Angels

It was Thanksgiving weekend 2004. I decided instead that it was time to create memories. First on our list was to attend a live Nativity at the beautiful and majestic Tuachan Center in St. George Utah. As I combed through four heads of hair, found missing shoes and reminded everyone to grab their warmest coats I turned to my husband and said are you ready? His head was buried in a computer book trying to solve his latest mind blowing programming dilemma. He muttered something about putting shoes on and wandered to the car. We were half way there before I noticed that while the rest of our family was bundled from head to toe and ready for a blizzard, my husband was in nothing more than a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. “I’ll be fine he assured me,” as he leaned close into the dashboard so as to have the buttons on the dash illuminate the pages of his book. We arrived at the gates of the facility nestled snug at the base of Snows Canyon. There were thousands of lights to greet us and we drove through with “oohs” and “aahs” from the backseat. The kids danced with excitement at the thought of the evening ahead. They weren’t sure what to expect but they could tell from the large numbers surrounding us it had to be good. Front and center, the perfect spot to see the actors and smell the camels. Our oldest, Zach was the object of a fight between the two toddlers, both wanted desperately to sit on his lap and refused to share. Our littlest won out and he sat, gloating until the play started. With wide eyes the children watched as members of local wards portrayed Mary, Joseph, Shepherds, and wise men. Children around us bounced in their seats, kicked the backs of those in front of us and begged for tissue. “I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I have to go to the bathroom”. The memories we were creating were not the ones I had envisioned. My husband, on the end of the aisle was holding the diaper bag, the extra blanket and silently begging for someone to breathe on him to help him thaw from the brutal cold that had settled over the town. And while everyone else was watching the show his eyes were pointed upwards looking at the large ominous clouds that had just covered the outdoor amphitheater. And he shivered as he laughed while the clouds opened up and sent forth a beautiful winter shower.
Jacob, the baby, wiggled anxiously on his brother’s lap and finally, cold and frustrated he made his way to mine in hopes of finding something a bit more exciting two seats down Then, much to his relief, it happened. The angels entered. Set high upon a ledge and lit with glorious, bright flood lights, was an angel. The taped narrator spoke, declaring the words of the angel as he announced the birth of Jesus the Christ. Jacob sat completely still, his own angelic face in awe of the personage dressed in white. His eyes sparkled and he raised his little hands to point at the stage. With pure unrestrained joy he began to clap. It was as if he were saying, “Hello friends.” It was clear to me at this moment, just how thin the veil must be for him. How close he must be to our Father in Heaven, and just how wonderful heaven must be for it to incite such a reaction from the normally fidgety little boy. My eyes met those of my husbands who was watching his little boy with the same awe and wonder as me. It became apparent that the Spirit that filled our little family did more to warm my husband’s soul than any amount of bundling could have done. It was Christmas, time to celebrate the birth of our Lord, and despite the rain, and perhaps even because of it we will always have the precious Christmas memory of the live nativity and the angels – our friends.