3 Nephi 22

When this all winds down, a new song will hit the air:

Sing, you childless, cry aloud, you less-than-fecund

Because the infertile has more kids than the so-called baby-factory

Get a bigger tent—people need more space to sleep without bumping into each other

This population explosion is like fireworks: beautiful, non-threatening

No one will shame you now and you’ll forget the grungy past

God has many titles, some of which I know:

Lord of Hosts, Redeemer, Israel’s Holy One

I’m still sketching the rest, but here’s a narrative concept: You are like a depressed girl never asked to dance at the party and I asked you to marry me. I’ve neglected you, even hid from you but I’m getting my act together and revving up the kindness and mercy a husband should have. I swore to Noah I’d never flood the earth again. Now I swear I’ll never fly off the handle at you again. Erosion takes down mountains, but can never saw off my bond with you I’ll build you a house so fancy that gemstones will line the porch. I’ll personally home school our children. I’ll build a huge fence of trust to keep anxiety out of our relationship. Anyone who tries to put you down has to deal with me. I’ll stoke your fires in winter and cool your skin in summer. No weapon anyone makes can touch you. Because I’ll be your invisible armor.