Wherein W Missed a Crowning Achievement Because He was at Home Getting My Lesson that I Forgot to Bring Because I Have Pregnant Brain

Jooj bore her testimony in church yesterday. It was a total surprise. And completely unencouraged.

For the record, I hate it when kids bear their testimonies in Sacrament Meeting. I know, you probably love it, but I don't. It stirs up all sorts of anger and irritation and issues in me. All of which, I'm going to tell you 'bout, right now!

I don't think the kids know what they are saying.
It sounds brainwashy.
It sounds manipulative.
I don't think it is cute.
If your mom or dad has to tell you what to say, it is not a testimony.
I don't like the sound of breathing in the microphone.
I believe it to often be more about a desire to receive public praise from adults and family members than about a sincere desire to state the love of God and the knowledge of His true church.

~J and I have talked at length about how I hate this. She has told me that, in her family, when the kids decide they want to say their testimonies they start practicing at home. They learn what a testimony is, what they can say, and what they cannot say. They are encouraged to practice during Primary. They know that mom is not going to accompany them to the pulpit and whisper in their ears; they will be on their own. They are not going to get a reward for venturing to the front of the room and breathing in the microphone. I had absolutely planned on doing this one day. Because she is only five. She has had zero interest in this. She is only five.

And then, yesterday, after watching the parade of children, coached by their parents, saying the exact litany of phrases as the first child, she announced to me that she wanted to do it, too.

I told her no.*

And someone whispered inside of me "Wait, let her try."

Hurriedly I asked her what she wanted to say. She told me three sentences.

I told her I was not going up there with her. She said that was just fine.

I asked her what she was going to say again--she repeated her previous three sentences, but with more irritation and an eye roll.**

I moved aside.

She marched up. Marched. Stood at the podium and in a clear, sweet voice said

"I know the church is true. I know Jesus loves me. I know he watches over me. In Jesus' name, amen."

Then she marched back down to our pew and resumed coloring.

And--here is the thing--I know she knows that. It wasn't manipulative or brainwashy. I know she actually knows those things. Within her limited experience and frame of reference, she knows that the church is true. She has had numerous experiences where she has learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus loves her, and she knows that He watches over her. She knows that. It is a part of her life. And she recognizes that she knows those truths. She was able to pick out three things that she knows, process them, and express them to the entire congregation without coaching or fear. Just some marching. Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good. Because she knows those things. And I know that she knows.

And something inside of my ice-cold, child-hating heart melted a little.

Don't get me wrong, I still hate it when kids bear their testimonies in sacrament meeting. But I hate it a tiny*** bit less.





*This is the same child that was not allowed (by me) to participate in the Primary Program last year because she refused to say her part without exclaiming "Boobies!" at the end. And I will not be that family.

**It is to her great luck that the first time she rolled her eyes at me we were in a public place in a state where I didn't know the child abuse laws; I was unaware as to what would get me reported to the authorities and so did not throw her through a window, as was my first inclination. Now I have gotten used to it and she is safe in her sass. Also, I have no idea where she learned to do it. Cram it, W.

*** 1/100000000000