On the sweetness of Mormon life.

Winston Churchill declared war on fleas. Saturday night, you declare war on unpolished shoes.

You cover the dining room table with towels. Lay out your brushes and cloths in a neat row, and your polishes also–black, tan, cordovan, brown. Then you hunt. You root our shoes from the closets, under the beds, wherever they may be strewn. You find one pair of green–green!–boots that sends you to the computer for a quick Amazon order of more polish. But finally, surrounded by shoes, you get to work. The rows of drab shoes get smaller. The rows of healthy, shiny shoes grow.

One pair of tan boots has escaped the brush for ages. The toe is almost bone-white. You fill up your applicator brush with a healthy does of wax and rub it in. Then you do a little bit elsewhere on the boot. You notice that the wax has all soaked in and the toe is still off-white. You load up again, apply again, work elsewhere on the boot again, and notice again. All in all, you load up 5 healthy loads of wax for the toe before you are done. But when you are done, it is a rich, shining tan that matches the rest of the boot.

The next day, you baptize your daughter. The bishop says that baptism is symbolically a washing. But washing is only skin deep, you think. The bishop then adds that the sacrament repeats that washing, week after week. You suddenly vividly see that shiny boot, shining after many layers of cleaning had soaked all the way down into the inside of it. You are satisfied.

You remember that sheep’s wool is bleached by many dippings.