Tag: Bryn

Lunching with Snaggly and His Wayward Cousin

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20151 Comment

Dear Will:

As I see it, my mother had better options. She could have passed along her cheerfully unselfish disposition, for example, or the perpetual sparkle in her eye. Or maybe she could have simply given me her ability to bake the best cinnamon rolls you’ve ever tasted. (Mmmm, cinnamon rolls.) These are traits I could use. But no. Instead she passed along the bald-guy gene that has distinguished (?) our family for generations. And then, as a signature design flourish, she threw in her snaggletooth for good measure.

For those of you who like to play hygienist in your off-hours, I refer specifically to my right central incisor, which, like the runt of the litter, finds itself behind my other teeth trying to push and shove its way into line. The problem is, there just isn’t room for li’l Snaggly, so mostly he just pushes and shoves, creating the kind of premolar disorder that has financed the boats of many an orthodontist and the college educations of his children. Jostled thus for decades, the adjacent lateral incisor now finds itself leaning out of formation as if looking up the road to see when the parade is going to arrive.

Oh, and the parade does come—at least three times a day typically. Oatmeal Squares and bananas. Potato chips and PBJs. Countless morsels of steak and green beans, with occasional chocolate chip cookies snuck in between. (Mmmm, chocolate chip cookies.) They all come parading past my tangled toothage to be processed for swallowing, much to the delight of cuspids and bicuspids alike.

Ah, but for li’l Snaggly and his increasingly wayward cousin. Say you’re sitting at In-N-Out, scrolling through email with your left hand while fisting down a burger with your right. You’re chewing happily because you were smart enough to ask Amanda to add grilled onions and pickle to your Double-Double. The molars are really going to town now while the fangs upfront are mostly just pumping up and down as if on the most disgusting merry-go-round ever. You’re in blissful reverie until you discover that Snaggly’s cousin has taken it upon himself to hook your lower lip and add it to your midday mélange.

Now no one would ever accuse me of being a vegetarian, but I’ve always felt that adding my own flesh to a meal is taking meat-eating to an inappropriate extreme. And having chomped down on myself, over and over, in the very same spot, for 30 or 40 years, I’m a bit of an expert on the subject. In fact, I’ve now built up so much scar tissue in that one area of my mouth that I’m pretty sure that when I walk I’m starting to list slightly to the right.

Which is not a declaration of my politics but an acknowledgment of the fact that who I am—in all my bald-headed, snaggletoothed glory—is at least in part a consequence of genetic inheritance. And while my future as a male supermodel may be somewhat in jeopardy, I look at my own children and conclude that my parents passed along plenty that was worth sharing. And that I married well. Especially the marriage part.

So here’s hoping that Luke and Bryn and Seth have inherited their mother’s thick, glorious mane and her impressively bright intellect; her effortless empathy and passion for justice; her internal drive and (of course) her impeccable teeth. Also, if one of them could please master the art of their grandmother’s cinnamon rolls—sooner rather than later—I would really appreciate it.

PW

God Knows I Could Use the Lift

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20152 Comments

Dear Will:

On January 9th I stood in the Lihue airport on the island of Kauai and said goodbye—again—to my daughter Bryn. As you may recall, Bryn lives in Wellington where she dances for the Royal New Zealand Ballet. When she first moved there around 14 months ago, we were a little bit frightened and more than a little bit nervous, but we shared with her the eager anticipation that comes with adventure. She was only 19 but about to take on an exotic new job in an exotic location. For all of its attendant anxiety, the whole thing was very exciting for all of us.

A year later, much of that excitement has passed. The mystery is mostly gone, the unanswered questions mostly answered. And so the job is just a job, and the location, though still exotic, seems (somehow) much farther away. Our farewell in Lihue felt different as a consequence. Instead of eager anticipation for that first communication from afar, we stood there wondering when we might see our daughter again. We all cried. I didn’t like it.

I thought at the time of our many friends who have stood by similar ropes at similar airport security lines, sending their children off into the great unknown as they embark on full-time missions for our church. Within the last several months we have seen seven members of the Santiago Creek Ward head out to serve: in Washington, Texas, North Carolina, Chile, Scotland, Croatia, and New Zealand. All seven have left behind anxious loved ones. And all have left eager to serve.

In return, the Church has sent to the Santiago Creek Ward four exceptional young people from around the United States: Sister Laulusa (Ohio), Sister Longhurst (Idaho), Elder Long (Tennessee), and Elder Parent (Michigan). They are bright lights who are full of faith and dedication. More to the point, they carry with them the Spirit of God—you can feel it in their presence. And because they have been commissioned of Christ, if you spend any time with them at all and get a chance to hear their uplifting message of hope, one of three things is likely to happen:

  1. You will feel an increased closeness to God.
  2. You will gain a greater sense of peace and happiness.
  3. You will gain an increased understanding of your purpose in life.

