Donning a tie is a rite of passage at our house,
not until you are twelve. Not until you are a deacon.
Even if I weren’t a Mormon, I think I’d want my boys to be part of the Aaronic Priesthood. Just when their hormones start to rage they become part of an army of young men who shovel walks, visit the elderly, prepare and pass the sacrament, collect money for the poor, perform every form of home repair and yardwork and set up and take down thousands upon thousands of folding chairs.
Erik steps back to let him tie the Windsor knot on his own.
Yes, service begins at home and I’ve tried to teach these boys to give of themselves since toddlerhood. But I find it inspired that just at the age when kids begin to look to their peers for guidance that they become part of a group of faithful young men*** who are not only asked, but expected to prepare, bless and pass the Lord’s sacrament with clean hands.
Hmm, maybe just one more time with Dad’s help.
And when they fall short, when they make mistakes, my boys have not only Erik and I to guide them, but advisors and our Bishop to teach them to turn to Christ.
If I could, I would freeze my Xander in all his little boy innocence. But he will grow, he must grow. And in this world that delights in the crass and mocks everything sacred, I am profoundly grateful for those who guide my sweet boy towards the man of God he will become.
my boys– Elder, Priest, Teacher, Deacon- flanked by Dad and famous Grandpa Fritz
with a little craziness in the mix
***linked to my new favorite Mormon Message.