I remember watching and loving Fiddler on the Roof as a young girl. It is such a magical story, a microcosm for the drama played out in any family in any age: relationships, traditions, hardship, joy, pain, hopes for the future, change, resolution, uncertainty, plans, and new beginnings.
Now I resonate with the film on another level; I have a whole new appreciation for the quirky, good-intentioned matchmaker Yente. Why, you ask? Because my life has been forever changed by my modern-day Yente, for my matchmaker who had the ingenuity, insight, and inspiration to bring Dallin and I together.
It is truly miraculous to me to think that this drama has been playing out since about 2002. The careful coordination of people and places and things is marvelous to consider. Who would have thought that through a college roommate and my connection to her family, I would eventually find my eternal companion?
I never dreamed that I would move to Georgia after school, but geography had much to do with this happy ending. I never dreamed that I could be smitten after one weekend, but the chemistry of an amazing smile and fantastic fiddling worked wonders on me. I never dreamed we could see each other again just two weeks after our intial meeting, but the stars aligned and astronomy was our friend. I never dreamed that a romance could be played out over the internet, but enter technology and believe the unbelieveable. I never dreamed that saying yes could feel so right, so peaceful, but embrace faith in Jesus Christ and it does.
Heaven be thanked for my modern-day matchmaker. And for sweet answers to prayers, and tender mercies, and for the culmination of all that I had hoped for in one tall and handsome Kermity package. How can I ever show sufficient gratitude to my Father in Heaven for helping me find my matchless match?
For your viewing pleasure, "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" from Fiddler on the Roof:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59Hj7bp38f8
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Not Forgotten
Over my holiday break, Dallin and I visited BYU campus and while we were perusing the children's section of the main library, we found this quote: "If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing" --Benjamin Franklin.
I have been thinking about the meaning of that in my life and in the lives of those that I love. I have been thinking of what that meant for my grandpa, who passed away the day before Thanksgiving 2009.
Ten years ago today (Monday 17 January 2000) I went with my dad and several siblings up to Boise to visit my grandpa. As we gathered around him in his simply furnished living room to listen to his stories, I discretely held a little hand-held tape recorder to capture some of his life vignettes. The stories he shared were later transcribed and distributed amongst our extended family.
I offer just one small snippet from the life of a man who did many things worth writing. Gratefully, some of his little moments have been recorded and remembered.
In his own words, he shared this experience at Marine Corp boot camp in San Diego during World War II:
"We were lined up...[and the officers] would come and inspect your rifle and you would have to bring it up with real precision-like movement and snap [it] back...They delighted in grabbing it when you had it up for each shoot for them to inspect it...We would sleep with [our rifles] every night for as long as we were there because your rifle was your best friend. The [officer] came up in front of me. I thought I had done it real good, brought it up...to the manual of arms...He didn't take the rifle, he [just] looked down and he could see my heart beating right through my green tunic. He said, 'What the hell is wrong with you? You are going to have a heart attack.' Of course I couldn't argue with him. Then he said something I wasn't expecting at all. He said, 'Are you a Mormon?' And we called him sir, and I said, 'Yes, sir.' And he said, 'Be proud. Right over here across the bay they have made a monument for the Mormon Battalion.' This guy...told all the rest of them while talking to me, 'Be proud. Be proud you are a Mormon.' I guess the reason he said that was because about a month before that the Marine Corp wanted a public relations thing. They wanted to recruit a modern Mormon Battalion. They put out the word that they wanted 500 Mormon boys who would qualify to be Marines. He said, 'Those 500 who came through the San Diego training camp were the best ones that we ever had come through here. That's why you should be proud that you are a Mormon.' Then he let out a kind of an oath (a dirty word), he said, 'By damn, don't you ruin their reputation.'
The members of the original Mormon Batallion made the longest infantry march in the history of American warfare, as requested by the United States government, and have been memorialized for their tenacity. My grandpa served in quieter ways for his country, in his family, and in the church. To the very end of his days he took care of his yard and grew a garden. Never once did he forget my birthday. He often sent notes of encouragement or CDs of music he thought I might like. He was ever the champion of my efforts to make something of my life. He always encouraged my clarinet playing. He made it a point to attend every marriage sealing of his grandchildren. He helped instill in my dad a good work ethic and a love for the earth and living things. My grandma was confined to a wheelchair for the last eighteen years of her life and he singlehandedly attended to her every need until her passing. He is remembered for a life full of worth, a life worth writing.
