It was Mr. E's turn to do the music. He loves to choose the songs and does a good job directing them. He is especially good at the wide armed cut-offs at the end. He forgot the name of the song that he wanted to sing so he stood up front of the room while we all rattled off the names of every possible song we could think of, with no success. He kept insisting that the song was in "the little songbook with all of the colored pages." Hymnbook? No. Primary songbook? No. It was one of those moments when as a parent you know you should put your foot down and say, "All right. Enough of this. Just pick a song so we can sing already" But you also know that saying this will ruin any chance of anyone feeling the spirit and you'll have a REALLY grumpy little person for the whole rest of the time. But he finally agreed to let his sister pick the song. And he still ended up grumpy for the whole rest of the time.
The lesson was taught by PC, twelve years old. It was on gratitude. His words are in quotations, my thoughts are in parenthesis.
"You have to get gratitude out of your mind." (ok, what??????)
"I mean gratitude can't just be in your head. You have to get it out of your head." (still not clear buddy, keep going...)
"I mean you have to get gratitude out of your head and into your mouth." (oh, I see where you are going with this but try again)
"It's like that guy in Stake Conference said. You can't just have gratitude in your head. You can't just think that you are grateful for something. It doesn't count if you just think it and keep it in your head. You have to say it. If you don't say it then you aren't really grateful at all." (Wow, you were paying attention in Stake Conference. Good job.)
This thought was followed by the story of the Ten Lepers. After we convinced Mr. E that this wasn't a story about leopards, PC told the story. Then he asked PK, fifteen years old, what the nine lepers did. His answer: "They took off and said, 'See ya, we're out of here!' " (ok, try again....) "I mean they didn't really say that but they were probably so excited about being healed that they only thought about themselves and left, you know, being so excited, and only thinking about themselves. (There we go. Good job.)
Closing song was by Mr. E. As I mentioned before. it's serious business when it's his turn to do the music. So we let him choose the song and then we go with it. This time is was no exception. We sang the traditional Thanksgiving hymn: "Five fat turkeys are we. We slept all night in a tree. When the cook came around, we couldn't be found. And that's why we're here you see." Look for it in the next edition of the hymn book. I'm sure it will be included. We sing it every year.
All of this was pretty typical for FHE at our house which is why it makes me laugh. It never goes as planned, there are always a few disagreements and usually a quarrel or two. Someone is always "reassigned" to a different place to sit. A lesson is always presented but not always heard, least of all thought about and understood by all. One of the adults usually raises their voice at least once and the following phrases can be heard every week: "Sit up." "Sit still." "Don't touch your brother." "Are you even singing?" "Put that toy away until we're done." "You are this close to loosing your treat."
Which is why I love this quote by Elder Bednar:
"Sometimes Sister Bednar and I wondered if our efforts to do these spiritually essential things were worthwhile. Now and then verses of scripture were read amid outbursts such as 'He’s touching me!' 'Make him stop looking at me!' 'Mom, he’s breathing my air!' Sincere prayers occasionally were interrupted with giggling and poking. And with active, rambunctious boys, family home evening lessons did not always produce high levels of edification. At times Sister Bednar and I were exasperated because the righteous habits we worked so hard to foster did not seem to yield immediately the spiritual results we wanted and expected.
Today if you could ask our adult sons what they remember about family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening, I believe I know how they would answer. They likely would not identify a particular prayer or a specific instance of scripture study or an especially meaningful family home evening lesson as the defining moment in their spiritual development. What they would say they remember is that as a family we were consistent.
Sister Bednar and I thought helping our sons understand the content of a particular lesson or a specific scripture was the ultimate outcome. But such a result does not occur each time we study or pray or learn together. The consistency of our intent and work was perhaps the greatest lesson—a lesson we did not fully appreciate at the time.
In my office is a beautiful painting of a wheat field. The painting is a vast collection of individual brushstrokes—none of which in isolation is very interesting or impressive. In fact, if you stand close to the canvas, all you can see is a mass of seemingly unrelated and unattractive streaks of yellow and gold and brown paint. However, as you gradually move away from the canvas, all of the individual brushstrokes combine together and produce a magnificent landscape of a wheat field. Many ordinary, individual brushstrokes work together to create a captivating and beautiful painting.
Each family prayer, each episode of family scripture study, and each family home evening is a brushstroke on the canvas of our souls. No one event may appear to be very impressive or memorable. But just as the yellow and gold and brown strokes of paint complement each other and produce an impressive masterpiece, so our consistency in doing seemingly small things can lead to significant spiritual results. “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).
I am so grateful that he was inspired to give us that counsel. That it's ok if Mr. E thinks we learned about leopards. And it's ok that we sang about fat turkeys. Because I know that the leopards and the fat turkeys and even the constant pleas for sitting still are brushstrokes of yellow and gold and brown that will hopefully produce the masterpiece of my life.
(And if anyone has any idea of what "the little songbook with all of the colored pages" is, will you please let me know??)
