Going to Church (Like a Mormon Girl Should) with a Migraine

The lights
amber, but far too bright
seem to grow with a crazy hot intensity
as children grow more restless
crying
singing discordantly
squirming
somewhere, an angry buzz
like a wasp from a 1930's sci-fi thriller about Martians
drills into my brain
severing whatever devotion to faith or obedience I had left
through the painful cacophony
of screaming toddlers and general shuffling noises
that bother only those with migraines
or Fibromyalgia
(or both)
is it feedback from a mic? Someone's cell phone?
Why is it resonating above all else and shattering my head like crystal?
The electronic audio poison continues.
Bored and wiggling kiddlets still yell and assault my nerves.

I ready myself to leave,
gathering my scriptures, and lightly cursing children
but mostly cursing me and this body
that cannot abide a spirit who wants to feast.

But then
the speaker says something that I can HEAR
spiritual balm for my soul
and for a few minutes... maybe 3 or 4
I can hold on.
His words are the light at the end of the tunnel...
Or rather, since light right now is as abhorrent as noise
Cool, Rich, Darkness.
Because the Lord knows what we need
even if we only get
just enough to hold out
till the benediction
before racing home to bed and dark and meds and despair.
But maybe, just a little less despair than if we had skipped church completely?

The day the gerbil escaped

I only left the room for half a minute
to bring the parrot
a crisp slice of pepper
and check the temperature
of the clean water for the
fish bowl
so the betta didn't have to keep swimming
in his tiny circles in a coffee cup.

But I was only gone a minute
(or maybe it was 2 or 3
but it wasn't long and she escaped!)
when she cleared the wired playpen
like a farm boy hopping a fence
and ran across the room!
And I dropped the peppers
(but not the fishbowl) and crawled after her!
Streaking black around the living room,
weaving into shadowed alleyways, under couches and near the wall.

I finally caught her, safely,
cursing the playpen
(it said for gerbils and hamsters right on the box!)
and scolding her
but cuddling her, too, and bribing her with seeds
for stealing her day of freedom.

And I gave the parrot her peppers.
And I gave the betta his crystal clear bowl.
And I sat down on the floor and wondered
when Noah had time to read his Scriptures and Pray.

Genealogy Mothers

[I wrote this to "All those at MyFamily.com"]

Genealogy Mothers

searching through shadows
of mothers long dead
earth as a blanket
stone at their head

but alive in the paper
and wild megabytes
books, family trees,
genealogy sites

breathing life into their stories
like glowing embers to flames
elijah's great promise
i'm a keeper of their names.

Mission Call Coming for a Nervous Mormon Girl

[As you might guess, this was written back before I served a full-time mission for my church, when I was waiting, anxiously, to get my "call" (assignment)]

Mission Call Coming for a Nervous Mormon Girl

In the cave,
with a resolute
but ignored,
old soldier
in his faded red uniform
standing by,
there is a large white summon.
It asks me to go where I have never been
for God.
And if it is God who hands me this call,
how could I not clutch it to my chest and shout in jubilation?
And leap up my stairs,
throwing white paper like confetti?
And sing and tell the world that I will follow God?
But it is sealed with a very sticky glue,
and my hands tremble,
though they are scoffed and called cowards
by the old red sentry.