Soup and Secret Agency

I went to our Ward Christmas party last night. No ham, no funeral potatoes – and yet the moon did not turn to blood. (Lots of different soups.  I settled for one that smelled like Bear Creek – seemed wise.)

Lovely program with our “wardees” performing Christmas music. All beautifully executed – with one exception.  Children under the age of 16 should never be allowed to perform on the violin in public unless a grueling audition process, and 6 month waiting period, has taken place. It never ceases to amaze me that it takes three people 20 minutes to tune the thing – and they still can’t get it right.  Anyway…I DIGRESS.

So, as I am enjoying most of the program, the two-year-old twins of a twenty-something couple seating next to us are engaging in “Toddler WWE” on the floor in front of my family.  I believe that in order to win, one competitor must sit on the head of the other, effectively mashing the bulging diaper onto the face of the sibling. Good times.

I peek over at the parents, who catch my glance and look over at me with pride beaming from their faces.  It was as if they were witnessing the actual birth of the Christ child, in duplicate. I am sure that their love of the eternal gift of agency made it impossible to lovingly hold their cherubs on their laps for an entire 30 minutes.  Obviously they have a much deeper understanding of agency than we old-timers.  Or, perhaps, they know a secret about agency that has only been shared with the next generation of parents.  Until I am brought into that circle of understanding, I’ll just call it “Secret Agency.”