A Great Reality

My heart is so full of so much tonight - I have to sort through it somehow.  Even though I'm so out of the habit.

I love Sundays.  I love cooking a big breakfast for Lucy and Spencer while we listen to Music and the Spoken Word together.  This morning we had french toast with strawberries and freshly whipped cream.  Those special breakfasts have become such a lovely way to start our Sabbath days, and when the {beloved} strains of God Be With You Till We Meet Again sound, Lucy and Spencer hurry without much prodding to get ready for church.  They need very little assistance these days.  I'm always delighted by Spencer's sober attempts at fastidiousness, although sometimes it's tricky to balance, "Wow! You look so handsome!" with "You really can't wear those shorts with your shirt, tie, and suit coat."  At least this morning Lucy helped out by re-combing the hair that he wouldn't let me touch because he had "already combed it!!" I guess sisters are more trust-worthy than moms.

Our darling friends Gracie and Rubie sat by us in Sacrament meeting, and during Sunday School, we studied Alma 32 which is full of verses that are saturated with personal experience for me.  This week, in fact, I've been thinking over and over about verse 35:

"O then, is not this real?"

This year has been tough, for reasons I can't really pinpoint.  There has just been more of a dreary edge to life than I'm accustomed to feeling.  In spite of so many blessings, I've felt weighed down by the many difficult "realities" of life. 

But there have been moments of great relief and learning as well.  One of those moments came last night.  As I prayed and read before bed, I felt buoyed up by the familiar, discernable influence of the Spirit.  And with the good feelings came the helpful reminder:  this is real.  This urgent joy, this quickened energy, this bright hope - these are tastes of true reality.  

At church we sang Sweet is the Peace the Gospel Brings, including verse six:

That which we have in part received

Will be in part no more

I'm grateful for even partial reception of truth and beauty and light.  But oh, what a blessing to anticipate fullness.  

The kids and I came home from church and ate cold cereal at the counter (which is every bit as traditional as our big breakfasts in the morning).  We talked about our church meetings and  discussed Galatians 5 over our respective bowels of Honeycomb and granola.  The fruits of the Spirit are:

love

joy

peace

longsuffering

gentleness

goodness

meekness

temperance

Those fruits are a reality.  And they offer real, discernible glimpses of what someday "will be in part no more."

On most Sundays, after cereal, we usually all read in various corners of the house until Spencer gets restless and starts bugging Lucy to death.  

I told him a few weeks ago that instead of all the poking and prodding and sound affects, he should just calmly approach one of us and say, "I can't handle the quietness of this house anymore and I'm ready for someone to pay attention to me."  

But I guess he forgot that line.  So today when his restlessness kicked into full force, I pulled myself away from A Severe Mercy and we built a city with Lincoln Logs and Magna-tiles until he was hungry.   He helped me slice a Spaghetti Squash and mince a clove of garlic while we listened to Elder Renlund's conference talk about the Savior, "That I Might Draw All Men Unto Me."

I love that talk.  

I love our Savior's willingness to to make our eternal reality a glorious one.   

A few neighbors stopped by while we were cooking -a cute family of a future preschooler.  We had a good conversation about PBS shows and Superman backpacks.  And I felt decidedly more excited for the school year then I have been all summer.  Four year old enthusiasm is contagious.  

After visiting and after dinner, I cleaned up and the kids played outside until Spencer requested that we watch The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  They had not ever seen it, although it had been a Christmas gift to Lucy two years ago, and a birthday gift two months ago (I just keep wrapping the same DVD in hopes...).  Lucy protested the suggestion as usual.  But I prodded more than usual.  "I really think you'll like it."  I said.  She gave me the typical argument about not wanting the movie's imagery to overthrow her own Narnia imaginings.  "I know," I said.  "And I won't make you watch,"  I promised.  But I kept nudging.  And she finally consented.  So I excitedly dug out our thick fur blankets for snuggling (seemed appropriate) and popped a ceremonial bowel of popcorn.   

Spencer was initially all enthusiasm, but he'd just been five when we read all the Narnia books, and he'd obviously forgotten most everything, because halfway through the movie, when Aslan gives himself up to the witch, he couldn't contain his dismay: "How can this have a happy ending?!?!" he demanded loudly.  

And oh, isn't that the question of all time.  How can this have a happy ending?

"Keep watching," I whispered, again and again, and in the end, he was satisfied.  

Completely.

"And what did you think?"  I asked Lucy.  But I didn't needed to ask.  Her shining eyes gave the answer away.  

It goes without saying that the book is better.   We'll certainly read it again.  And again.  Lucy's private imaginings of the story will remain strong.  Perhaps enhanced with a little more scale after watching the movie.  But I also hope that over time, she and Spencer will begin to see in these stories - these adventures and happy endings that they love - a great reality.  The vision will be faint.  Like seeing "through a glass, darkly."  But I hope they will have days, moments, like I have, when the Spirit whispers "of things as they really are, and of things as they really will be," times when, like Farsight the heroic Narnian eagle (whose name I'm appreciating for the first time tonight), they can realize, "we are only beginning to see..."