Tabernacle Hill

Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. -1 Corinthians 2:9

a b s t r a c t

I smashed a penny and enjoyed a show at Chicago’s famed Adler Planetarium a few years ago. Bonus: there was a kids’ cafeteria selling chocolate pudding and Cool Whip parfaits next to the gift shop. It was a perfectly pleasant two hours.

Under the dome I slid down wormholes, warped through black holes, and learned something so random I had to pull a map out of my purse and scribble chicken scratches in the darkness just so I wouldn’t forget it. The term was STAR WOBBLE.

[kid definition] STAR WOBBLE is what happens when a planet orbits a star. The orbit causes the star to wobble back and forth ever so slightly.

[big shot adult definition] STAR WOBBLE is a spectrum of movement captured by telescopes that indirectly identifies extrasolar planets. A wobbly star means something is there; the star is not alone. Planets pull on the star and move it back and forth as little as one meter per second creating a “wobble.”

Scientists can look at the glitter in the heavens millions of miles away and separate lone stars from magnetic suns by a miniscule meter’s worth of movement. It would be like standing in California and looking at a strand of human hair in New York and being able to tell if it moved 1/16th of a millimeter. Technology is insane. Scientists are lucky.

“Hi, honey. How was your day?”

“Stellar. I discovered some star wobble and therefore got to name a few planets, one of which is after you! (kiss/love spank) And I found a great pho place on 8th Street.”

c h r o n i c l e

For so long our life, meaning mine and Greg’s, was like watching paint dry. Nothing changed despite our best efforts. We were faithful and patient but also took everything we could into our own hands. And nada. There was never a change except RE grew taller. We would have moved just to mix things up but we were tied to a promise we’d received numerous times...a promise we would bring children (emphasis on the "ren") into our home. The semantics mattered; we knew it was the home on 680 West. We were not moving until we had two kids.

It took 12 years to become pregnant with Archer. Mere weeks after his scientific conception the lot of our dreams appeared. We purchased it two months before his due date knowing he would still be carried over the threshold of 680 West in swaddling clothes. The timing was right; we had kept our end of the bargain.

Lot loans are good for three years so we would have to move by 2017. It seemed an eternity away but just knowing our dream would be reality made the present reality dreamy. I was happy at home and excited for a (someday) new home all while holding my long-awaited babe. RE was at her own maximum teenaged happiness because she was old enough to bike to The Meadows. She spent most of her summer on bike adventures with her hated helmet (“the accessory to freedom”) and holey pockets, happy to lose every cent she owned for the cause of freedom. Many nights she would bike to Walmart, to buy me an onion or whatever I was missing for dinner, and return home with a bonus triple fudge SmartCookie. Life was fruitful and gaining momentum.

The momentum got scary once we paid for the architect, engineers, soil testers, space planner, and bond. This was really happening, which meant my bulging cornucopia of 680 West fruit was going to be a distant memory before I knew it. That’s when I got weepy and clingy for my current good life and began to wonder if I was trading pure happiness for a dining room and basement. I didn't want to be a driveway, a corner, or a Sunday away from anyone I loved. I didn’t want to move anymore.

Luck was on my side because we couldn’t find a builder. Everyone was building and no builders had time to talk to us. Wonderful. Worked for me. When we finally met with a builder I almost threw up on the drive home. He was not the right one.

I painted my bookcases (projects = coping mechanism) and tried to throw away anything from Greg’s tower of papers. At the bottom of his 4” pile I found a scrap of paper with a name and a phone number written in shaky handwriting. Odd. My sister-in-law from Colorado Springs had just texted me the same name the night before because her friend said he was an awesome builder. I asked Greg where he got the paper. He said our chiropractor recommended him several months back.

