It seems like a goodly portion of my blog posts have to do with family home evening. And today's is no exception. I'm not sure why it happens, nor do I believe that my child and family are unique in this regard, but for some reason, religious instruction brings out the worst in us. After a less than successful family night, I often wonder about the nature of Heaven and how in the world God keeps order. I think the only reason God was able to hold meetings in Heaven with His children was because we didn't have bodies yet and couldn't make rude noises with them. But even the Great I Am couldn't stop the bickering. We know the greatest fight in history took place during a great counsel, with the final result being that a third of His children stormed out with hurt feelings, vowing revenge on the rest of us.
Monday evening's family night wasn't a total disaster. It was actually what I would call a moderate success. Tawni and her boyfriend, Woody, planned and delivered the lesson. Woody talked to us about the importance of families. We read a few scriptures and tried to ignore Ian who was crawling on the floor behind the couch. When Woody was done, Tawni introduced the activity. She wanted us to all say something nice about each person in the room. She had Beka start. Beka named everyone, complimenting us until our egos were uplifted. I was next. Then Zack and so on and so forth... Ian was last. When it was his turn he shouted loud enough for heaven to hear, "Tawni is more awesome than Zack! Beka is more awesome than Zack! And Mom is fat!"
There went the love we were all feeling. Zack was traumatized and I was embarrassed to have my son so bluntly state the truth. And of course he had to continue because now he had an audience. A responsive audience. Some were laughing, others were shouting, and I dare you to try and get control after something like that.
But the wicked have their just rewards. After Ian had gone to bed that night, the rest of us relaxed in front of a movie--me with a bowl of ice cream to soothe my wounded feelings. All of a sudden the lights flickered and a gut-wrenching scream of terror followed. We all ran for Ian's room. He sat trembling on his bed, tears streaming down his face, holding his blackened hand. The smell hit us first--electricity--and then we saw it. A paperclip in the outlet. My boy had just been zapped.
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