Jammie Church. Exactly what it sounds like. Wake up, grab a blanket, curl up on the couch by your brothers and watch church on T.V. while your dad’s deep fries some cheese puffs on the stove. Yupp just a little piece of heaven.
Every six months we have church in our living room, in our jammies under a small mountain of blankets. We listen to our prophet (Roughly equivalent to the mormon pope) speak to us about how to be better people, how to make our way back to Heavenly Father and his son, Jesus Christ. We listen to his apostles, who share similar and different messages and who’s wit and kind smiles warm the international audience watching. We sing with the mo-tab choir. Or at least try to keep up with their swells of sopranos and baritones. The adults (*ahem* yes that’s me) reign in the boys for at least forty five minutes to listen. When that time’s up we release the monkeys to play legos until lunch, knowing that in six months, the monkeys attention spans will be a little longer. Until then, more blanket for us!
We had bought an egg-dying kit in an attempt for some sunday-ritual variation. I used cold water instead of warm so it was a mini disaster but boys live for messes so it was okay.
“It’s Hatch-eeing it’s HATCH-eeing!!!” (Talking about a cracked egg shell)
Calm before the spillage
We love Monson. We love all of the apostles but especially the senior disciple of my big brother, Jesus Christ. It simply made sense, all that was said today. I wouldn’t be able to quote anyone directly, but my happy meter is full. Isn’t that what makes a good church?