Temple thoughts

Eric and his family after being sealed in the Seattle temple.

Last Sunday the Atlanta temple was rededicated. It had been closed for two years for renovations, and for two weeks before the rededication, it was open to the public. Normally, even members of our church can only enter after age twelve, and if they're living certain key principles, so this was a special opportunity for us to take friends, neighbors and our kids to see the inside of a place that holds sacred meaning for us.

We went to the open house on a very crowded Thursday evening. I think we arrived at 6:45 or so and didn't get inside the temple until after 8:00, thanks to my total failure to remember that I actually have a good excuse to request a handicapped spot (and Mormons, bless them, are so wonderful to pregnant women). We had brought our three children, our neighbor's 9-year-old son (who is a member) and our wonderful neighbor across the street and her three daughters (who aren't).

At the Washington, D.C. temple with our friend Kadest, from Ethiopia, just after we were married.

The tour started with a video explaining some of why we hold temples so sacred and as I sat next to my neighbor, a newly-single mom, I had a flash-back to what it felt like for me, twelve years ago, to hear Mormons talk about their families. My parents were in the middle of an unpleasant divorce, and thoughts of eternal bonds and loving homes were like water to my parched sixteen-year-old soul. Oh how I wanted those things for myself.

Now they're mine, and though the hard work and sacrifices required were more than I'd bargained for, so too have been the joys. As I sat in that crowded chapel next to my neighbor, I knew she could feel the same promise I had felt more than a decade ago.

At the Nauvoo temple open house with 6-month-old Eric.

Inside the temple was crowded and chaotic, not at all how we're used to experiencing it. There were so many people there that night that tour groups and guides went out the window and we were left to navigate the rooms and crowds at will. The children were so excited, they couldn't keep their hands off anything. They touched the crystals dangling from the wall sconces, the stained glass windows, the leather benches, the hand-stitched lace altar-covers, the gilt frames of the paintings- all of it. And I let them- knowing that volunteers would painstakingly clean every surface before the prophet's arrival in a few days, and knowing too that the Savior must be smiling down at all this energy, exuberance and wonder in his normally hushed house.

We came to the sealing room, where couples are married for eternity, and showed them the mirrors reflecting into each other. When the boys sat down to rest for a minute on the couch at the front of the room, I told them that the next time they sit on one of those couches might be their wedding day.

Over the following days I thought constantly of my little eternal family- what they mean to me and what I mean to them. During runs through the park and evenings at the kitchen sink the spirit taught me something I hope I'll never forget: that it is not my privilege, or my responsibility to shape or mold these children I've been given. They are themselves, whole and complete, and my imperfect intentions and limited understanding have no business weighing them down. Rather, my opportunity as mother and wife is to shape this family, the bonds between the five (almost six!) of us, and to nurture and influence the feelings of love we have for one another. It's through that influence that my impact on their lives can and should manifest itself.

The temple is quiet now, the fingerprints gone, the frames straightened and the sconces gleaming. There are countless lessons left for me to learn within its sacred walls, but I'll keep close the one that came amidst the crowds and the laughter of my children.