We met with the doubly-recommended builder and it didn’t hurt he had hair and cufflinks like my dad. Before we even talked about our house we were discussing the best part of the temple: the sealing of adopted children to their families. To lower the budget we opted to only finish half of the basement: two bedrooms and a bath. How many children do you have? Two, 14 and 1. Oh, wow. Would there be a need for more bedrooms? We doubt it. It's a long story but this is it unless there is divine intervention. Handshakes, warm fuzzies, rolled up and rubber banded plans. We left that meeting and I did NOT throw up. I felt good. Really good. Uncharacteristically good for being the least risk-taking human alive with roots poking as deep as Earth’s inner core.

The next day I found out I was pregnant. My studio-off-the-master instantly got repurposed as a nursery. It was an awesome swap since I put a sink in the studio. Now I will be able to mix bottles and wash my hands after diaper changes with baby in sight. There will be a later season for cutting and gluing in solitude.

c a l c u l a t i o n

Timing is a funny thing. My life’s manner of unfolding has been twofold: stifling or screaming. This summer’s forecast prediction is SHOWDOWN. A lot of moving pieces, moving boxes, and moving bodies. So much movement. Greg and I look at our new sky in disbelief as we realize every star is wobbling. We’ve got planets we didn’t know about, orbits we didn’t plan on taking, and tugs and pulls we’re hoping to withstand while remaining centered. Our sky that was black and blue and bleak for years is shaking, spinning, sparkling. I’m not sure how it all happened.

Greg taught me something neat about the way life’s cookie crumbles from a book* he just read. (Greg reading is a relatively new thing. Well, reading non-business books I care to hear about. He actually read more books than I did last year. Go, Gregger!) The author points out two different apostles were imprisoned in Acts 12. James was beheaded but Peter shook off his shackles and walked out of prison’s front door with an angel leading the way. Both had to have been equally loved, appreciated, prayed for, and looked upon. Both were in identical situations. But one got the sword and the other got the angel. The point of the book is to accept we don’t always know why we get the sword versus the angel but to accept they happen to the best of us. Angels don’t signify you are more beloved; swords don't manifest holy punishment. The author’s opinion is James may have even been the blessed one as he quickly returned to his Lord; Peter still had massive leadership responsibilities and an ultimate martyrdom awaiting his angelic escape. This scriptural illustration triggered a memory of a quote I copied so many years ago:

SUFFERING IS NOT ALWAYS SADNESS, FORTUNE IS NOT ALWAYS JOY

I feel like our married life came in reverse order. We got a huge chunk of free years with plenty of money, travel, sleep, leisure, and wiggle room. Here come the kids, Now and Later, and we're battening down the hatches hoping to survive years of patience, schedules, sippy cups, sacrifice, and rigor. And no less than four additional science projects. Curse those infernal posters of doom! I had my fair share of pouty spurts in the free years but wholeheartedly feel we didn’t waste our dark decade being dark. I’m glad we lived it up when we could. Although I feel like we’re living it up now. Just always live it up. Or, at the very minimum, live and look up.

I don’t know why my sky was swords for a decade and why it’s swarming with angels now. I do know I learned who the Savior was from the sword and it changed my eyes and gave them the capacity to behold wobbles and latecomer angels. Swords and angels have given me experience; they have worked together for my good.

*What the Scriptures Teach Us about Adversity, S. Michael Wilcox, 2010.

“Tabernacle Hill”, Cristall Harper. Gifted to me in 2001 and used with permission. Tabernacle Hill is a spot down south (near Meadow, Utah) advertising craters and lava tubes but is clearly one of the drabbest places I’ve seen by day. Is it ironic this ugly place looks amazing in the dark? Oh, life metaphors, just keep on coming.

[definition] TABERNACLE: a place of worship, a portable sanctuary, a temporary shelter, the human body (for housing the soul)

"I do not know why some people learn the lessons of eternity through trial and suffering-while others learn similar lessons through rescue and healing. I do not know all of the reasons, all of the purposes, and I do not know everything about the Lord's timing. With Nephi, you and I can say that we 'do not know the meaning of all things' (1 Nephi 11:17)." -Elder David A. Bednar, "That We Might 'Not Shrink'", CES devotional delivered at the University of Texas at Arlington on March 3, 2013.