Christmas and the Temple

                 It didn’t seem like there was time for Christmas that year. I was in the middle of moving, with one house to organize and unpack and another to clean and fix up. Weighed down by many responsibilities I felt a little resentful of the holiday season. I wasn’t ready to feel any Christmas cheer.

            A week earlier I’d tried to keep my monthly commitment to attend the temple. After getting up at 5 a.m. on a frozen Saturday morning, I made my way to the Jordan River Temple, only to discover it was closed! I turned my car around and headed for the Salt Lake Temple. But icy roads and a freeway detour brought me home again. 
            Weighed down with frustration and a sense of failure, I promised myself, “Next week.”

            But as Saturday approached, the last one before Christmas, I wondered if I’d make it. There was still so much to do—clean, decorate, bake and wrap. Maybe the temple would just have to wait.

            Fortunately commitment triumphed as I took my seat in the chapel of the Salt Lake Temple. Quietly I waited for an endowment session to begin. In the background I heard the tune of a familiar Christmas carol. 

            Christmas carols in the temple?

            At first this music seemed a little out of place. But as I allowed the words to fill my mind, the Spirit spoke to my heart and opened my mind.

            Sitting in a room filled with waiting people, I imagined what it must have been like to wait for the Savior’s birth. A thrill of joy surged through me. How exciting it must have been for the shepherds in the fields and the choirs of angels to know of His birth. 

            I felt a little of the joy they undoubtedly felt. Then I realized how exciting it is for me today, right now, to know of His birth—a cause for celebration! And that’s what Christmas really is—the excitement, the joy and the thrill of having Christ come to earth.

            At the end of the endowment session I headed out of the celestial room, and then halted. Towering above me in the air on the right was a magnificent painting of the Risen Lord. 

           As I stood there in awe of this beautiful artwork, it felt as if I’d been greeted by my Savior. The Spirit reached down into the depths of my soul and filled me with peace and joy—this was His house and He was there. 

           I thought back on the joy I’d felt earlier while sitting in the chapel, the excited anticipation of those who waited for Christ’s birth. Then I realized the anticipation of waiting for Christ to come had been fulfilled for me that day. Through temple worship, He had come into my heart. 

            As I headed home into the congested traffic, I felt untouched by the frenzy of last-minute shoppers around me. Overcome with love for the Savior, I’d been filled with the true spirit of Christmas. Not to be found in the busy shopping malls or under a perfectly decorated tree, but within the quiet walls of the temple. 

            There I discovered: we celebrate the joy of Christ coming to earth by allowing Him to come into our hearts. 

Book Review and Giveaway: Carol of the Tales and Other Nightly Noels

Carol of the Tales and 

Other Nightly Noels: 

An Advent Anthology, 

Volume 2

Christmas carols capture the spirit of Christmas, and Carol of the Tales and Other Nightly Noels brings beloved carols to life like never before. Throw your cares away with the tales from sweet silver bells. Find out how Santa Claus dabbles in time travel, and feel the redemption of a dying wife's parting Christmas gift. Experience all this and more in these heartfelt, entertaining tales donated by a team of authors from across the country, working together for a good cause. The proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated toward Autism research and advocacy.

Anthology authors include: Shirley Bahlmann, C. David Belt, Rebecca Carlson, Loretta Carter, Madonna D. Christensen, Danyelle Ferguson, C. Michelle Jefferies, Theric Jepson, Ryan Larsen, Angie Lofthouse, Betsy Love, J. Lloyd Morgan, Janet Olsen, Teresa G. Osgood, Brian Ricks, Jennifer Ricks, Peg Russell, and Michael Young.

Carol of the Tales is the 2nd book in the Advent Anthology series. Both anthologies are available in paperback and Amazon Kindle formats from Amazon.com. 

Purchase “Sing We Now of Christmas”: http://amzn.com/1479266248

Purchase: “Carol of the Tales”:  http://amzn.com/1484145526

To kick off the release of the second anthology, a Christmas concert will be held at American Fork Junior High on December 7^th, 2013. The concert will feature the Saltaires Barbershop Chorus. All proceeds from this concert will be donated to charity as well. Purchase: Tickets for the Concert: https://tickettool.net/en/index/eventpopup/b54dab4bd0a13fa6975068f4784dfaa5

Blog Tour Giveaway!

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Living in Hope

"I bear witness of that day when loved ones whom we knew to have disabilities in mortality will stand before us glorified and grand, breathtakingly perfect in body and mind. What a thrilling moment that will be! I do not know whether we will be happier for ourselves that we have witnessed such a miracle or happier for them that they are fully perfect and finally 'free at last.' Until that hour when Christ's consummate gift is evident to us all, may we live by faith, hold fast to hope, and show 'compassion one of another.'"

