Three-year-old Dalen poked his head out from under the pew. He'd burrowed beneath it with his bottle and blanket, and despite his brother's ten dangling feet in his face, I'd figured he'd fallen asleep. What else would silence him five full minutes?
As a matter of fact, the Sacrament Meeting talk.
"Does heaven really have windows, Mom?" he repeated. "Really?"
I stared at him, somewhat stupefied --- first, that he'd processed Sister Bevan's reference at all, second that he'd quoted it in just such a way as to wake my own stultified heart. My attention spilt between Spencer's "I need to go to the bathroom!" and Seth's stabbing Lorrin with a pencil, I'd all but tuned Malachi out, myself. But from his toddler tongue, Dalen's query struck me as the Mormon nursery boy's equivalent of Virginia's request of The Sun: "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?" (Frances Pharcellus Church, "Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus").
Circumstances barring an extemporaneous editorial, I nodded mutely. But I wanted to weep, "Does Heaven have windows? Ah, Dalen, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding" (ibid).
This year we've been living Exhibit A for Elder David A. Bednar's "Significant But Subtle Blessings":
Sometimes we may ask God for success, and He gives us physical and mental stamina. We might plead for prosperity, and we receive enlarged perspective and increased patience, or we petition for growth and are blessed with the gift of grace. He may bestow upon us conviction and confidence as we strive to achieve worthy goals. And when we plead for relief from physical, mental, and spiritual difficulties, He may increase our resolve and resilience.
I promise that as you and I observe and keep the law of tithing, indeed the windows of heaven will be opened and spiritual and temporal blessings will be poured out such that there shall not be room enough to receive them (see Malachi 3:10). We also will remember the Lord’s declaration:
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8–9). ("The Windows of Heaven," General Conference October 2013. )We prayed for deliverance and received endurance. We prayed for rescue and received revelation. And almost imperceptibly, we received other blessings, too. Our resources, like the widow's oil, failed not --- though we could not replenish them. Healthy boys here, healthy vans there, we were subtly blessed by difficulties that didn't happen and mercies that did.
But this Christmas, there hasn't been anything subtle about it: we've been deluged in a heavenly downpour. My parents brought me a sewing machine one month before I even dreamt the ridiculous plan to sew jean quilts for my boys for Christmas. Jared eventually revived my senses, and I downscaled from five quilts to one. When my parents found out, they phoned from Utah. "We left you a Christmas present at Halloween that you ought to open now," they recommended. The gift replaced the machine they'd given me for Christmas twenty years ago and enabled one quilt's completion the day before Christmas Eve.
The windows didn't close there. A lovely friend stashed gifts for each of my boys in our van. My brother and his new bride made a generous deposit in our U.S. savings account. For twelve days, an anonymous pixie left presents from popcorn to tablecloths to Christmas socks. One night, we found five colouring books and ninety-six crayons: a direct fulfilment of Dalen's wish weeks ago at preschool. "What would you like for Christmas?" Sister Roach had asked. He told her, "Crayons up to the ceiling!" and to a three-year-old, ninety-six is just that. Sunday night, a knock at our door revealed the High Priest Group leadership, singing Christmas carols. They brought turkey and fixings for a full Christmas dinner, plus a gift bag for Jared, me, and each boy. I just stood and squeezed Jared and cried. No sooner had they left than we heard another knock and found another box of turkey dinner on our doorstep. Jared had to phone his brothers to take some turkey off our hands, for we literally hadn't room enough to receive it.
As if all that weren't enough, Monday night Seth discovered a $100 bill on our bookshelf, rolled up and tagged, "Merry Christmas to you." We cannot figure out how it got there. Christmas Eve morning, we discovered another anonymous envelope taped to our door. That afternoon, we found two bags full of gifts on the porch, and then my dear friend brought a basket of specially-selected, symbolic ornaments to decorate our Christmas tree . . . along with a card stuffed with sacrifice. We had prepared our children for a simple Christmas, such that five-year-old Spencer would answer innocent inquirers, "I don't want any presents for Christmas. I just want a book." He got more books than will fit on our shelf and more presents than he's ever received. It's like living It's a Wonderful Life.
Does Heaven have windows? Oh Dalen, does it ever!
As touching as all of this generosity has been, I'm grateful it hasn't been God's only window. Kindness is humbling, but sometimes it leaves guilt: I want to give, not just receive. Throughout this year's financial ordeal, I've often remembered an experience I had as a teenager with my aunt and uncle and their several children. My uncle had just lost his job and was looking for another when they invited us over to make sack lunches for a homeless shelter. Slapping Kraft Singles on bologna, their example emblazoned an unforgettable impression on my heart: In the midst of their own crisis my uncle and aunt still acknowledged their blessings and sacrificed to give. When I learnt in my later teens of instance after instance of their generosity to me, I had a private conversation with my Father in Heaven. "Someday," I asked Him, "please bless me to be like them---to be able and willing to give."
In that spirit, we rallied our children this Christmas and tried to scrape together a little something to bless another. Our widow's mite seems rather meagre when we look at the cornucopia engulfing us, but Jared often reminds us of President Monson's advice: "It is well to remember that he who gives money gives much, he who gives time gives more, but he who gives of himself gives all" ("The Gifts of Christmas," Ensign, Dec. 2003). We gave carols, cookies, and what we could of ourselves. I cannot help but wonder how much other families gave up in order to give of themselves and share their family's mite with us. The thought humbles me to tears. We pray our loving friends will experience as we have for ourselves that President Marion G. Romney's words are true: "You cannot give yourself poor in this work. A person cannot give a crust to the Lord without receiving a loaf in return" (quoted by President Henry B. Eyring, "Opportunities To Do Good," General Conference April 2011). We feel like we've thrown God our crusts upon the water and He has sent back sufficient to feed five thousand (see Brad Wilcox, "Getting Over Feeling Under Appreciated," Ensign, March 2004).
And it shall be, when the Lord thy God shall have brought thee into the land which he sware unto thy fathers . . . to give thee great and goodly cities, which thou buildedst not,
And houses full of all good things, which thou filledst not, and wells digged, which thou diggedst not, vineyards and olive trees, which thou plantedst not; when thou shalt have eaten and be full;
Then beware lest thou forget the Lord. . . (Deuteronomy 6:10-12)May I never forget, nor my children. And one day, may God make us His window to another, as Julie de Azevedo expressed:
I want to be a window to His love,
So you can look through me and you'll see Him.
And someday shining through my face you'll see His loving countenance
'cause I will have become like He is. ("A Window to His Love," Julie de Azevedo)Merry Christmas and all our gratitude. Thank you for becoming Heaven's Windows to us.
