Martin Harris and Me

My usually cheerful 2 year old was unusually whiney. He woke up from his nap in an uncontrollable fit. It took me twenty minutes of soothing talk and songs to get him calmed down enough for the two of us to get 30 more minutes of nap. When we awoke, we wandered upstairs to the living room and opened the Sunday paper.

I'd finished reading the paper and was flipping through the ads, looking for any especially good Memorial Day deals. I noted a good price on a carpet steam cleaner. I've wanted one for a long time and it came in very handy at Grandma and Grandpa's house last week when the kids were puking everywhere. I set the ad aside to show it to Keryn and discuss the purchase.

Ezra, the two year old, had been playing on the floor near me and then came up and asked if he could sit in my lap. "Lap? Sit in my lap?" he said. I let him climb up on my lap as we continued to flip through the ads. He started to whimper again. "Lay down?" I moved him off my lap and laid him down next to me on the couch.

After a short moment he started to cry again. I could see that he was pursing his lips. I quickly sat him back up and he gagged a couple of times. A tiny amount of fluid dribbled down his lip.

I quickly moved him into the tiled bathroom and wiped off his face. As I started to lead him out of the bathroom he protested. He wanted to stay in the bathroom. Darn those irrational two year olds! I figured that if I was going to be stuck in the bathroom with him, I had better grab a book.

I picked up the copy of "By the Hand of Mormon" that I purchased last week. I wasn't very far into the book and thought I could get a bit further as Ezra sat on my lap on the hard floor of the bathroom.

I read out loud about Martin Harris helping Joseph to translate the Book of Mormon. I read about Mrs. Harris's frustration at not being able to see the golden plates. I read (with particular drama) the lines where Joseph exclaimed in agony that his soul was lost when Martin lost the only copy of the 116 page manuscript they had translated thus far. It was very painful for Joseph, not only because he'd lost something so precious, but because the Lord had told him it wasn't a good thing to do... twice. But the Lord relented, Joseph lent the manuscript to Martin, and the pages were lost.

Before long both Ezra and my legs fell asleep. Gingerly I stood up and Ezra awoke. I explained that we were going to go sit on the couch and that he was still welcome to sit on my lap. He protested only slightly and we settled in on the couch. I continued my reading about the chastisement Joseph received for failing to pay attention to the things God was telling him. Ezra started to whimper again. "Lay down?" I moved him off my lap and laid him down next to me on the couch.

After a couple of minutes he started to point toward the door. "Over there! Over there!"

"You're okay," I assured him. I turned back to my book. I was pretty into it at this point. Shortly, I hear a little groan. Before I can do anything, I see Ezra, lying on his back with the equivalent of Old Faithful spewing from his mouth. Boy, clothes, and couch are drenched in filth.

I'm just so grateful that as I read about Martin Harris I was able to take the message of what I was reading to heart. That I was able to learn to watch for signs of things about to transpire and to trust in more informed voices than my own.

Now excuse me. I have to go move the laundry along.