In Which the Universe Thumbs Its Nose at My Presumption

It was beginning to feel like the death channel around here: all death, all the time.

So in late June I made my first Official Declaration 1 to the Universe:

Official Declaration 1

Hear ye! Hear ye! I officially declare the rest of 2009 to be a death-free year! All things great and small are hereby forbidden to die.

Most Seriously,

Jami La

Controller of All

At which point the Universe began its decimation of the stars.

Excuse me, O Universe, I believe you've gotten my order wrong.

What the heck? Wasn't I clear enough?

What?? I am not in control of the universe?

Oh. Oops. My mistake.

O Farewell My Pride, I Shall Miss Thee

[Alternate title: If the shoe fits wear it, if you can find it, because the mighty uncomfortable road to hell is paved with good intentions.}

As you might imagine, getting six kids ready for church every week is a stressful event under the best of circumstances. During our weekly public presentation of the La Family, it's nice if everyone is wearing underwear and has been bathed in the last month. People are looking. Really they are. Every time I convince myself that no one cares what we look like, someone blows a hole in my delusion with a well placed comment. Or by an entire ad lib addition to a talk.

This week we had underwear, everyone was freshly bathed, and we even had clean church attire. And we were on track for a timely arrival. I was feeling good. Right up until shoe-time. Those shoes—those blasted, infuriating shoes—were our dilemma this week.

We do have a central location where the shoes belong. It is just not working out as well as I had hoped it would, not normally a big deal. I hardly ever wear shoes. I live in California. It's comfy to go shoeless.

Anyhow four of us had shoe crisises yesterday. Three of us experienced a happy ending to our crisis. Alas not I: I went to church barefoot this week. After thirty minutes looking for a pair of my own shoes that matched, I gave up. I found a dozen single shoes, and not a pair among them. What are the chances? Pretty high around here actually.

My teen and I wear the same size shoes so there are our two black holes bedrooms that swallow unwary soles. The baby loves shoes too. She carries them hither and yon, dropping one yon, the other hither. Sometimes I find my shoes in the toy sty box, sometimes outside, sometimes in the towel cabinet. Not this time.

This time I gave up looking for the shoes, bit the bullet and went to church shoeless. Attending church is more important than my pride. Right? Jesus would rather have me at church barefoot than blogging at home barefoot. Right? I need to go to church. Right? I can be reverent and barefoot. I can sit with my feet under my chair and no one will notice. Right? Right?

We came in twenty-five minutes late and sat in the very last row. The children immediately scattered to the far winds. Tithing slips. Bathroom. Drinks. In vain did I motion for them to return. So I took a couple deep cleansing breaths and settled down to hear the pleasing word of God, tucking my feet discretely beneath my chair.

The Stake President arose, began to praise punctuality for and reverence during Sacrament Meeting, wearing one's best in church, polishing one's shoes, etcetera. Um, I polished my feet with one of those little pedi-egg things on Saturday. I was wearing the best clean dress I owned. I intended to be on time. Surely, surely that counts.

I was squirming and thinking of the bad luck of my shoes going AWOL on our annual reverence Sunday. And then...and then...he said that he had gone on long enough and that he needed to move on to the talk he had written. ARG! This wasn't a planned talk. It was ad lib, ad hoc, directed right ad me.

I fought the urge to run home. I bit the bullet harder, held my head up high, and walked carefully through the crowded halls to Sunday School. The closest available seat was a couple of feet away from the Stake President. I sat.

Oh well. It really is more important to be at church than to have shoes on. Still, I think I'll find my shoes on Saturday next week.

Guilt-tinged Gratitude

Have I mentioned we're poor? American poor that is. No starvation going on here, but in general when the kids take their cans of soup to the food drives or make cards for the needy, those items tend to come back to us.

This year so many people are having financial difficulties that I was certain there would be very few gifts for the children other than what I could procure. The day after Thanksgiving, I did some pretty impressive Goodwill half-price sale shopping and was calling it good.

Then our Relief Society President asked if they could give the children each a present, something they needed.

"Thank you. That would be nice."

A week later, the Bishop told us that he'd recommended us to a company that chooses a family each year to adopt. Clothes, mostly.

"Oh, that would be nice, very nice!"

Shortly thereafter, a sweet lady called and told me that the weirdest thing had happened. She'd been buying a tree and a guy came up to her and asked her if she wanted an extra tree because he'd gotten an extra for free. So...did we have a tree yet? Could we take this one off her hands?

"Um...OK...I love real trees. Thanks!"

As my lovely RS President handed me three big black garbage bags of gifts for my lovely children the week before Christmas, she explained that we had asked for so little she added a "few things" to our requests.

"Wow! Thanks! The kids will be thrilled!"

Monday, the 22nd a man showed up to my door when I was expecting a friendly acquaintance from church.

