Today was fast Sunday (the one Sunday per month when Mormons forgo two meals and donate the money saved to the poor), and during Sunday School, our teacher talked about the importance of sharing our stories with each other. The lesson was supposed to be a theory-meets-practice seminar on family history, but she turned it into more of a “let’s-build-Zion-by-sharing-our-stories” type of lesson.
On fast Sundays, anyone who wants to can bear their testimony in Sacrament meeting. It is a little daunting to get up in front of 400 people (definitely the biggest ward I’ve ever been in) without a pre-written talk, but today I felt inspired by the Sunday School lesson, so I went up and shared a little of my conversion story. I have never borne my testimony in this ward, and it felt really nice to share my feelings about God with a group of people I have come to love so much.
After that, I came home and zeroed in on my family history. I think I found my great-great grandfather, my great-great-great grandfather, and my great-great-great grandmother today! The connection was so plausible I almost plugged it into my family tree, but I am missing my great-grandfather’s birth certificate, which would clarify it all up. I searched 168 Philippine records, but nothing came up. By that point, I was talking out loud to myself and I was tired. So I called it quits and retired to my bed for…hours.
When the girls finally finished their naps/quiet time, I dragged myself out of bed to make that pot of broccoli soup we all so desperately need. Then it was time to break the fast and feed the kids. I was a little snappy during dinner because I hate/loathe/detest/despise/can NOT stand meal time. Mary cries and fusses because she gets pickier and pickier each day, and Lydia wants to sit next to me or on my lap, which is sweet by stressful. I love her hugs and “I love you’s,” but I don’t like fearing she will knock over her soup into my lap at any second. However. her ability to eat anything (today she happily ate the dry rind of last week’s Gorgonzola and pronounced it “good”) gives me some comfort in the wake of Mary’s inability to eat anything that doesn’t contain sugar.
Abe noticed my distress and sweetly offered to give me a massage after dinner, and both Lydia and Mary came over to “help.” It was very sweet, and made better by the fact that after the massage was done, Abe watched the girls for the rest of the evening so I could play piano. With all that luxurious time, I went crazy and played through a ton of old pieces that I haven’t touched in more than a decade. I hope God understands that even if it wasn’t specifically Sabbath oriented, at least I feel like a happier, more loving person when I’m playing.
When that was done, I cleaned the kitchen and went upstairs for Family Home Evening. (Tomorrow night we are going to be in Snowbird with Abe’s mom and step dad, so we had FHE today instead.) Abe taught a lesson on fasting, and then we played parachute because fasting is supposed to help us “rejoice” more deeply. Playing parachute helps Mary and Lydia rejoice; clearly, it was an appropriate follow-up to the lesson.