Poetry and musings of a zany Mormon girl who is very proud of her Erda roots.

Sunday, November 22, 2009


For the last three weeks I have found Sacrament meeting to be impossible to sit through.

It's not that I don't want to pay attention or because I'm too tired and would rather sleep or because the speakers are less than interesting.

No, it's because I get the giggles.

Growing up Frank used to torment me during Sacrament meeting. We always sat in the second row pew within perfect view of the bishopric. I wonder if that was an attempt on my parents part to keep us in line, as though they were silently telling the whole ward, "Stare at our kids and fwap them for us when they get out of line." In any case, Frank and I didn't get along during any day of the week so how could we be expected to paint a happy picture of sibling affection on the Sabbath? He would pick a stray hair off of my scalp and tickle my ear or nose. He would poke me. He would wiggle the hymn book when we shared. He would whisper things geared toward making me squeal with rage. I would pinch. I would slap. I would attempt to ignore. And finally, I would squeal with rage.

Something changed for Frank after returning from his mission; around the same time he started dating a lovely girl. He mellowed.

Something changed for me over the course of several years as I learned to express my emotions rather than hold them in; after I learned how to be sad and happy and angry rather than just an emotional hurricane. I learned to love who I am and accept my flaws. I learned to be the person I always saw trapped within my own eyes; to liberate the real me. I mellowed.

And, for the last three weeks I have had a very hard time paying attention during Sacrament meeting. I giggle. When Frank does something to keep up his childhood legacy, I giggle. When the child in the pew ahead of us does something adorable, I giggle. When those sitting next to me point out that the silent giggle rippling through my body has been transferred to their bodies, I giggle even harder.

I giggle so hard, I can't breathe.

I shake so hard, my abs hurt afterwards.

I'd much rather giggle than squeal in rage.

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