Waiting for the bus

For several years now, I’ve been worried that I’ll be hit by a bus at any moment. And die, leaving my three daughters and my husband who will marry some tall blonde thing forthwith and have seven sons with her.

All because of a phrase in his Patriarchal Blessing, that he will “deal with sons and daughters, in this life.” The daughters we have covered. Check. The sons? Not so much, and since this is definitely my last pregnancy, and definitely not a multiple pregnancy, the sons will always be a problem. Even if we find out tomorrow that we are having a son, finally (which we will, find out that is, tomorrow), we will still never achieve the plural in this life, unless some really odd combination of circumstances occurs in which we adopt or buy a basketball team, or something.

We tried to make it okay: “It probably refers to that time you were in Young Men’s or Scouts and had all those pseudo-sons.” Or maybe when we serve a mission as old people we’ll be in charge of some male-type missionaries. Or something.

Still, it started to really bother me. Because I believe in blessings. I believe in the literal fulfilment of them, though I’m flexible and open to alternate, plausible explanations. Especially when said alternate, plausible explanation does not include my being hit by a bus.

But the phrase in this life. It grated. It screeched in my spiritual ears like young girls competing for the highest high note before bedtime.

I’m not even sure I’d like to have one son. Having a fourth daughter would be so much easier. No pinewood derby, no fathers-and-sons outings, no sheets that have to be thrown in the washer at odd intervals. No extra, separate bedroom, no new bikes to replace the pink and purple hand-me-downs, no need to learn a defensive diaper technique.

Of course I’d take a son over being  hit by a bus and seeing my husband married to a hussy blonde with legs to her ears who likes to wear high heels. (I bought heels — wedges — exactly once in our courtship, and my legs were still stubby, so sorry, honey.)

Lately I’ve been feeling more and more called (I like that phraseology, “called,”  even though it’s not very Mormon) to re-read my Patriarchal Blessing. But it’s upstairs, in the filing cabinet, up all those stairs. I procrastinate. I forget. Then tonight we were reading in Joshua 21, right after the conquering and settling of Palestine, the land promised to Abraham. “There failed not ought of any good thing which the Lord had spoken unto the house of Israel; all came to pass” (v 45).

I likened that to the Patriarchal Blessings that Tom and I have received and Tom ran up to get his (being unafraid of all those stairs). The kids were eager to hear the part about them, which he read. And then I asked him to re-read it, and again, then demanded to see it for myself.

And you are probably not surprised to hear that it doesn’t actually include the phrase “in this life.” I don’t know if I made that up, or what.

It sounds silly and stupid. (I am silly, and probably stupid). But this is such a great weight lifted off me. It doesn’t say “in this life.” It doesn’t say you’re obviously doing something wrong and God is gonna have to step in here to fix things.

Then of course I read this talk by President Faust, and turns out his father had a blessing about having beautiful daughters and had five sons instead. So they felt that their daughters-in-law were a good fulfilment (along with granddaughters, etc).

Duh. Why didn’t I think of that?

(But I’m still happy it doesn’t say “in this life.” Why did I think it did?)