Holland. Jeffrey, R. "Like a Broken Vessel," Ensign, Nov. 2013)

The Kindness of Others

    It was Sunday afternoon. We were in our usual spot. While the rest of the congregation enjoyed sacrament service from the chapel, we occupied the foyer. Emma ran around gleefully, enjoying the independence that comes with being two. David was strapped into his blue Graco stroller. The one we used for him when he was a toddler, now a few sizes too small. His lanky five-year-old legs sprawled past the foot rest and touched the floor. Although a tight fit, he was contained. Our only assurance he wouldn’t make a mad dash from the building.

            He was chewing a small, white towel. The one we used to manage his chewing compulsion and keep his Sunday shirt from developing holes.

            Jeff, an especially kind man in our ward, passed by. After greeting Rob and I, he hunched down in front of the stroller and attempted to connect with David. Immune to his attempts, David stared away.

    Jeff then picked up the dry end of the towel hanging from David’s mouth, and put it in his own mouth. David’s eyes widened with delight. Jeff now had his full attention.

    Together they played a game of tug-of-war, each clenching a corner of the towel between their teeth.

            Rob and I smiled at each other and then we laughed as the game ended. David took the well-soaked, soggy corner from his own mouth and held it up to Jeff’s—rewarding him with his favorite oral companion.

    Not only had Jeff taken the time to connect with David, but he’d won his heart. 
    I loved Jeff for loving David.

    When people are kind to David I feel Heavenly Father’s love for me. It’s easy for others to look away and pretend they don’t notice him. Some refrain from interacting with him out of feeling awkward or uncomfortable. They politely keep their distance out of not wanting to interfere or give offense.

    Then there are those who amaze me. They go out of their way to interact with my son, even when he doesn’t respond or tries to avoid them.

    I feel God’s love through their kind actions.

Stellar Spirits

"Stellar spirits are often housed in imperfect bodies. The gift of such a body can actually strengthen a family as parents and siblings willingly build their lives around the child born with special needs."

(Nelson, Russell, M. "Decisions for Eternity,"  Ensign, Nov. 2013)

The First Time I Held You

           David was two weeks old when I held him for the first time. For two long weeks I anxiously waited for that sacred moment. To wrap my arms around his tiny body and claim him. Mine.
          Still connected to multiple wires and IV's, he was placed in my arms and we shared our first embrace. 
          At first it felt awkward as the nurse re-positioned him multiple times. His neck needed to be properly supported so his airway would remain open and the web of wires connected to him needed to remain intact. Nervously I watched the monitors to ensure there weren't any drastic changes in his heart rate or oxygen level.
          All around me, from different angles, Rob furiously clicked the camera.
          Caressing my precious bundle confirmed I was a mother. With his heart beating close to mine, I held him for as long as I was allowed. He belonged to me and I wanted him to feel this bond. For a few, short moments he opened his eyes and I was there to look back at him.
          His little person warmed the left side of my chest. My body held onto this sensation even after I set him down. When I arrived home I continued to feel a warm spot in my chest from where his head had been resting--a physical reminder of that precious time we spent together.
           David means beloved. That was the right name for my baby. I couldn't imagine loving him more than I did at that moment.

A Child Shall Lead Them

"One of the great discoveries of parenthood is that we learn far more about what really matters from our children than we ever did from our parents."

 

(Packer, Boyd, K. "And A Little Child Shall Lead Them," Ensign, May 2012, 8.)

Ignorance Versus Understanding

         On the last day of vacation we decided to go back to the San Diego Zoo. David could ride the bus and cable car and the girls could play on the playground (they just weren't that into seeing animals).

