Mornings.
Mornings are not our best family
moments—although we try to break the cycle everyday anyways. 6:00 am every
morning, my grandfather opens my door, pokes his head in, and yells, “Tara?
It’s daylight in the Ozarks!” We then climb the stairs, sitting in our
designated spots while opening up to where we left Alma yesterday.
“And it came to pass…” My uncle
always starts out way too cheerful for this time of day. I have a love for the
scriptures, but my enthusiasm doesn’t come out in my daily performance. My cousins don’t keep their eyes open, they
have to be woken up when their turn comes around. Korin, the 15 year-old, reads
her five verses incredibly fast; she can read an entire verse in one yawn. It
sounds high pitched, with little annunciation. (Now it is your turn, try to say
Nephi while yawning.) It is very
impressive. I keep my eyes open, up until now, I have yet to be shaken awake to
read.
This morning, Sam, the youngest,
was not wearing his retainer; a fact his mother picked up on when he started
reading without a lisp. Ever since Siri on his mother’s iPhone couldn’t
understand him, he has been self-conscious. His mother made him go get it from
his room in the middle of scripture study, while Grandpa was reading about the
iniquities of the Gadianton robbers (adding in that not obeying your mother is
also very iniquitous). Sam walked to
his bedroom on his knees, there and back, with a sleepy/annoyed expression on
his 10 year-old face. Finally returning, he crawled under the grand piano avoiding
his turn to read in Helaman chapter 6.
My aunt looked at my uncle and said, “that’s your son.”
Mornings are not our best family moments, but the Lord knows
we try anyways.
