Two Hymns

 I’m on a Fredrik Backman kick. I was listening to Us Against You, the second book of the Beartown trilogy. A husband and wife lost an infant son years before. The father remarks that the feeling never goes away, but somehow you just keep living. It gave me a twinge of guilt: am I enjoying my life too much, leaving grief in the past?

I let the query pass.

In sacrament meeting the following Sunday, it was announced: we would sing “O Savior Thou Who Wearest a Crown of Piercing Thorn” to the tune of “If You Could Hie to Kolob.”

I rarely can choose a favorite: my favorite fruit is either the one in front of me or the one I’ve  not had for the longest: blueberry, peach, rhubarb, cranberry, cherry, the list goes on and on. Food, movies, books are much the same. I love things passionately but can’t elevate one above all others.

However, I realized as I heard this announcement that these were my two absolute favorite LDS hymns. The haunting harmonies pierce my soul.

Realizing that I knew the harmonies of Kolob by heart, I turned to “O Savior” and started to sing. Within two words tears were forming in my eyes. After another line I couldn’t see the page for tears. I tried to mouth the words, but couldn't manage. I dropped the hymnbook into my lap, bowed my head, and wept. Sorrow overwhelmed me. As I sat in the front pew, trying not to sob out loud, I wished there were an angel to put her arm around my shoulder. I literally thought that, strange as it sounds even to me now. A few moments later I felt an arm around my shoulders. I couldn’t trust myself to look up. I struggled to contain the sobs and a gentle voice whispered, “It’s okay to cry.” I wasn't alone.

As the hymn ended and I regained my composure, I glanced at my human angel, it was Sarah, our Relief Society president. When I told Jim the story (as on most Sundays, he attended church at another building that day to serve in his calling), I asked him to guess who the angel was. He guessed immediately, which surprised me. She sits right behind you, he explained, and she’s the Relief Society president.

I felt so loved. God can work through other people.

So what caused the intense grief attack? It was easy to explain. When David was living at home, dying at home, I went through a phase where I would play my CD of Ralph Vaughan Williams' 5 Variants of Dives and Lazarus. (It’s the same tune as “Kolob”). I memorized the hymn lyrics, then played the piece over and over as I washed dishes (this was five years before our automatic dishwasher), tears streaming down my face. Over and over. I’ve sung “Kolob” in church several times since David’s death, and never had this reaction. But the novelty of swapping lyrics and tunes exposed a raw nerve I’d forgotten I had.

I don’t regret the incident. I want to feel. I’m grateful to understand that I’m not heartless and I don’t need to feel guilty. What would David want me to do? Miss him, yes, but also live life to the fullest. Enjoy the experiences of mortal life that he is missing.

"O Savior Thou Who Wearest a Crown of Thorns"

"If You Could Hie to Kolob" (Malea Lunt)

hunh! Gentri already did it!

Groundhog Day!

 I rarely can pick a favorite. Maybe it has to do with having six children: mothers aren’t allowed to have favorites. I do love fruit. But which fruit is favorite? I never can’t decide between half a dozen.

Same with movies. But in my all-time top five is Groundhog Day. I literally have three copies: a regular DVD, the 20th anniversary edition, and a Blu-ray version. I watch it at least once a year, on February 2nd, and usually more often. I have actually watched it at least two dozen times. Stop the action at any moment and I can tell you the next several lines of dialogue.

One of my four sons emailed me that Groundhog Day is playing in theaters on February 2 this year. Guess where I’ll be tomorrow?

Have I mentioned I love this movie? I once gave a Relief Society lesson about it. (Relief Society is my church’s women’s organization. We meet together on Sundays for spiritual lessons.) For me, the movie is profound and deep. The director, Harold Ramis, once stated that people of disparate spiritual traditions have told him that the movie is in tune with their values and traditions.

It's a story of redemption. Like many cliched terms, redemption is used so often because it expresses something deeply human. Many of us crave redemption: from mistakes we’ve made, from mistakes others have made that have harmed us, and from pain caused by this very imperfect world.

Phil Connors finds himself thrust against his will into a hero’s journey. He’s finds himself waking up day after day in the same little town of Punxsutawney, living through February 2nd over and over and over again. (The screenplay deliberately obscures how long Phil spent in February 2nd. Estimates have ranged from 10 months to 33 years.). His journey inspires me every time.

If you love the movie, watch:

Harold Ramis on the Metaphor of Ground Hog Day [sic]