It was high council Sunday yesterday, and our high councilor did a great job. He was well-prepared. He had a pleasant speaking style. He even finished on time.

I just can�t for the life of me remember a thing that he said.

I blame this on Bruce.

Bruce is a counselor in our bishopric, and he was conducting the meeting yesterday. The bishop also assigned him to speak on the subject of . . . um . . . well, I don�t remember exactly what Bruce talked about, either (am I the only one who sees a disturbing trend developing here?).

As always, Bruce did a good job of conducting the meeting — right up until the point at which he was supposed to give his talk. And then something happened.

Or didn�t happen, to be more precise.

Bruce couldn�t speak. He tried, God bless him. But every time he opened his mouth the words got jammed somehow. He seemed to have something stuck in his throat — he coughed and wheezed and tried to clear the way. He was breathing and smiling, so we figured he was OK. But for two minutes or so he stood at the podium . . . speechless.

We all sat there, uncomfortably laughing a little, waiting for somebody to do something.

And finally somebody did.

Two somebodies, in fact.

Almost simultaneously, the bishop and Janet stood. The bishop ambled across the front of the chapel and out the door that leads to the bishop�s office.

�He�s either going to call 911 or he�s going to take a nap,� I whispered to my wife, Anita.

She looked at me, and to her credit she somehow managed to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. After living with me for 30 years I think she�s finally getting used to me. �He�s going to get some water,� she said.

Of course. Water. That made sense. Besides, I remembered, our good bishop has never hesitated to take a nap right there on the stand whenever he needed one.