nature, so as a self-preserving measure I keep the crazy to myself. Jake is not at all competitive. Some members of his team are running hard, trying to kick the ball, totally focused on the game. Jake tends to run in what appears to be a Baywatch slow-mo parody, occasionally looking over at Joe and me to give a big thumbs up. I'm not sure he knows the games are scored. I don't think he knows someone wins and someone looses. I don't think he even cares if he makes contact with the ball--ever. He sure is happy to just amble along the field. He loves to get out with his friends and wrestle on the sidelines and ask to be taken out of the game so he can go back to the demanding task of not running. Imagine Joe and I, yelling, "Jake, kick the ball! Run! Go the other way!" and Jake just bouncing along, giving us thumbs-up, while an opposing team member runs right past him with the ball. It's awesome.

I think he's had fun, and that's really all I wanted out of it. It just surprises me that two people who care about winning so much have managed to produce a child who couldn't care less.