Strength

This afternoon after a home teaching appointment, a somewhat shy 8-year-old girl named Taylor wanted to tell Ryan something. My curiosity was piqued. She told him that in Primary Sharing Time that morning, Sister Jensen had commented that in every child's family, the dad was probably the strongest person. Natalie’s hand shot up and she said, “Not in my family; it is my brother Ryan.”

I was amused at Natalie’s candor and hoped that she didn’t derail Amy from her point too badly. Ryan is stronger than me, no question. He has been growing and lifting and wrestling and I have been weakened by this illness. Anyway, Ryan was atypically modest and told the girl that he didn’t think he was stronger than me.

Outside I told him that it was OK, I know that he is stronger than me. I’m OK with that. He said that if I hadn’t gotten MS, I would still be stronger. He can believe that if he wants to, but I doubt it.

When I was 16, one of my priesthood leaders was a son of a brick-layer. He told us once that the saddest day in his life was the day he realized he could lay brick faster than his father. I don’t recall passing my dad in physical strength, speed, or agility, but I probably did at some point. My paternal benchmarks were more set on things like intellect, patience, creativity and spirituality. I don’t know the feeling of surpassing him.

And to my great comfort, there are signs that my son also has some becnhmarks for his dad that are in areas other than brute strength!