On the sweetness of Mormon life.
(PEC, before the services): Earnestly, discussing whom we might rescue, we might save, we counsel together.
(Services, opening hymn): Singing, in Christ’s voice, “Reverently and meekly now, Let thy head most humbly bow. Think of me, thou ransomed one,” our emotions rise.
(Services, opening speaker): Walks to the lectern. Plunks down a bottle of carrots and a bottle of corn.
(Sunday’s topic, for all talks): The cannery.
My wife rolls her eyes. I shrug. Weapons-grade Mormonism, I tell her. She rolls her eyes again. She listens. Sheepishly she takes out a pad to jot notes.
I look back at the congregation. An investigator (genus, fratboy, species, d-bag—rugby shirt, popped collar, popped hair) is staring. Eyes wide. God, I reckon, giggles.
Comment at the Jr. Ganymede.
