When Hank was brand new I couldn’t wait to give him a bath.
Even before he was born it was one of the things I was most excited for. I remember my mom bathing my siblings when they were newborns. I remember thinking it was so funny that they were tiny enough to take a bath in the sink. I remember how the soap smelled and the soft, tiny washcloths. She was so careful and they all loved the warm water. Hank’s first bath was one of the sweetest moments of my life. He loved it. He floated and relaxed in the water. He even fell asleep just before it was time to get out. As I washed his face I noticed there was a little dark smudge above his eye. I softly tried to remove it with the washcloth. Nothing happened. I rubbed a little harder. Still nothing. I started to worry it might be a bruise or something when I noticed a matching smudge above his other eye. Eyebrows. I was trying to scrub off his tiny eyebrows. Jake and I just laughed. We truly had no idea what we were doing. But we loved every minute. Hank is a great teacher. Every day I learn something from him. Something about goodness. About love. About tenderness. About promises. He makes me- more. That’s his favorite word. “More”. He says it when he wants more food or more water. He says it when he wants more books or more songs. He says it when he wants more of me or more of Jake. More. Tomorrow we start a new year. As I reflect and look forward all I can think of is- more. I just want more, I think. More Diet Coke and audiobooks and car washes with Jake. More playing in the snow or with my food or with the mirror or in laundry baskets with Hank. More bath times. More bacon and eggs for dinner. More family pictures. More Hank hugs and kisses and scrunchy nose faces. More flowers. More notes. More Jake and Maddie. More home. More time. More good. More Jesus. Just more. More fit for the kingdom More used would I be More blessed and holy-- More, Savior, like thee. So here’s to a New Year. To more. Though I can’t imagine things could get any happier than this.
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Hank and I read one of his “Little Blue Truck” books before bed a few nights ago.
In this installment, thunder and lightning made it difficult for Little Blue, Toad, Goat, Horse, Sheep, Chicken, Pig, and all their friends to sleep. Luckily there was enough room for all in Little Blue’s garage. They waited out the storm together. When the rain subsided, the lightning stopped, and the thunder quieted, his friends made their way home. On the way out Goat said, “It’s easy to be brave with you.” Jake and I were sealed together a little over 5 years ago. In the St. George temple I knelt across the altar from him and waited excitedly for my turn to say “Yes”. A little worried my voice would be strained from lack of use, I cleared it quietly. When it was my turn, my yes was not subtle. I think I surprised the sealer a little. He smiled though. So did Jake. Everyone chuckled a little at the gusto behind my “yes”. I didn’t mind though. Jake makes me brave. The first time I studied the Old Testament, I was 11 years old. I wanted to start the standard works from the very beginning. It proved harder than I thought, so I was grateful my first year of seminary was spent in the Old Testament. That year changed my life. It changed my relationship with the scriptures and with the Savior. I learned to look for Him while I read. I learned some of the greatest stories of all time. I met ordinary people turned brave by Jesus. Moses was one of them. The prophet with the speech impediment. His trip down the Nile, his Burning Bush experience, his miracles in the wilderness, it all amazes me. There’s one story I like best I think. When Moses talks with God face-to-face. God. Almighty. Endless. And He calls Moses “My Son”. Son of an Endless, Almighty God. He tells him that He has an important work for him. And I think just talking to Him changed Moses forever. Satan comes to call shortly after. I’ve always wondered what made Moses so brave. So bold. To be able to look at the adversary and say, “Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God, in the similitude of his Only Begotten; and where is thy glory, that I should worship thee?” But I realized today. It’s because of Him. An Endless, Almighty God that claimed Moses as His son. It’s because of His important work. Because of Jesus Christ, Moses is brave. Me too. Sometimes lightning and thunder keep me up. Sometimes I wonder if I’m equal to the tasks God has for me. But then I remember. An Endless, Almighty God claims me as His daughter. And it makes me brave. It’s easy to be brave with Him. That makes me happy. Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth? (John 1:46)