         As Dave and I exited from the cable car, the Simex theatre caught my attention. It was playing segments from the Ice Age movie and promised to provide a full 4-D experience, complete with snow blowing in your face, seats that bump and the smell of exotic fruit. David loves sensory stimulation and I wanted to give him this thrilling experience. So I agreed to pay $10.00 for a 15 minute show.
          David waited patiently in line and eagerly took his seat in the theatre, right in the center of the last row. We were ready for the adventure to begin. And then I heard it, that sucking sound David makes when he is excited. I froze in my seat. This was going to be a really long 15 minutes.
          If only they'd get the movie started.
          Please let it be a really loud show.
          The doors slammed shut and everyone was seated. We were trapped in the dark with nothing to listen to but the sound of David furiously sucking the saliva through his teeth.
          Why weren't they starting the movie yet?
          I looked around. Remarkably no one was turning around or staring or giving us odd looks. Not even the man seated directly next to David. I immediately felt grateful for their silent tolerance.
         But then a young lady two seats away leaned over and tugged on my arm. "Make him stop! Make him stop!" she ordered.
         I knew I couldn't make David stop, but I tried to anyway. He responded with a loud protest. So I left him alone. The sucking sound was better than a tantrum.
         I decided to apologize to the young woman afterwards. But it no use, she was angry and didn't understand.
         I walked away. Slowly.Held back by the wall of shame that enveloped me.
         I never should have gone into that movie theatre. I usually try to be sensitive to the people around me, but this time I blew it. I hadn't even considered how David's sucking sounds might be a problem.
         I pulled my hat down a little lower and put my sunglasses on to hide the tears welling up in my eyes.
         I entered that theatre feeling somewhat OK about my place in the world as David's mother. I came out feeling very different.
         Various people walked past me. I felt so separate from them now.
         They were normal.
         They belonged there.
         Dave and I didn't.
         When I met up with Rob at the playground I told him about my experience. I brought it up again on our long ride home. I couldn't let it go. The more I talked about it, the more I hurt.
         Too bad it had to happen on the last day. It put a damper on the whole trip. Maybe if I thought bad thoughts about that lady, I'd feel better.
         After discussing it for some time Rob helped me recognize the many positive experiences we'd had on our vacation. We'd been the recipients of many unexpected acts of kindness as people went out of their way to accommodate my family.
         Like the honest people who turned in Rob's wallet when he lost it at Seaworld. Or the family who let us go in front of them in line to see the Giant Panda's. Or the staff at The Coronado Club Room and Boathouse. In an effort to enjoy the most pristine beach we found ourselves camped out in front of this private, members-only facility.
        The clubhouse building had a ceiling fan and David is obsessed with ceiling fans. Forget the sand and the water, the only place he wanted to be was near that fan. I dragged him away kicking and screaming and tried to interest him in the beach. But that didn't work, so I started packing up our things thinking we might have to leave. When I looked up I saw one of the staff members from the boathouse approaching me.
         "It's OK if your son wants to come inside our office and play with the ceiling fan. I don't want you to have to leave," she said.
          I hesitated, but she insisted, "It's OK, we're fine with it."
          She sat and talked to me as David ran in and out of the office, turning the fan on and off. She asked a lot of questions about autism and at one point reassured me, "You came to the right beach."
          I will never forget her kindness.
          In the course of my conversation with Rob I noticed there'd been more positive experiences on our vacation than negative one's. There'd only been one negative incident. So why was I still hurting?
          I realized I had a choice to make.
          I could choose to focus on that one hurtful experience and let it fester or I could choose to celebrate the many positive acts of kindness we'd received.
          I could choose bitterness and anger or I could choose gratitude and joy.
          The choice was mine.
          If I want others to be tolerant of my son's awkward and inappropriate behaviors then I need to be tolerant of those whose limited experiences keep them from understanding.   
          Ten years ago I was that young lady in the theatre who didn't understand.
          As newly weds Rob and I flew to South Africa so I could introduce him to my family and my country. On the flight from America to Europe two young children screamed a lot for a long time when the rest of the plane was trying to sleep.
          I remember turning around and looking at the parents of those young children. They both stared forward with a glazed look in their eyes. What incensed me most is that those parents just sat there looking frazzled, not doing a thing to make those children stop!
         While I restrained myself from expressing my contempt, I felt it. My limited understanding of the world told me that it is a parent's responsibility to control a child's behavior. And if you aren't able to do this, you aren't a good parent.
         How the times have changed.
         I now have children of my own.
         I now understand there are times when you just can't make a child stop. And that doesn't make you a bad parent.
         That young woman in the theatre didn't have any children, let alone an autistic one. How could she possibly understand the challenge I was facing?

Angels Watched Over Him

"Owing to their innocence and purity, little children enjoy unique privileges with regard to angels. In fact, little children are so significant to God the Father, Jesus Christ and the kingdom of God on earth that it is possible that they sometimes enjoy the presence of angels."

(Parry, D. W. [2013]. Angels: Agents of Light, Love and Power. Deseret Book Company: Salt Lake City.)

     I dreaded night time in the hospital. Those nights were so long and lonely. I'd wake up unexpectedly to find myself alone in some strange, uncomfortable bed, surrounded by darkness.

        From the adjacent rooms of the maternity ward I heard the cries of newborn babies. I imagined those babies snuggled in their mothers' arms. And then the tears would start to well up inside of me. My whole body shook as they rushed down my cheeks in a flood of anguish and grief--my precious newborn was on life support in another part of the hospital.
        I couldn't stand to be away from him. I wanted so badly to be able to be able to comfort him. To hold his little hand and stroke his head and watch him sleep and as I silently prayed for him.
        I was his mother. He needed me. And I needed him. 
        I needed to be at his side to help him heal and grow stronger and he needed to feel my love and know I was there for him.
        But my body was too weak. Still recovering from severe complications, I was unable to get out of the hospital bed by myself. So I lay there. Stuck. Helpless. Trapped.
        My baby needed me and I couldn't be with him.
        Was he also alone in the dark?
        The next day I found the comfort I was seeking in a scripture. Marcelle, my mother-in-law, brought over a copy of the Church News for me to read while recuperating. In a quiet moment I picked it up and there at the top of the front page in bold print I read: 
       3 Nephi 17:24
       "And as they looked to behold they cast their eyes toward heaven and they saw angels descending out of heaven as it were in the midst of fire; and they came down and encircled those little ones about, and they were encircled with fire; and the angels did minister unto them." 
       These words penetrated my being with a powerful force. It seemed as if that scripture had been written specifically for me at that time. The Spirit spoke this truth to my mind and to my heart--my baby wasn't alone, angels watched over his small, weak body.