I was asked to say a few words about the “JOY” of teaching
my children the gospel.
Here goes…
We decided that the key to successful scripture study is
consistency. We agreed to gather the family every night at 7:30 and read one
chapter in the Book of Mormon. Through trial and error, we learned a few
absolute truths. One: The kids will always fight over who gets to read the last
verse. Two: The children must always be bribed and/or threatened in order to
listen. In order to avoid potential nightly disasters, we set up a system. My
kids always read the verse that corresponds to their age. Ryan is twelve, he
reads verses 2, 12, 22 etc. Chloe is nine. She reads 9, 19, 29. Mom and dad
read the verses the kids don’t and they only get to read last when their number
is last. To avoid the other dilemma, I bought an industrial sized box of sour
patch kids. These are known at our house as “scripture treat.” If a child
behaves during scriptures, they get a treat. It’s a lot like dog training, if
less effective.
Using these two simple steps, our family scripture study
works out fairly well. Here’s how it usually goes…I call the kids to scriptures
and hear a collective “NOOOOOO.” Sean shouts out that he is coming, but he has
to beat an alien on the computer first. Quentin comes in and sits on top of me.
He then announces that the rest of the family isn’t coming. Chloe sits on top
of the lid to the opening in the love seat where we keep our books of Mormon.
This way, when each of the other kids dramatically enters the room, stretching
and yawning, as if they’re on the brink of collapse from exhaustion, they can
completely ruin their chances of winning an Oscar by breaking character to
shout, “Get off the scriptures, Chloe.” In response to which, Chloe lifts her
butt into a crab walk pose so they can slip their hands in under her.
It takes about 2.5 hours of arguing about which chapter
we’re on before I start reading the first verse to try and move the process
along. Sean, who is currently eleven, mutters the beginning of the first verse
as quickly as he can until he catches up to where I am at. He then begins to
shout the text, sometimes in a British accent, so I will know that it’s his
turn. Ryan reads second, but no one can hear him because he is either hiding
behind the couch or halfway down the stairs that descend from the room where
we’re reading. I suspect that he does this so he can flip back and forth
between the scriptures and whatever else he’s reading on his kindle without
anyone noticing. I tell him to come join the family to which he shrilly
replies, ‘I am! I’m right here.”
Quentin then interrupts to tell me that the babies are in
the other room still. I am, of course, aware of this, but think that we will
all get more out of scriptures if they come late. In the interest of teaching a
lesson about the importance of family scripture study, however, I call them to
come in before continuing on with the verses.
When it gets to be Chloe’s turn, she reads with every other
word punctuated. I realize that she’d doing this because Rhianna has squeezed
herself behind her sister and is kicking her in the back rhythmically and
giggling. This causes me to take inventory of the other children. Quentin has
gone boneless on my lap and is, seemingly, counting the rotations of the ceiling
fan. Evie has her arms looped around
Sean’s neck and is swinging back and forth on the balls of her feet. He’s trying his best to ignore her, but
chocking noises occasionally escape from his mouth. Ryan is missing again,
probably behind the couch. I tell Evie her butt is glued to the floor and if
she unsticks it from where I put her she won’t get scripture treat. This causes
her to scream in agony and shrilly declare, ‘I WANT SCRIPTURE TREAT.”
I push Quentin off my lap and pick up Ana, so she’ll leave
Chloe alone. Ana also starts screaming. Chloe is still reading, which is very
upsetting to Sean because she likes to try to read verse ten after she is done
with nine and Sean HATES that. By this time, the noise level is such that the
neighbors are calling the cops, and that’s amazing considering that the
neighbors are half a mile away. I scream at everyone to be quiet and tell Sean
that if it upsets him when she reads ten, he should just read it with her,
choral style, instead of disrupting scriptures. I also announce that if anyone
else says another word out of turn, I’m going to smite the Earth with a curse
for their sakes.
With much sniffles, someone starts reading for about twenty
seconds before Ryan says, rather timidly, “Mom.” I snap back, “Be quiet and
listen.” He interrupts with, “Yes, but, Addie is naked.” Sure enough, she’s
standing in the kitchen unloading a cupboard and her clothes are lying beside
her. I leave Nate in charge and take the baby to bed. I am ashamed to admit
that sometimes the process of putting her in bed takes a little extra time
because I am less than anxious to reenter my position as goalie of scripture
time. By the time I get upstairs the children are raiding the scripture treat
jar, all except for Evie, who is screaming that daddy forgot to let her read.
It was after one of these nights, that also included the
extended scripture experience that is family night, that I found myself laying
my head on my husband’s shoulder and declaring, “It isn’t supposed to be like
this!”
He said, “Like what?” I said insane and unhappy and with
everyone fighting. He stared at me for a minute looking perplexed be for
saying, “Amy, every family night I ever had growing up was exactly like this.”
Nate is the oldest of six brothers and one sister.
So I think the real point here is understanding the
difference between happiness and Joy. I was asked to share a testimony of how
teaching my children the gospel brings Joy into my home. When Nikki called me,
I laughed and laughed and laughed. I told her she had definitely picked the
wrong sister to share this concept. But, as I thought about it, I realized that
this is a testimony I can bear as strongly as anyone.
The day after telling my husband that everything was working
out wrong, my Quentin came home with a packet of school assignments. I glanced
through them and came across one with the question, “Where do I like to go in
my town?” In his unpracticed hand, my little boy had carefully written, “I like
home.” Suddenly the frustration seemed silly. It is clear to me that the Spirit
of God and the love of family must be in our home, even though I can’t always
feel it.