I have been thinking about the meaning of that in my life and in the lives of those that I love. I have been thinking of what that meant for my grandpa, who passed away the day before Thanksgiving 2009.Ten years ago today (Monday 17 January 2000) I went with my dad and several siblings up to Boise to visit my grandpa. As we gathered around him in his simply furnished living room to listen to his stories, I discretely held a little hand-held tape recorder to capture some of his life vignettes. The stories he shared were later transcribed and distributed amongst our extended family.
I offer just one small snippet from the life of a man who did many things worth writing. Gratefully, some of his little moments have been recorded and remembered.
In his own words, he shared this experience at Marine Corp boot camp in San Diego during World War II:
"We were lined up...[and the officers] would come and inspect your rifle and you would have to bring it up with real precision-like movement and snap [it] back...They delighted in grabbing it when you had it up for each shoot for them to inspect it...We would sleep with [our rifles] every night for as long as we were there because your rifle was your best friend. The [officer] came up in front of me. I thought I had done it real good, brought it up...to the manual of arms...He didn't take the rifle, he [just] looked down and he could see my heart beating right through my green tunic. He said, 'What the hell is wrong with you? You are going to have a heart attack.' Of course I couldn't argue with him. Then he said something I wasn't expecting at all. He said, 'Are you a Mormon?' And we called him sir, and I said, 'Yes, sir.' And he said, 'Be proud. Right over here across the bay they have made a monument for the Mormon Battalion.' This guy...told all the rest of them while talking to me, 'Be proud. Be proud you are a Mormon.' I guess the reason he said that was because about a month before that the Marine Corp wanted a public relations thing. They wanted to recruit a modern Mormon Battalion. They put out the word that they wanted 500 Mormon boys who would qualify to be Marines. He said, 'Those 500 who came through the San Diego training camp were the best ones that we ever had come through here. That's why you should be proud that you are a Mormon.' Then he let out a kind of an oath (a dirty word), he said, 'By damn, don't you ruin their reputation.'
The members of the original Mormon Batallion made the longest infantry march in the history of American warfare, as requested by the United States government, and have been memorialized for their tenacity. My grandpa served in quieter ways for his country, in his family, and in the church. To the very end of his days he took care of his yard and grew a garden. Never once did he forget my birthday. He often sent notes of encouragement or CDs of music he thought I might like. He was ever the champion of my efforts to make something of my life. He always encouraged my clarinet playing. He made it a point to attend every marriage sealing of his grandchildren. He helped instill in my dad a good work ethic and a love for the earth and living things. My grandma was confined to a wheelchair for the last eighteen years of her life and he singlehandedly attended to her every need until her passing. He is remembered for a life full of worth, a life worth writing.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Conversation with a lady
This morning when I woke up, I found a ladybug on the lampshade in my bedroom; a curious specimen to find alive and kicking in January. I was immediately inquisitive:"Where did you come from?"
"Why are you here?"
"Where are you going?"
(no reponse.)
Perhaps, thought I, she was on her way to visit her Aunt Amelia in the neighboring mulch pile and she went left instead of right and ended up very lost on a lampshade? Poor thing, no one likes to be lost.
Or perchance she is just an adventurous spirit? Dissatisfied with the same old blade of dormant grass and the underside of the senescing oak leaf, she packed her bags and bid her apprehensive parents adieu? Little lady, welcome to a whole new world!
Maybe she is merely opportunistic and heard of warm, well-lit rooms and unoccupied lamp shades for sunbathing.
Or is this little lady lonely? In search of true love on a lamp shade? May I speak from experience my spotted friend, love can find you in the most interesting places.
I know! She is an insomniac without the hibernation gene and has gone a wandering to keep from being bored to tears while her 87 brothers and sisters sleep. I don't speak ladybug, little one, but can I admire your spots and watch you walk and offer you my lampshade for as long as you care to stay?
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