Phillip had come to find Nathanael. He told him that they had found “Him”. Jesus. The One Moses prophesied of. Joseph, the carpenter’s son. And Nathanael wondered at the thought. Can there any good thing come of Nazareth? I read an article once about the stories we tell. It talked about students in classrooms and how what their teachers said or felt about them mattered, even if the students never heard it. My first class student teaching was hard. I told myself that the students didn’t care. I thought they didn’t want to be taught. One day another teacher came to watch. “These kids kind of bother you don’t they?” He said. “If I can tell, they can.” When he left I cried. The Spirit whispered, “pray for them”. And so I did, for a while. I prayed that they would listen, that they would come on time, and that they would be better. That they would change. And those prayers were the wrong ones. The Spirit taught me that it wasn’t them who needed to change. It was me. So I prayed for me. That I would love them. And they weren’t different, but somehow they were. The stories I told myself about them were new. They were beautiful. They were true. And the class changed. I changed. Jesus was in the temple when a woman taken in adultery was brought before him. Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more. (John 8:1-11) The scriptures say she glorified God “from that hour and believed Him. He changed her story forever. God called Enoch to be a prophet. Enoch was worried. He was young. He wasn’t a great speaker. And nobody liked him. And so God said, Go forth and do as I have commanded thee…Open thy mouth, and it shall be filled, and I will give thee utterance, for all flesh is in my hands, and I will do as seemeth me good…..all thy words will I justify; and the mountains shall flee before you, and the rivers shall turn from their course; and thou shalt abide in me, and I in you; therefore walk with me. (Moses 6:31-36) The mountains fled, rivers turned, and Enoch walked with God. He changed his story. I have loved Jake for a long time. Our first date was over 8 years ago. He still loves me. He lets me be different. Be better. Change. And I think it’s the most Christlike thing he could ever do for me. Give me the room and permission to change. The story he tells about me is better than I am. It makes me want to be better than I am. Phillip told Nathanael to come and see. When Nathanael came to Him Jesus called out, Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile! Jesus answered and said unto him, Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee. Nathanael answered and saith unto him, Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel. Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw thee under the fig tree, believest thou? thou shalt see greater things than these. And he saith unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see heaven open and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man. (John 1:46-51) Nathanael did see greater things. The heavens did open. And our stories changed forever. Now mistakes can be miracles. A fall, a fall forward. Set-backs, Salvation. So I listen close to the stories I tell because He tells them better. The Greatest of all came out of Nazareth. That makes me happy. Five years and a handful of months ago, Jake and I sat on the blacktop at Parowan Elementary just outside of Mrs. Wilkey’s classroom door.
We looked at the stars. It was cold, but I wore Jake’s jacket so we could stay out longer. We talked and smiled for hours. I still remember what it felt like to be with him like that. I thought I loved him then. We picked our wedding date under the stars, sharing Jake's jacket on that quiet Parowan night. December 10th. Jake walked me home and for one night, it was just our secret. And it was sweet. A stunning ring and beautiful wedding plans followed, and all of it was bliss. I love remembering it. Remembering us back then. Jake is special. For lots of reasons. I’m reminded of at least one every Christmas season. I got out our Christmas stockings a few weeks ago; handmade ones knitted by my Great-Grandma. Each of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren have one. Jake is the only one to receive one without being an official part of the family. I think GG knew he would need one. My mom did GG’s hair every Friday for a long time. I loved coming home to see her in the hair chair. She always had a hug and a kiss for me. She’d ask, “Who loves you?” The response we had all practiced always followed- “GG does”. And we knew she really did. Every time I came in she told me the same story. She saw Jake at a ball game. He was so handsome and so kind and all she could think was, “He needs to be with Maddie!” The story made me laugh. She never tired of telling it. I never tired of hearing it. Jake and I grew close. He became so special to me. Somehow GG knew. One Friday morning after reminding me of my Jake, she told me she wanted to make a Christmas stocking for him. We were all a little shocked. GG reserved those only for her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and their spouses. But GG felt like Jake needed one. So she broke the rules for him. She got to work. She showed me her progress often. I watched her knit a stocking just like mine with his name on it. She even let me add the sequins on the Christmas tree behind Santa Claus. We sent it to Jake while he was serving as a missionary in Montana. I think she knew something even I didn’t know yet. Jake needed to be part of our family. Time went on. Jake did join the family. And he even had a stocking to match. I hung that stocking a few weeks ago next to mine. I couldn’t help but smile. I thought of GG and what she knew about Jake. He was special even then. And now five years have gone by. And I watch Jake in awe. "He needs to be with Maddie". I'm so happy GG was right. I heard a story once of a primary music leader who was approached by a little girl after singing time.
