Sometimes I get so frazzled sitting through Sacrament Meeting with all five of our kids. It's not really sitting; it's getting up and down with a screaming or stinky baby, leaning sideways to break up an escalating argument between kids old enough to know better, or bending myself in half forwards to recapture dropped crackers, papers, shoes, pacifiers, ad nauseam. (Really, I sometimes start to feel a little dizzy. It's more exercise than I get all the rest of the week.)
And, inevitably, I start to wonder if any of us are getting anything out of it. But I realized something must be getting through to my three-year-old daughter the other day. She's been going through a stage lately where she is constantly noisy. She bangs thing, taps on things, but mostly just makes mouth noises all day long. Some of it is in English, but mostly it's just noise. But during a piano solo of "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" she sang along (to her own tune and before I could shush her), these words, "I got it open myself. Oh! My fruit snacks!"
And then I had to bend forward to help her pick them up.