When I started this blog, I got a phone call from my aunt with a suggestion for a blog topic. I've shuffled it away because it's been one that I've thought needed good timing- and I think today's the day.
Until last December, there was a tabernacle that stood on the corner of First South and University Avenue, here in Provo. Immaculate, antique- Provo's historical and, aside from the temple, probably spiritual gem. December 17th saw a devastating structural fire, started in the roof structure, which eventually led to a roof collapse and the subsequent destruction of everything except the building's four towers and four outer walls.
The tabernacle spent the Christmas of 2010 and this greater part of 2011 an empty skeleton- kindof a heartsore to passersby, until President Monson drew an audible gasp during the 2011 October General Conference with the announcement that Provo, Utah was to house a second temple- the first city ever to have two temples, the second to be built on the tabernacle grounds.
So the point of Shelly's phone call was to suggest some symbolism in the tabernacle-turned-temple; to suggest that, indeed, what does not kill us makes us stronger. In the case of the tabernacle, that age-old adage of the refiner's fire was literal; old, majestic, prized, the building was good. But now, it is to be made a temple- now, after it has endured a blaze which knocked it down to it's most humble four walls- it can become something it never could before.
The same with us.
My writing professor talked a lot today about perfection; about how perfection isn't really useful. It's not. Perfection is an endpoint. If it were possible to reach it, we'd reach it and then what meaning would we have? What good could we do? Yes, Christ did a lot of good and he was perfect- but I think it's the fact that he is the only perfect being in human existence that makes his perfection meaningful.
If we were all that way, we wouldn't have anything to offer each other.
Which leads me into a branch of side-thought.
Today, an early birthday present came for me in the mail- and for those of you that know me well, you'll know how perfect it was for me. It was a typewriter, sent here from Virginia.
I opened it up, with the help of my home teachers, Derek and Seth, who were about as ready to jump out of their shoes over it as I was. And then, when I opened it, I noticed a sizeable crack in the keyboard that wasn't there when it was revealed to me the first time over Thanksgiving break.
You can't see the break well, I suppose, because of my camera's flash; it runs right up into that corner. It was a little tiny bit really sad...and to say that Ev was upset about it was an understatement.
I'm almost positive that it's fixable, and there's a repair shop right here in Provo, and so maybe that's giving me some extra optimism--but here, again, I think there's some room to think about this in another light.
As it sat on my bed, unopened, in it's case, it was a neat birthday gift from a friend who means a lot to me. But with the crack, it's somehow a little bit more than that. I'll get it fixed, and I'll write letters on it, but eventually, it's bright shiny new-ness will fade. But should I decide to open up that case someday, years from now- I think I'll see that crack and I'll remember a lot of things that I might not otherwise.
Our trials build our strengths; our imperfections build our stories.