“You lead music like Jesus does” she said. The little girl’s mother explained that her daughter was referring to pictures of Jesus with His arms outstretched, as if He were leading music. The music leader left the sweet, short exchange with peace in her heart. She said she did not always know what she could do, but she never forgot she led like Jesus that day. Music has found me in unexpected ways lately. Last spring, I found myself standing in front of a pink music stand looking out at a group of talented institute students. My new assignment placed me as the institute choir conductor, and I was scared. My hands and my voice shook the whole semester. They still do sometimes. But my students are kind. They are forgiving. They are amazing. A few weeks ago, they sang in a devotional. When they finished and made their way back to their seats the speaker said, “This is who Jesus Christ is for me. He is a beautiful choir like that. I see Him there.” I do too. Every weekday at noon I see Him too. I see Him in choir because there is room for everyone. There is love. There is patience. There is trying. There is humility. There is unity. He is there. There is music in my home because of them. Songs about the Savior on repeat as I practice and ponder and just try to keep up with them. It is a privilege to know them. To know a little of their story. To love them. So even if there is just one, I’ll go. I’ll straighten the pink stand and raise my hands high. Because I can’t do much, but I can try to lead like Jesus. As if He leads their music. And He does. I think He sings with them too. I see Him in the “hello’s” before class. I see Him as empty seats next to the lonely are filled. I see Him as they welcome and invite each other. I hear Him when they sing. And I feel happy. Happy just to be here and to watch it. And happy to raise my hands where I can. When you can’t go for you and you can’t go for others, you go for Jesus.
One of my favorite stories in the New Testament is the Savior’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. A few years ago I visited the home of an incredible artist, J. Kirk Richards. His home was a gallery and the Savior was everywhere. He let us walk around and stand close. Some were finished and others were still in the works. I will never forget how it felt to look at the Savior painted over and over and over. We headed to his garage last. He was working on a close to life size painting of Jesus’ Triumphal Entry. Jesus and a donkey were outlined and the beginnings of onlookers, palm leaves, and garments laid on the ground could be seen. It wasn’t finished, but I felt like I was there. Sometimes I think about that painting. I think about that day and what it must have meant for Him. The scriptures say the whole city was moved. I wonder how much Jesus knew about what came next. Gethsemane. Calvary. But He still came. And the whole city was moved. Eternity was moved. I was moved. Despite the hard and the inconvenient and the unknown, He came. Isn’t that beautiful? The coming? I see the Savior in people every day who “come” against the odds. They come without family support. They come without friends. They come without perfect knowledge. They come with unmet expectations. They come before promised blessings. They come anyway. And I look at them, and I see Jesus. So to those who come anyway, thank you for coming. I see you. God sees you too. And We’re all happy you’re here. My first year teaching seminary full-time I taught the Doctrine and Covenants at Dixie High Seminary.
I loved that assignment, and those students taught me a lot about God and what He’s like. The seminary was decorated as a sacred grove that year. Kraft paper trees lined the hallways. They started out bare. Day by day leaves appeared as students hand wrote revelation they received from God. One of my favorite parts of the day was emptying the repurposed tissue box in my classroom to tape up the leaves. It was a sacred experience to read the revelation received by those students. They were spiritually experienced young people learning to hear God in the scriptures, in their trials, in their questions, and in their personal lives. It humbled me to read what God said to them. One leaf touched my heart deeply. God taught her, “Joseph Smith is just like me.” When I was 9 years old I got a “Hymns Made Easy” book for Christmas. The first song I started to plunk out on my own was “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer”. We kept the piano in the walk-out basement up against a window guarded by a window well. My feet dangled as I sat up straight and tall and practiced. I practiced one particular part of the song over and over, so pleased with the progress my fingers were making. A song that at first sounded messy and clumsy was becoming clear, beautiful, and familiar, the longer I practiced. The sun shone through the window and soft yellow light fell across my sheet music. I looked at the sun on my music and on my fingers and I remember thinking, “I wonder if that was what it looked like when Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ came to Joseph Smith.” In a clear voice the Spirit said, “It was just like that”. In that moment my little heart was filled with joy. I had gained my own witness of Joseph Smith, of Jesus Christ, and Heavenly Father’s love for me and for all His children. I told the experience in an institute class once. At the end of the story I apologized. “Sorry, this is just a little experience I still remember from when I was younger.” My teacher stopped me. He urged me never to diminish the simple and beautiful ways God shows His children He loves them. I love my story even more now. A few summers ago Jake and I walked through the sacred grove hand in hand. I learned that God uses the ordinary to bring about the extraordinary. God grants the significant to the seemingly insignificant. He loves to bless those who least expect it. The lame man waiting at the pool of Bethesda. The begging blind man who called out to Jesus on the road to Jericho. The widow of Zarephath who had only a few sticks, a little meal, and a little oil. A 14 year old boy in a grove of trees. A 9 year old on a piano bench. He’ll bless you too, you know. That makes me happy. I came across some pictures this week that stopped me in my tracks.
