Thoughts on a Cold December Evening

My sisters and I had just finished singing a beautiful hymn that my brother arranged and the meeting had come to a close. As usual, we tried to duck quickly out of the chapel so we could avoid appearing eager for compliments by lingering. We also wanted to rush out because we were a little embarrassed about the way we sounded, since our practice before church had sounded much better.

Before we could escape through the doors, we saw a stranger approaching. The weathered man with silvery hair and soft, tearful eyes took a moment to grasp for composure before speaking with a tender voice full of emotion: “If the world could hear you sing, there would be no more wars”.

The conviction behind his words was more powerful than the words themselves. Our initial surprise quickly gave way to deep gratitude, and soon we were all fighting to control our own emotions as we sincerely thanked him and quietly left the chapel. He did not hear our imperfections or sense our disappointment in our performance. Instead, he had allowed the message of the music to touch his soul in a profound way.

Although this happened many years ago, I have looked back on the moment many times, especially as the world seems to grow increasingly calloused, irreverent and depressed. It is hard to keep pervasive negativity from seeping into our own hearts and homes, as I have experienced firsthand. However, there is so much beauty in the world as well, if we choose to look for it and refuse to let negative things have all of our attention.

Interestingly enough, it is during this time of year – when freezing wind chills the bones and the sun feels distant and cold – that I feel the most comfort and peace. People seem kinder and more aware of those around them as Christmas approaches, and colorful lights chase off the gloom of foggy nights. The crowning jewel of this season, though, is the music. Beautiful hymns and choral harmonies pay homage to the single individual who is intimately familiar with my pain and your sadness. It is during December that we truly take the time to think of Him and His sacrifice as we join in singing some of the most beautiful words ever written:

“Son of God, love’s pure light!”             “God is not dead, nor doth he sleep”

                                      “Christ, the Savior is born!”   

 “Peace on earth, good will to men"

                                             “Born is the king of Israel”             

“How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is giv’n!” 

                         “Let every heart prepare Him room”     

                                                                             “…take us to heaven to live with Thee there”     

  “O come, thou rod of Jesse, free thine own from Satan’s tyranny”

May we all keep our focus on Christ, even when times get hard. ESPECIALLY when times get hard. He didn’t suffer indescribable pain in the Garden of Gethsemane just to leave us on our own when the challenges of life threaten to overwhelm us. I imagine he is crying right along with us when our tears of sorrow, shame and disappointment fall. The One who has descended below it all knows exactly how to comfort us when no one else can.  

So, I am issuing a challenge to myself and to you this Christmas season and every day after: be like the receptive man in sacrament meeting and look for the moments that can change your heart if you let them. One of my favorite hymns says it most beautifully: 

"O ye beneath life’s crushing load,

Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;

Look now, for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing;

Oh rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing.

For lo! The days are hastening on

By prophets seen of old,

When with the ever-circling years

Shall come the time foretold,

When the new heaven and earth shall own

The Prince of Peace, their King,

And the whole world send back the song

Which now the angels sing."

 - It Came Upon the Midnight Clear

Merry Christmas!

My Brush With the Wave Pool of Death

Ah, the wave pool at Seven Peaks. What kid doesn’t get excited at the thought of being jostled around in manufactured waves while being pummeled by tubes, thrashing arms and other flailing body parts? 

Being the bright young teenager that I was, I assumed that I could just walk out into the middle of the crowded wave pool without a life jacket while the water was calm and simply jump effortlessly over the waves when they turned on. After all, I could swim a mean doggy paddle, so that should be enough to keep me afloat, right? 

Apparently there is a reason most teenagers aren’t given the opportunity to make life or death decisions. They are kind of bad at it.

I sauntered out to the middle of the wave pool, until the water started to get uncomfortably high, then I stopped and waited for the waves to come. At first it was thrilling and really fun. I jumped each time a wave approached me, and I seemed to float right on top of it. Then, the waves started to get bigger, and they began to go in conflicting directions. I found myself being knocked about by water swells that were less than gentle. Even worse, I started to get pummeled by the tubes of all the swimmers who were smart enough to take drown-prevention devices with them into the wave pool.

It didn’t take long for me to panic as I kept getting shoved beneath the waves by the inner tubes of smiling, oblivious people. I found it harder and harder to keep my head above water long enough to take in a frantic breath. Finally, in an act of pure desperation, I grabbed hold of two legs that were hanging over the side of an inner tube like dangling life preservers, and tried my best to scramble up them to safety. 

It is unfortunate that the frail old man who was sitting in that tube was very thin and lightweight. It is doubly unfortunate that at the time I grabbed onto his legs, he was already tilted slightly downward from a wave that was passing beneath him.

For a very brief moment, I looked into his startled eyes as he tilted up into the air and his tube flipped over – leaving him face-down in the water before he regained his composure and swam up through the middle. I think I may have tried to commandeer his tube out of sheer self-preservation, but failed. 

Thankfully, the waves slowly came to a stop and I was able to splutter and sob my way out of the wave pool. I never looked back at that old man, so I have no idea what his reaction was to my failed attempt at drowning him and taking over his tube. 

I haven’t been back in a wave pool since that day, and quite frankly, I’m curious to give it a try again. Maybe I’ll go this summer… with an inner tube, of course.