On the sweetness of Mormon life.

The “youth” speaker is a little blonde girl who grew up in the better kind of trailer home in a family compound. She turned out to be brain. A couple of years ago, you recall, she won the state science fair or something like that with lasers or transistors or something like that. She went to BYU, got married, and is home for the summer and also very pregnant. Her husband is a Basque-Indio hipster hardcore social conservative. Her topic is service. She takes Paul’s little sermon that begins “Charity never faileth” and replaces charity with service. It is illuminating.

That morning when you drove to Church you were struck by the brilliant, turquoise panels erected in your neighbor’s field. It is your fault. You are raising sheep in that field, your neighbor asked you to put up some panels for shelter, and the dark green and white outdoor paints you mixed didn’t turn out to be the quiet light green you had hoped for. The result is almost lurid. The neighbor isn’t Mormon but his wife is. When you were putting up the panels, she came out to ask that they be tasteful and not an eyesore. You winced.

She is the next speaker. She tells a little story for the children, very contrived, but you tear up anyway.

In Elders’ Quorum, you all congratulate yourselves on being the kind of men who are willing to let your kids hurt themselves pretty good, though not too good, if it will teach them a lesson. Against your better judgment, you tell your wife. She laughs.

P.S.  I don’t mind being poached by Godbeites, but I mind it being done so well.