Oh, my PROPHETic soul!

I was born of goodly parents.  And electromagnetic grandparents. 

Thankfully, electromagnetics are genetic because I received my force field at birth. My gigi, on the other hand, had to get struck by lightening three times to receive hers.

Technically she was only struck once, but she conducted electricity via a bolt of lightening twice thereafter.  

In other words, she's an electricity magnet.

But this story isn't about having a gigi who can conduct electricity, it's about the benefits of having a gigi who can conduct electricity. The main benefit being that I inherited the power to see dumb people and the power to attract famous people. 

Just when I was beginning to think I had lost my touch in Utah, I woke up yesterday morning with the sweet sounds of serendipity in my ears. 

Actually I felt like crap, and serendipity was the last thing in my ears.  Alls I could hear was my hub saying, "Don't forget to fill out the record release form and fax them to me and RSVP to the birthday party and pay the twins lunch money and pick up some milk and clean the bathrooms and call on the car insurance. Oh, and don't be late to the funeral!" 

FTR, my hub didn't really say any of those things, but he was thinking them (ESP is another power I inherited) and he thinks really loud thoughts (epecially when I'm trying to pretend I'm asleep while he's ironing his own clothes and making his own lunch for work).  

I forgot all the things my hub ESP'd me to do because I was watching Clean Sweep, but thank goodness I didn't forget the funeral.  

My SIL's FIL passed away last weekend.  

It's funny how things happen sometimes.  If I hadn't forgotten to pay my twins lunch money, I wouldn't have had to rush to their school before the funeral to pay it.  And if I hadn't rushed to their school to pay it, I wouldn't have been late for the funeral.  And if I hadn't been late for the funeral, I wouldn't have received a standing ovation when I walked through the chapel doors during the opening song.

As fate would have it, I was late and when I entered the chapel the whole congregation stood up and turned to look at me.  

Imagine my surprise. My first instinct was to do the shaka, (then I checked to see if my zipper was down or if I had toilet paper hanging from the back of my skirt). 

I turned to see if the casket was coming in behind me.  

But it wasn't the casket.  It was the PROPHET! 

The PROPHET, PEEPS!  Thomas S. Monson was walking behind me!!!!  

Oh, my prophetic soul! 

If you are Catholic, this is like the Pope following you in to mass.  If you are Jewish, it's like the Messiah's secretary showing up at synagogue.   

This is no small matter for a Mormon. 

For over an hour I sat staring at the prophet on the stand.  It was a bit surreal when the speakers bore testimony of him and HOLY COW, there he was!  Right behind them.

And he didn't just sit there behind them.  He arose and he spoke too.  

As the story goes, he was a close friend to my SIL's FIL, and though he's extremely busy, being the prophet and all, and he had already attended three meetings earlier that morning, he always has time for his friends, so his secretary cleared his schedule and his driver put the pedal to the medal, and they all prayed to Gad that he would not be arrested while racing down from Salt Lake to speak at his friend's funeral.  

How poignant is that?  

But just before the prophet arose and spoke my whole body went numb and cold and I began sweating from every pore. I was sweating everywhere except my eyeballs because it suddenly dawned on me that I had forgotten to turn off my cell phone.  It was in my candy-apple-red purse somewhere, which I had also forgotten to clean out, but I had no idea where, which meant that if my cell phone, which is set to level 25 volume so I can hear it anywhere in the house, was to go off during the prophet's discourse, #1. I would not be able to locate it and silence it within a 30 second time frame, and #2. I would be solely responsible for the living prophet's first encounter with the Black Eyed Peas.   

This was not my finest hour.  When the prophet speaks, people listen.  And they listen reverently and quietly.

I felt like one of the five virgins who came to the wedding unprepared to meet Christ.  Except I felt worse because I'm not even a virgin, and it wasn't even a wedding.

I slowly reached under my chair to locate my candy apple red purse.  I then situated it beside me on the pew where I could subtly rummage through all the receipts and lipgloss and wads of cash and packs of Orbit Sweet Mint gum to find my phone.  This took some finger gymnastics. Once my fingers happened upon it, I flipped it open with one hand and gently placed my thumb over the off button.  

The problem I then faced was, do I let the audience hear me turn it off, or do I just sit with my thumb perched on the off button in case someone called?  

I decided on the latter, so there I sat, squirming and sweating, with my hand resting inside my purse in ready position to keep the Black Eyed Peas out of earshot of our beloved Prophet. 

Before long I noticed the people next to me on the pew squirming and sweating too and casting glances at my hand resting in ready position inside my purse.  

OMGOSH!  Apparently I was not avoiding the appearance of evil. They were worried I had a weapon of mass destruction hiding in my candy-apple-red purse! And they actually thought I had my finger on the trigger! 

Suddenly two men-in-black pounced on me and wrestled me to the ground . . .

J/K peeps.  That didn't happen at all.  What really happened was the Prophet arose and spoke and cracked us all up.  He is one funny cowboy.  So while everyone was rolling in the aisles I pressed OFF and no one was the wiser.  

Phew!  

But fo' reals, when the prophet bears testimony of the afterlife, it's a chicken skin experience.  A kodak moment--only more like when you photoshop your kodak moment.  In that kodak moment all the edges blur and the Prophet comes into sharp focus in the center and you could swear he's talking to you through a tunnel of light.  

Unfortunately the only photographic evidence I have is from my new purple diva cell phone. 

I'm such a sucker for free stuff, even if it's diva purple.

But do you have any idea how tacky you feel when you're snapping photographic evidence of the Prophet with a purple diva cell phone?


 Like I said before, it wasn't my finest hour. 

Post Script:  On the drive home my daughter called. "Where have you been?" she said.  "I've been calling and calling. I forgot my soccer uniform."

HUGE SIGH!  

"I've been listening to a prophet's voice" I said. 

(And yes, I'm SAVED, btw!  I got to shake his hand too!)