Reflections on the Ordinary

The last few days in our home have been ordinary, if not even slightly depressing. Michelle had been frustrated and tired most of the day yesterday -- doubly so today. Jared has tried her patience, Emily hasn’t napped, and even now she’s awake after a 10 minute stretch where we thought she’d be asleep for several hours.  Those unmet expectations are often the most difficult to bear.  Truly, the discontented Emily finds no easy chair (or swing!).  .

I thought on these things last night and today, and my mind has drifted back to an evening of missionary splits in Corning, California with a man not quite a year off his mission.  During our time together he spoke fondly of his mission and said he’d give just about anything to relive even the worst day of his mission – that’s how special the time was.  Honestly, I couldn’t see it then, but I wanted to.  Of course, now removed, it’s easier to see and feel what he meant.

I’ve wondered the last little while if the same could not be said of my time now – even these last two days.  Obviously there are days and things about certain days that would make me want to hide underneath a rock to think of reliving.  But there are other days, like the last two, where my most grievous errors seem to have been waking up too late in the morning and then eating too much in the evening.  Maybe there will come a time when days like these will bring fond memories and when I’d give almost anything to relive even an hour of the worst parts of them.  To see my wife as she is now, and Jared and Emily at their present ages: Jared full of rambunctiousness and a vocabulary that brings a wide smile to my face at least several times a day; Emily, who already loves to talk to us and smile, and looks at least as adorable as any little girl I’ve ever seen.  Maybe there will come a time when I would give almost anything to have Michelle and my family to come home to from a basketball game – even knowing she was probably in no mood to do much welcoming when I got in.  Maybe the time will come when I will ache just to have had the opportunity to have her in the same room with me, or to sleep beside her at night, or pray and read scriptures with her.  Maybe even days like yesterday will seem invaluable and infinitely precious in the not to distant future.  How I wish my eyes could be opened to that more often!

I’ve thought of the third Act of Our Town, and that seemed to be enough for the evening. Emily Gibbs, now dead, realizes she can go back and live any day she chooses.  The others warn her not to do it.  But she’s determined, so her mother in law (also dead) pleads with her to at least not pick an important day – the most ordinary of days will be enough.  She picks her 12th birthday.  Here are a few excerpts:

Emily: Softly, more in wonder than in grief.

I can’t bear it.  They’re so young and beautiful [speaking of her parents].  Why did they ever have to get old?  Mama, I’m here.  I’m grown up.  I love you all, everything.—I can’t look at everything hard enough.

[Later]

Emily: With mounting urgency

Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me.  Mama, fourteen years have gone by.  I’m dead.  You’re a grandmother, Mama.  I married George Gibbs, Mama.  Wally’s dead, too.  Mama, his appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway.  We felt just terrible about it—don’t you remember?  But, just for a moment now we’re all together.  Mama, just for a moment we’re happy.  Let’s look at one another.

[Later]

Emily:  In a loud voice to the stage manager

I can’t.  I can’t go one.  It goes so fast.  We don’t have time to look at one another.

She breaks down sobbing.

The lights dim on the left half of the statge. MRS. WEBB disappears.

I didn’t realize.  So all that was going on and we never noticed.  Take me back – up the hill – to my grave.  But first: Wait! One more look.

Good-by, Good-by, world.  Good-by, Grover’s Corners…Mama and Papa.  Good-by to clocks ticking…and Mama’s sunflowers.  And food and coffee.  And new ironed dresses and hot baths…and sleeping and waking up.  Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.