The Oatmeal Isn’t Hot

Cedar Valley News
Fictorial Number 441 · October 16, 2026
The Oatmeal Isn’t Hot
By Dan Larson

Last week a man called me back to a house I framed for him 20 years ago. His grown children were home for the week, their cars in the drive and the kitchen loud behind him, and the thing he wanted me to see was a cabinet door, dropped a sixteenth of an inch out of line with its neighbor. I will confess the thought I had on the way in: all this life in the house, and he calls me about a hinge. I shimmed it until it sat right. He thanked me, and I drove home.

I was not driving home at peace. I was composing, in my head, the complaint I meant to make to the lumberyard, which had shorted my last order by six boards and billed me for all of it. I had the speech half-built by the second stoplight. Six boards. I have framed, in 30 years, more than a hundred houses, and I was giving the whole drive to six boards.

And I thought of a story I had heard a week and a half ago at General Conference. Elder Dale Renlund told it. Before his calling, he was a heart doctor who ran a transplant program, and a man he calls Mr. Martin came to his team dying of heart failure.

The doctors kept him alive on mechanical pumps while his liver failed, and then his kidneys, and then his lungs. The first donor heart they tried did not work. They tried a second, a marginal one, and it worked. His body came back, and they took the pumps out. Ten days later, Elder Renlund found him sitting up in bed, gripping his breakfast tray, and, through his teeth, the man said, “The oatmeal isn’t hot, and the milk isn’t cold.”

The whole conference laughed, and so did I. A man pulled back from death by machines and a borrowed heart, sore about his breakfast. Then I stopped laughing, because I was the one on the drive handing a whole evening to six boards. And I thought again about the fellow with the cabinet door, and saw I had judged him wrongly. For all I know, he had spent the morning with his children and only wanted one thing in his house to sit true. The man fixed on the small thing, blind to the full house, was not him. It was me.

The complaint is not false. It is only small. The oatmeal really is cold; the lumberyard really did short me six boards. The trouble is never the smallness of the thing. The trouble is how much of the day we will hand it. I did not make the call when I got home. It will keep until Monday. I went inside instead, to my own loud kitchen, where the people I have spent my life building rooms for were waiting with supper.

What is the cold oatmeal in your life this week, and what larger thing is it keeping you from seeing? Write to us. If we have gotten a fact wrong, tell us and we will correct it.

Cedar Valley News is fiction — its columnists and townspeople are invented, including Dan Larson and the house he was called back to, though the public facts it cites are real and sourced. The talk is real: Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told of a heart-transplant patient he calls Mr. Martin, who ten days after surviving the surgery complained the oatmeal was not hot and the milk not cold, in his address “How Long Will It Be Ere They Believe Me?”, given in the Saturday afternoon session of the October 2026 general conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Written by Evan Swensen, Publisher, with Claude Marshall, AI Developmental Editor. A reflection, not a report. Source: churchofjesuschrist.org.

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