714 words

A few months ago I decided to memorize The Living Christ: the testimony of the apostles. The idea was first planted in my head during the October 2017 general conference, and I thought about memorizing it off and on for a few months before committing. I was finally inspired to action while re-reading Jean B. Bingham's talk from that conference, and I began the challenge in January this year.

It was HARD, cranking my rusty brain into gear and etching specific new words into my memory. Memorizing is like distance running: yes, on little to no fitness almost anyone can manage a long run [or memorize a long verse] in one day, but the results are not lasting unless consistent daily effort is given to build long term strength [or memory]. Maybe that's why I have always enjoyed memory work: I like the quest for a specific memorization goal, the daily measurable progression towards that goal, the satisfaction of accomplishing it at last, and the reward of having more beautiful words written on my heart that can come to my mind any time, anywhere.

As much as I enjoy having verses memorized, the process is nearly excruciating. I can FEEL my adult brain in its stiff, fixed, grown-up state, resisting the change of memorizing. But it is still possible! I will have to work every day to retain what I have learned. One way that I forced my reluctant brain into action was an expansion of a previous personal policy. My usual policy is no phone/apps each day until I have read my scriptures. The expanded edition of that rule was: no phone/apps each day until I have recited The Living Christ as far as I can, and worked on memorizing more. The only apps I allowed myself to use before my daily recitation were the LDS Scripture app and the sweet Doctrinal Mastery app, because I needed them to memorize the words. (And the occasional glance at the weather app so I knew what to wear for the day.)

Motherhood is not conducive to memory work, and over the past nine years I have not had much to do with memorizing. One of the hardest parts about memorizing over the past few months has been INTERRUPTIONS. The vast mental effort it takes to recall memorized words and commit more words to memory make interruptions completely derailing--I usually have to start over from the beginning if I am interrupted. When my family members see me sitting quietly staring off into space (mentally reciting), they take that as an invitation to start a conversation or ask a question. I avoid telling my kids point blank to go away for two reasons: 1. it feels wrong because the most Christlike response is always "come follow me," and 2. no matter what I say, the kids never stay away for long anyways. As my daily recitation grew longer, I had to get increasingly creative in my efforts to get it in without interruptions.

This morning I had one paragraph left to learn in The Living Christ. Normally I take a week or more to learn each paragraph, but I was rounding the final turn onto the homestretch, and I was ready to sprint to the finish! There was next to no chance of learning an entire paragraph at the kitchen table while the kids were getting ready for school, so I did something unprecedented: I VACUUMED before 8am. The noise of the vacuum is a productive way to discourage conversation. I felt rather sneaky behind my noisy shield. I may or may not have gone over the family room carpet three times while reciting The Living Christ aloud. I kept my phone in my pocket and glanced at it often to work on memorizing the last paragraph while vacuuming. When the carpet was more than sufficiently vacuumed, I put it away, tiptoed to the girls' room (nobody every looks for me in their own bedrooms), and continued my memory work while folding Amber's laundry. I had managed to memorize that final paragraph!

The next step was to say the entire thing from beginning to end. I almost turned aside and saved it for another day. But I know from experience that freshly memorized words float away on the breeze if they are not anchored by as many solid recitations as possible, so I snuck down to the basement, closing the Amber-proof door behind me. Hello, cool dark quietude! Hiding in the basement, I started at the beginning and recited while brushing my teeth, folding laundry, and tidying up. The (microscopic) part of my brain that was not straining to remember the words noticed symbolism from afar: my hands and feet were doing mundane daily chores, but my head and heart were actively remembering Jesus Christ by reciting the seminal modern testimony of Him. Isn't that the ideal daily modus operandi--working, living, and serving with our hands and feet while turning our minds and hearts to the Lord?

I finished the cleaning and folding and prepared for the finale. Standing by the brightest window in our dark basement, I recited the final paragraph, ending with the cherished familiar words "God be thanked for the matchless gift of His divine Son." I stopped. Pulled out my phone to quickly check that I hadn't forgotten any sentences. I hadn't. It was quiet, except for the distant plinking of Rose practicing piano upstairs. I did it! My heart glowed. I took a commemorative picture of The Moment, standing at the only big bright window in our gloomy basement as a reminder that Jesus Christ is our only big bright window to light, life, hope, and happiness.

It will take a few more weeks of labor to write the final few paragraphs reliably on my heart, but today was a memory milestone worth celebrating! Today I recited all 714 words of pure, bright testimony of The Living Christ. It is a powerful testimony of truth, now written on my heart.

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Reality check: after my gloriously successful recitation this morning, real life kicked back in with a vengeance. As our automatic garage door was opening, I saw a bird up close flying away as though it had been sitting on the outside of the garage somehow. A few seconds later when I was pulling out of the garage to drive the kids to school, I noticed that the garage door seemed a hair lower than usual, but our garage is so low in general that I shook off the feeling because I always feel slightly concerned about fitting through the squat garage door. Well, for some reason (maybe the bird?) the garage door really was slightly lower today than usual, because the random tiny fin (?) on the back of our van's roof nipped the bottom of the garage door as I was pulling out. That small bump knocked the garage off its track and it would not close. I took the kids to school, then returned home to face the crooked garage door. Nothing I tried made any difference. It remained stubbornly sideways, and an overly helpful Amber pushed the button, causing the motor to strain and the door to shift lower, further complicating the problem. My efforts resulted in nothing more than black grease-covered hands. I gave up and texted Jeff and also Juan (our landlord's handyman). I'm sure it will all be sorted within a day or two, but that does not dispel my lingering feeling of failure and incompetence! Talk about an emotional 180.

Trying to shake that irked feeling, I decided to make some muffins. WHY on earth I ever thought baking would help restore my confidence is a ridiculous mystery, since the only thing I have ever been able to bake with consistent success is bread. But I had carefully written down all of the details for my magical healthy protein-y muffins, so I thought it would be easy-peasy. For an inexplicable Tuesday of a reason, my first batch of muffins came out FLAT. As in, I should have just fried them up on a griddle as pancakes instead of wasting my time greasing the muffin tin. Along the way, I managed to decorate myself and at least 7 kitchen surfaces with puffs of flour, sprinkles of oats, and various other baking ingredients. THANKFULLY my second batch of muffins came out much puffier, and thankfully thankfully the flat muffins still tasted fine. Amber followed my every move around the kitchen as she is wont to do. (will my baking suddenly become more reliable without a miniature assistant possibly adding/subtracting ingredients of her own when my back is turned?)

Sorry, Tuesday, as annoying as a batch of flat muffins and a crooked garage door are, successfully reciting 714 inspiring words from memory still FAR outweighs those paltry inconveniences.