Sunday Soapbox # 12- and yet some more of Bro. Yo.

As the sacrament was being administered Liberty leans over and asks in her not so quiet voice "Mom, how come that guy has a little hat"?

I nearly died of old man belly shaking laughter right there in the middle of the sacrament! I had to hug her to discreetly laugh all my sillies out and fain reverence until I was composed enough to mention it to Mick.

Brother Yarmulke's strange round rope belt self sat solo in the pew in front of us. Apparently Liberty had not noticed Brother Yarmulke til this afternoon. Just as well. In her eyes, I'm sure he's merely another old man...but with a different hat. You can't help but notice his 'hat'. I wonder how many other children have noticed him, strictly by the yarmulke alone, let alone his boisterous voice and self.

And speaking of boisterous voice...

Today's gospel doctrine lesson was about missionary work, specifically the early saints of the church and their sacrifice, courage and faith to willingly serve missions during tumultuous times of the church's infancy. A historical account was shared and then I asked the class what sacrifices are asked of us today, as missionaries in any capacity. I got the usual replies: time, patience, money, ability, then up pipes Brother Yarmulke.

"When I was with ___?___(The African King/ruler- whatever, I'm not knowledgeable about their political hierarchy, nor did I recognize the name he threw out) in Africa, it was easy. He had all the tribes lined up and they were flocking to be baptized- thousand of them!"

Apparently the sacrifice was non existent. The visual was too much.

"Any other ideas", I asked the class.

"Could you repeat the question", a voice came from the last row of chairs.

It's amazing I even remembered what topic of discussion I was leading! I proceeded to ask the question again amid cracked lips and shaking heads.
Bro. Yo. is killing me. Love the man, really, but he is going to deliver me to a slow, painstaking parting from this Earth. Truthfully.

At the introduction of my lesson, I had a male volunteer (my lovely Mick) come up to the front, read about who he was (Elder Erastus Snow- true story) and what he took on his mission. A change of socks, 5 coins and the scriptures in his bag. This set the stage for our discussion. Almost 15 minutes later when discussing where the first missionaries were sent, I asked if anyone knew where the first missions were. Bro. Yo raised his hand. I held my breath.

"When I lived in Ohio, if you didn't have a change of socks, you'd get what's called thrush and athletes foot. It happens in all the tropical places like Ohio(I was unaware that Ohio is considered a tropical state), Mississippi and Florida. Happens on the Amazon all the time, 'cept down there there's no one to help you. Miserable stuff".

"Good thing missionaries bring extra pairs of socks along then", I said feeling like I was instructing a classroom of extra information sharing first graders. Honestly, how am I expected to tie that comment into where the first missions were established? I did my best delivering a first grade response.

Later- yes, there is more if you can believe it-

Brother Yarmulke raised his hand again. I'm at least glad he's stopped snapping his fingers at me. I'm not a dog that comes running. This time I don't recall what part of the lesson we were discussing but in true Brother Yarmulke fashion he told the class some more jaw dropping, diplomatic shoulder rubbing coercion.

"Back when I used to work with Bill Clinton, and Barak Obama, BLAH BLAH BLAH (my memory fades me since I was concentrating on not letting my eyeballs look to obvious as they went rolling back in my head) blah blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH blah blah. I told 'em to get Governor Huntsman for the job. They got him. Thanks to me he's lucky he has a job, chuckle, chuckle chuckle".

Politically savvy Bro. Yo. Thanks for your guiding influence over our foreign and domestic state of affairs. What would us wee little citizens do without your watchfulness? Our country might have come tumbling down. Fortunately to Brother Yarmulke we owe our patriotic servitude.

Let us all write letters of appreciation. Never mind the faith, courage and sacrifice of our predecessors.

Oh, my!