If morning came as a recipe, it would be like this:
Mix equal parts dew, sweet air, promise, and Balm of Gilead. Apply liberally to what ails you.
I feel much better than last night. It's amazing what morning can do for a sorrowing heart.
The morning me remembers that my baby is starting Kindergarten this fall. The morning me remembers how content I am to be in this phase of life. The morning me feels refreshed after sleeping all night, one of the many hard earned pleasures I have.
I am still of mixed feelings. I will probably always be a little bit sad about a missing little boy from our family. On the plus side, we will still be able to take one friend with us when we drive the Suburban or have one friend sit at the table with us.
I'm glad I'm not in charge of heaven's calling and departure services. I can barely decide what we are having for dinner, let alone assigning a spirit to a family. Is it like a mission call? What if it is? What if we send in our "papers" and wait with anxious hearts for our call to our mortal family? What if there is a mortal mission department that prays over each spirit and its placement? Some mortality calls would be much harder than others. Others would get the proverbial cake call to Provo, UT or Boise, ID only to find out it's a different kind of hard.
When Morgan got his Patriarchal Blessing, I had an irrational thought that we should have had more kids. I listened to he was and who he is to become and I suddenly wanted to collect the spirits of Heavenly Father like beads on a necklace.
For now, I'll just work harder to enjoy the beads that I have. I'll work harder to help polish and cut them and keep the string binding us together strong and resilient to wear. I think that's a plenty big enough job.
No comments:
Post a Comment