"Hi! Jami? I'm Bob [all names have been changed, except mine]. This is Sandra, Robin, and Jason. Where would you like these?" says he pointing to a few charmingly wrapped gifts.

"Uh, on the couch I guess. Thanks."

"Oh we'll need more room than that. Ho, ho, ho!" And they proceeded to bring more and more and more gifts in.

I suspected they were the company to whom the Bishop had given our information, but they had probably ten gifts per child, much more than I was expecting.

"Um, thanks so much. Um...who are you?"

"Oh, replied Bob. "I already told you: I'm Bob. There's Sandra and Robin. And he's Jason."

Cute, thought I, but who ARE you? "I mean who are you associated with? Are you related to Dave who was coming over at 10?"

"Dave? We're no relation to him . . . but we know him."

OK, Misters and Misses Anony-mice. I get it. No clues. "You really know how to raise my kids' heart rates," I joked. "That's a lot of presents. Thank you!"

The kids added their heartfelt thanks ["Thank you!"(N) "Thank you." (V) "Thanks." (E) "Niiiice!" (J) "Tanksyerwelcome!" (C)] and our benefactors went their merry philanthropic way.

Ten minutes later, two teachers from the school dropped off a turkey, a huge bag of oranges, a half dozen cupcakes and a big box of food.

An hour after that, Sister Sweet delivered a lovely ham and a huge box of yummies.

The receiving cooled off for a day. Then came Christmas Eve at my mom's, relaxed and wonderful. The angel-monkeys sang for Grandma, and two of them played their trumpets. After that came the gifts. Concerned that the kids were not getting many presents this year, mom and the Yvil-auntie got them nearly everything on their lists.

Let me tell you...there was much rejoicing Christmas morning. N in particular just kept opening each of her gifts, hugging them, exclaiming, "I'm just so happy!" Even I teared up a few times.

I am filled with gratitude towards the founders of our feast. However, I do feel a bit guilty: all of that just for us when so many are needy this year. Also I think I may need to buy some carbon offsets for the wrapping paper/cardboard/shrink wrap abomination that constitutes our garbage this week. And perhaps, just perhaps, we concentrated a bit too much on gifts, and not quite enough on Christ this Christmas.

Resolution Redux

Due to some freakish self-defeating mental condition, I am much less likely to accomplish something if I make an official goal. The only New Year's resolution I have ever kept is 2006's: I will not kill anyone. (That was back when I was on the school board and TRUST me only the fear of God and my New Year's Resolution kept a couple of people alive.) By golly, I did not kill (or maim or even threaten) a single person all year long.

So here are the 2008 New Year's attempts (and results).

1. Get the playroom clean. (Define "clean.")
2. Oft speak kind words to the munchkins and the wizard. (Define "oft." Define "kind.")
3. Blog less. (January 1st I was reading By Common Consent, Mormon Mommy Wars, and Feminist Mormon Housewives daily, commenting and following the links found therein. September 22nd. I am following approximately twenty blogs and comment regularly on all of them. AND I started my own little mish-mash blog, my own little bloggy playground. [I am not addicted! I can stop any time I want. I just don't want.] I spend about two hours a day playing. More if I'm looking for a picture of a pirate kitty.)

So that's how the New Year's resolutions are going.

So how about my fake gastric bypass? DOA. Oink, oink. Got some seriously unattractive gluttony going on here.

To add the final flourish to my goal-making humiliation, I have the following to report:

******CAUTION, RELIGION ALERT. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK******

How's about that not talking about it plan? Not going so well. I've been reading everything I can find on the subject, chatting with sympathetic friends, and pretending not to be listening to all of the exhortations being dished up at church. I've been wandering around, irritated at this blatant politicizing in my place of worship, looking forward to November 4th (oh SO looking forward to November 4th) when the whole stupid issue will be laid to rest!

AND THEN?!? Why, the Living God decided to have a little chat, of course. Not a face to face chat. More like a heart to heart. I will spare you the details, but the gist of it is that I have been asked by God to obey. To humble myself, to trust him and to volunteer to make phone calls. Oh and since my objections were made in such a public forum, He thought it would be a good idea to use that same forum to mention my acquiesce to His will.

What is interesting about all this is that I have not been asked to change my mind. I still don't think that the world will end if gay marriage is legal. I still don't think that homosexuality is any more of a sin than any other kind of unchasity. I still think church is a rotten place to talk about Proposition Anything or Candidate XY and his running mate XX. However, I am going to be making phone calls on behalf of the Yes on 8 campaign. Because God asked me to. Because He created me. Because He knows best. Even when I disagree.

(p.s. Yeah, I'm still having the Toblerone give-away.)
(p.p.s. I just achieved my unspoken, unofficial goal of writing a post with the word redux in the title.)