I realize those are bold promises, but I do not make them casually or without basis. I’ve been around these young people, and I know. Which is why I suggest that if you are interested in any of the things I listed above, you should invite them into your home some time. It doesn’t have to be anything formal. Maybe you could just have them over for dinner or something and spend a few minutes getting to know them. Imagine drawing closer to God and receiving a greater sense of peace and happiness in exchange for a ham sandwich and cup of milk. That’s not a bad deal.

Just the other day, in fact, I was sitting at the office when a familiar song by Simon and Garfunkel came onto my computer’s music feed. It’s a song my daughter and I have sung often (and poorly) while sitting side-by-side at the family piano. The melody disrupted my concentration, and a great sense of melancholy settled over me as I thought about my girl and how long it might be before we’ll be seated side-by-side again. And while Sister Longhurst and Sister Laulusa may be poor surrogates for my own 20-year-old girl, that song seemed as good an excuse as any to invite them over—and soon. It would bless my family. And God knows I could use the lift.

PW

The Most Desirable Thing

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20141 Comment

Dear Will:

We have in our home over 20 different nativity displays, ranging from an ornate, elaborate set of figures that covers an entire table to one crèche so small it can fit in your hand, so simple that it is nothing more than a tiny, nest-like manger adorned with a little yellow star. It’s gotten to the point that we no longer have space sufficient to display them all at one time, and yet we continue to add to our collection.

Now you might reasonably ask: “Watkins, why this jubilee?” But if you sat in our living room and saw this collection from various nations around the world, I think you’d start to understand. In fact, if you’ve attended the Orange Stake’s Community Christmas Celebration and enjoyed its annual array of stables and wise men and angels of all varieties, you might not even ask the question.

Still, it’s interesting to note that of all the noteworthy events in the life of the Savior of mankind, it is His birth that gets especial focus and attention. We do not typically build displays of the marriage in Cana or of the Sermon on the Mount. We don’t make figurines depicting the healing of the lepers or the transfiguration or the triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Even on Easter we do not, as a rule, assemble a living room tableau representing His rising from the tomb on the third day. And yet all around the world, the crèche has come to be an essential focal point of faith and celebration. Why is that?

I think we start to find the answer to that question in a story from the Book of Mormon. Lehi, a man of some renown in the city of Jerusalem, was, by his own admission, a “visionary man.” One night he dreamed a dream, allegorical by nature and profound in its implications. It depicted the journey of his family and countless others as they made their way uncertainly along a path, some finding their way to destruction and others to profound happiness at the foot of a marvelous tree. So moved was he by the vision and what it seemed to suggest about the future of his children in particular, that he shared it with his family with great emotion and concern.

One of his four sons at the time, Nephi by name, was profoundly affected by Lehi’s account and wanted to see the vision for himself. Now the record does not tell us what steps Nephi had to take to obtain that blessing, but we can assume that his quest included a fair amount of fasting and prayer coupled with private devotion and purification. Eventually, Nephi was granted the desires of his heart.

The vision did not unfold to Nephi in the same way it had to his father. I read now from Nephi’s own account in the 11th chapter of 1 Nephi:

8 And it came to pass that the Spirit said unto me: Look! And I looked and beheld a tree; and it was like unto the tree which my father had seen; and the beauty thereof was far beyond, yea, exceeding of all beauty; and the whiteness thereof did exceed the whiteness of the driven snow.

9 And it came to pass after I had seen the tree, I said unto the Spirit: I behold thou hast shown unto me the tree which is precious above all.

10 And he said unto me: What desirest thou?

11 And I said unto him: To know the interpretation thereof. . . .

Now this is key. The question is, how best to explain the meaning of that tree to Nephi. The Spirit could have merely told Nephi the answer to his question, but it’s clear that words alone could not convey what the tree represented. So instead, Nephi received another vision to help him understand what this precious tree was meant to depict, and an angel was sent to help him piece it all together. Nephi continues:

13 . . . I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white.

14 And it came to pass that I saw the heavens open; and an angel came down and stood before me; and he said unto me: Nephi, what beholdest thou?

15 And I said unto him: A virgin, most beautiful and fair above all other virgins. . . .

18 And he said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh.

19 And it came to pass that I beheld that she was carried away in the Spirit; and after she had been carried away in the Spirit for the space of a time the angel spake unto me, saying: Look!

20 And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms.

21 And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father!  . . .

Now remember, this vision of Mary and the baby Jesus is the answer to Nephi’s question about the meaning of the tree. So to be sure he understood, the angel then repeated Nephi’s original question:

21 . . .Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?

22 And I answered him, saying: Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.

The implication is this: If you want someone to understand what the love of God is, perhaps the best way to do that is to show them the Virgin Mother with the Christ child in her arms.

Think for a moment of that scene, which you yourself have seen depicted hundreds of times before—in film, in tabletop display, and in any number of live reenactments from ward Christmas parties to private family programs with the children arrayed in bathrobes and bedsheets. What is it about this scene—this mother and baby in particular—that so effectively and so profoundly evokes the love of God?