They were from an anniversary photo shoot Jake and I did two years ago. It was the first time I had looked at the images. It felt like I had gone back in time as I looked at our faces. It surprised me how young we look. I was not surprised by how happy we were though. I watched us walk through rows of pine trees while we held hands, laughed, and smiled. I was overwhelmed with gratitude and love as I thought about those days. It’s sweet when the past sneaks up on you. But all I wanted to do was whisper to myself, “Just wait”. There’s more beauty. More love. More hope on the way. Three years ago, Jake was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin Lymphoma and our lives changed. After the initial shock of a diagnosis and treatment plan, we found ourselves in a tender routine that allowed for lots of time with just us. We frequented the Ace Hardware just up the street from us. It had everything we wanted in a date night. A fountain drink station with Diet Coke and Diet Mtn Dew, and home improvement opportunities. We’d sip fountain drinks and look at paint colors, but mostly just hold hands and talk quietly to each other. I remember when they put the Christmas trees up. The first time I saw it I knew I loved it. A seven and a half foot lightly flocked tree, prelit with a mix of traditional Christmas lights and larger, beautiful round bulbs. We walked by the tree a handful of times. It was a little outside of our budget, but we loved it. We ended up heading home with the floor model. We put it up on November 12th, and it was perfect. We needed a little extra Christmas that year. I look back on that special time and I want to tell myself, “Just wait.” There’s more beauty, more hope, more love on the way. We got out that same Christmas tree a few days ago and put it up in our new house. If this tree could talk, I bet it would say something sweet about us and the past few Christmases. Hank crouches down low and really close to look at the tree. He whispers “wow” when the lights turn on. And I know that in a few years I’ll look back on these moments and think, “Just wait”. Maybe that’s why I’m so happy. The holiday season officially begins the Monday before Halloween.
The Greg Townsend family gathers for pizza, pumpkins, and Halloween classics. On Monday Hank ate and laughed as he watched Ichabod and Mr. Toad. My favorite part is watching “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown”. Linus and his most sincere pumpkin patch gets me every time. As I sat in my family home with my own little family I was struck by how far we’ve come. Traditions always remind me of growth. They help me think about the past and enjoy the todays. Sometimes it’s hard to see the growth we really experience, the difference events, time, or teachings really make. How do you know experiences weren’t wasted on you? I can’t help but think about a few October’s ago when it was just Jake and I. We were in the middle of chemotherapy. Growth was easy to see then. Pet Scans showed dramatic, positive results. We had something to work towards. Trials provide those benchmarks. You see growth. They make you different. But how do we know if it worked? If it sticks? If we learned what we could have learned? Just after Jake’s diagnosis, we got pulled over on the way home from some tests at the hospital. Jake wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The officer was kind. He gave us a warning. As he walked back to his car I realized something. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t even a little annoyed. I would have been. A few months before. A few weeks before even. I was different. We got closer over those months than I ever imagined possible. That was three years ago. Things are different now. It’s sometimes harder to see progress. And so sometimes I wonder, am I learning what I can? Am I better? Different now? A few weekends ago we drove down the freeway. A little too fast. The flashing red and blue lights signaled a stop and ticket. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t even a little annoyed. I’m still different. We’re closer than we’ve ever been. I have a framed print on a table by the front door. It has a handful of painted pumpkins and the phrase, “Don’t Get Your Pumpkins in a Pile”. So I guess that’s the message. That’s how I know it worked. I’ve grown. I’m different. Maybe that's why I'm so happy. Last weekend we drove past Foothills Elementary.
Home to the Foothills Falcons, and to me, a handful of years ago. I still remember the sixth-grade science fair. My hypothesis focused on whether fingerprints are hereditary or not. I borrowed a fingerprinting kit from my Grandpa. He showed me how to gently roll a finger from side-to-side to get a good, clear fingerprint for my experiments. I fingerprinted friends and family, classmates and teachers. Everyone helped. I made a poster of the different types of fingerprints and my findings. I worked hard on the project. And I learned something. Fingerprints are totally unique. No two people have the same ones. Not even people from the same family. Not even identical twins. That’s why we can use them to identify people. Each person is born with their very own. I sat on the floor in front of my mirror to get ready this morning. I had to squint through tiny fingerprints covering the bottom half of the mirror. Just the right height for tiny Hank hands. I can’t bring myself to wash them off. They’re Hank’s. I called Jake on the way home from work this week. Sometimes I like when he doesn’t answer, because I get to hear his voicemail greeting. 2016 Jake said, “Hey this is Jake, leave me a message” and I smiled. I’d know that voice anywhere. I’ve been thinking about God’s hand and His voice lately. I’ve been watching, listening. When words come to mind when I don’t know what to say. When I feel joy in the hard. When somehow it all gets done. I see His hand. I hear His voice. I look for Him and He’s there. And I can’t wash them off, His fingerprints. I’d know His voice anywhere. “In our daily life it is our paramount task and blessed opportunity to encounter God” (Elder Uchtdorf “God Among Us”). Maybe that’s why I’m so happy. |
AuthorMy name is Maddie Townsend Topham and I am a happy wife! Archives
November 2022
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