My mother, who was a wonderful woman and (perhaps I should say, “thus”) different than I am in many ways, faithfully wrote small accounts of the family’s activities to her mother in law every week. One day, my grandmother wrote back to say, “Thanks for the letters, but I don’t really want to hear any more about that church of yours.” Which left my mother very little to write about. Our life was pretty saturated with the whys and the hows, perspectives, motivations, logistics, social interactions and joys of our belief. So my grandmother missed our heart, preferring, I guess, the more comfortable level of simple civility.
I don’t write much specifically about religion here. But to my mind, if you aren’t picking it up by osmosis, then I’m not living it correctly. What I have been writing about lately is the odd sadness of parental success – how hard it is to have your best friends eventually peel off on their own lives, lives you often will only experience peripherally. I have, in short, been whining a lot. But as you are my buddies, you who are drawn back again by more than felt hearts and knitted ponies, I have presumed on your sympathy and thrived on your comfort. I say thank you, thank you, profound thanks.
And now I am going to tell you about the wedding. This is the serious part. I will write about the fun and silly parts later. Today, I am still basking in the solemn joy, and I want to write it down while it still rests behind my eyes.
In the way of the LDS, my Murphy married his Laura in a temple. I wanted to explain a little about this – so I have gathered some pictures and links if you want them. And here is the story of our day –
We were scheduled into the temple at about ten twenty in the morning, and so the two lovebirds and their escorts (dad for Murphy, Laura’s mom for her) had to be there about an hour and a half earlier to prepare. Which was great. It was also great because Murphy needed to drive his own car up to the city (he had chosen the Temple in Salt Lake) – so they could get around after dumping the rest of us – and that left Chaz and Chelsea and me driving on our own. The plan was to park the kids’ car in the underground parking of their hotel, thus foiling all attempts to deface the thing – and I was to follow them there, pick up M and Guy, and tote them the rest of the way to the temple.
Waiting outside the temple after the sealing. Bride and Groom coming soon.
The two proud fathers.
Here was the secret – oh, SHOOT. I just realized I never took a picture of the basket. Why didn’t I do that? Chaz and I found this swell big basket and we filled it with cool stuff – cookies and crackers (gluten free for Murphy and gluten filled for Laura), summer sausage, peanut butter and a jar of grape jelly, French cheese, flavored cream cheeses, root beer, several flameless candles, a couple of fun books – and stuffed it all inside a cool cellophane bag with a big hand-made bow on it.
Murphy’s best bosom buddies.
Rachel and Lynn talking about – something.
My brother Mike. Gin with phone. Kris in pain. Chelsea, politely not noticing.
We wanted to sneak this gargantuan thing into the hotel – so the two car thing was a boon. We lied and shied and cheated and actually hauled the goods in to the bellhop and I am convinced we didn’t get seen (I’ll know the truth years from now; your kids are always telling you things you didn’t know about – only years after they happened.)
The gorgeous Aunt Gigi.
Another beautiful set of girls – Chaz, Lorri.
We dropped the boys off and went to the Lion House, where we were having the luncheon for the family after, dropping off the favors and treats for the guests. And the hard, sneaking, surprising part was over.
Aunt Leslie Uncle Q
The temples are some of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. I’ve been through European palaces and wonderful contemporary structures – museums and hotels – but the LDS temples are so still. Quiet in their elegance. Calm. Filled with love and service. A lot of things happen in these places – so there are lots of halls and offices and rooms – but there is always someone quietly sitting or standing near, so that you can never get lost or confused. They’re like angels, the people who serve in the temples. Not that you can’t find a grumpy one sometimes. Especially if you forget you’re supposed to speak in low, whispery, civilized tones.
This wasn’t our sealing room, but they’re all set up basically the same way. link
The wedding party is escorted first to a lovely waiting room, where you exchange your street shoes for white socky-things and wait impatiently for all the guests that are late to finally come. Then into the sealing room, where the marriage ordinance will be done. These rooms – gorgeous. Every little detail in the temple is symbolic of love, of Christ, of the glory of creation – fruits and flowers decorating the walls. And light – the chandeliers are magnificent, meant to remind us of the light of truth and eternity and joy. And in each sealing room, two facing walls are hung with gigantic mirrors; when you stand directly between them, you see ever-receding images of yourselves – and are reminded that, looking behind you – there were generations of souls, parents of parents, who – in living their lives – give you the gift of your own. And in front of you stretch out the generations that will come, your own family, and theirs, and their children’s children’s till the end of time.
Wait – I think this might have been our very room. Taken from this article that has TONS of pictures of the inside of the Salt Lake Temple. And this was a sweet article about another woman’s experience with her own children’s wedding and the significance of small things.
The wedding party sits in the beautiful chairs lined up under the windows, facing an altar. The altars are covered with hand crocheted lace – some of it very, very old. And the guests wait for the couple and their sealer (the officiator) to arrive.
Once they enter the room, the wedding itself is very simple. The couple kneel opposite each other at the altar. The words of commitment, of eternal love, are spoken – their promises to each other and to God are made – and instead of being married “till death do you part,” they are married and bound together by solemn authority for all eternity. And they kiss each other for the first time as husband and wife right there, across their clasped hands. The room fills with satisfied sighs.
Then everyone very quietly stands and, one by one, hugs the kids and leaves the room, to go outside and wait for the bride to come out in all her magnificent wedding clothes so that endless pictures can be taken, and far more hearty noise can be made.
Here, a desperate dependence on technology. SOMEBODY forgot the luncheon seating layout. So these women are using my phone to call up the email I sent myself with the layout in it. A family affair.
It is a deep thing for an LDS person to make the kind of commitments to integrity, service and honor that allow them access to the temple and its blessings and promises.
When I sat beside my son in that beautiful place, facing my husband who, with his counterpart father sat on either sides of the sealer across the room from us – I looked on faces of people I love so much, I could simply dissolve and become part of them. Our own siblings, dear friends, cousins – and all four of my children, whose faith, honesty and goodness (do not read “perfection”) I have so much reason to respect – were in that solemn and holy place with me. And I was grateful to them for giving me the gift of depth, for making my life meaningful, for making of themselves something I can finally lay on the alter of my heart as a gratitude offering to my Heavenly Father. I owe him so much more than just this life.
They finally come out.
I am so sorry that more people in the world don’t hang on to the ancient truth of marriage. But I am so refreshed and energized by the people I know who engage in it and work their hearts to the bone to make it good. Marriage, friendship, human love – what gifts. What gifts.
My son sees me.
Two families, now bound together.
The party stuff yet to come.