Surely it begins with the ineffable bond between mother and child. Although we might struggle to conceive of God in all His glory, and although our mortal limitations may make it hard for us to imagine the depth and breadth of the love He has for His children, we do catch a glimmer of that love when a mother brings a newborn into this world. That direct partnership with God may in fact be the closest any of us can come to seeing the face of God in this life—so surely the emotions stirred by birth help us to feel things we can feel in no other way. Certainly maternity and eternity are very closely linked. The love of God is revealed thereby.

More than that, even, the Nativity represents what the angel referred to as “the condescension of God”—His coming down to us, disregarding His superior station to be with us. In the words of Isaiah: “Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel” (Isaiah 7:14)—which, we’re told, can be interpreted as “God with us.”

I’m reminded of an experience from the Christmas of 1996, when Bryn was a busy two-year-old discovering the wonders of the holiday. One of our many nativity displays is a fabric-and-velcro advent calendar, with a separate pocket for each of the 25 days leading up to Christmas. Each day the kids remove an item from a pouch, and as the month progresses the figures start to accumulate: star and stable animals, shepherds and wise men. The baby Jesus, of course, is always found in  number 25, and He makes His appearance on Christmas morning.

Except in 1996. That year Baby Jesus kept disappearing from his assigned pocket only to reappear elsewhere in the house, tucked side-by-side in a manger with another Baby Jesus in another of our many crèches. Suspecting we knew who the culprit was, we asked Bryn for an explanation. It was simple. She said: “He wanted to be with his fwiend.”

That is, in essence, what is meant by the condescension of God. He wanted to be with His friends. In that sense, the love of God represented by the Nativity extends far beyond that single night in Bethlehem. As the prophet Alma foretold, the birth of Jesus was precursor to a life with singular purpose, a life dedicated to the mortal experience that would enable Him, throughout the eternities, to understand what each of us, in our own individual way, might go through during our own earthly sojourn. Said Alma:

10 And behold, he shall be born of Mary, at Jerusalem which is the land of our forefathers, she being a virgin, a precious and chosen vessel, who shall be overshadowed and conceive by the power of the Holy Ghost, and bring forth a son, yea, even the Son of God.

11 And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

12 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities. (Alma 7:10 – 12)

Jesus Christ, the only begotten son of the Living God, came to earth to experience firsthand the full scope of life’s challenges so that He might know how succor us as we confront those challenges: pains, afflictions, temptations, sicknesses, infirmities—of every kind. Yours and mine. What you have suffered prior to this day and what you’re suffering right now. The hurts and offenses, the disappointments and heartaches. He knows them all.

And beyond that: The culmination of His earthly travail was His sacred death—endured and ultimately embraced simply because He loves us. Said He: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13) As we consider, therefore, the love of God represented by the mother and child, let’s also remember what Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has stated: “It is the life at the other end of the manger scene that gives this moment of nativity its ultimate meaning” (Shepherds Why This Jubilee?, p. 57)

There is one final way in which that night in Bethlehem teaches us of the love of God. The gathering portrayed in a typical nativity display, with shepherds and wise men and angels encircling the bed of straw as mother and father hover near, captures also the love of God flowing in the opposite direction—the love FOR God, in other words. It is as if all have congregated around a warming fire, to absorb and reflect the love that is radiating therefrom.

We likewise gather, don’t we? To feel and express that love, to have our hearts touched and softened and then to give back what has been given to us. That is the true revelation, the true impact of the birth of Christ. The love of God it represents causes us also to love like Him.  Elder John H. Groberg once said: “When filled with God’s love, we can do and see and understand things that we could not otherwise do or see or understand. Filled with His love, we can endure pain, quell fear, forgive freely, avoid contention, renew strength, and bless and help others in ways surprising even to us.” (John H. Groberg, “The Power of God’s Love,” Ensign, Nov. 2004.)

May I close with the words of Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson, YW General President, from a talk she gave just a couple of weeks ago during the First Presidency Christmas Devotional:

“As we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ this season, let us also celebrate all that His birth symbolizes, especially the love. When we see shepherds, may we remember to be humble. When we see wise men, may we remember to be generous. When we see the star, may we remember the Light of Christ, which gives life and light to all things. When we see a tiny baby, may we remember to love unconditionally, with tenderness and compassion. May we open the doors of our hearts and reach out to those around us who are lonely, forgotten, or poor in spirit. As we contemplate the example and infinite sacrifice of the Savior, may we also consider how we can be more Christlike in our associations with family and friends, not just during this season but throughout the year.” (“Christmas Is Christlike Love,” First Presidency Christmas Devotional, Dec. 2014)

More than at any other time, during the Christmas season the love of God sheds itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men. It is, indeed, the most desirable above all things. May we be filled with that love and radiate it to all around us.

PW