I remember the day the Provo Tabernacle burned. I was headed to work early, and was headed out on 500 North. I saw smoke billowing up to the south and wondered what was on fire. It wasn't long before I heard the news that the fire was actually the historic Provo Tabernacle.
A sad feeling seemed to settle over Provo. Facebook was full of messages of sadness, pictures, newsclips. How could this tragedy have occurred? What about all the history within the Tabernacle? Few people who have spent time living in Provo did not have at least one memory inside its brick walls--a concert, a conference, a fireside, an awkward stake conference on marriage (not my best memory, for sure, but memory nonetheless....)
I have driven by the vacant building countless times since then, reflecting again and again on the tragedy that took place and seeing the shell of what once was. No one seemed to be rebuilding it, and yet no one had bothered to take the remaining walls down.
A few weeks ago, I read in the news that the Church had purchased a restaurant and hotel just south of the Tabernacle to "give themselves options." I wondered if perhaps they
did plan to rebuild it after all or if they were going to put something else there. I knew that they'd probably paid a fair amount so
something had to be planned.
And then, the moment came that we discovered exactly what the Church's plan was. Saturday morning, I was sitting on my comfy couch listening to conference when the announcement came that not only would they be restoring the building, they would also be turning it into a temple.
As I drove by the old beloved Tabernacle later that day, I saw helium balloons along the fence line with a sign in front that read simply, "Happy Day."
Happy day indeed.
So all that Tabernacle stuff got me to thinking. About life. And I realized something not only about life, but about MY life. There are times when, engaged in good and worthwhile things, my life suddenly "goes up in flames," so to speak (not that I've had a lot of those in twenty-six years, but there were a few times that came to mind that sure seemed to feel like it right in the moment).
And so, for awhile, life feels empty, vacant, hollow. We reflect on the great tragedy that has befallen us. We wonder why something happened that we didn't deserve. We mourn all the good times and all the times that will never be. For me, it happened once when I had worked very hard and was blessed to find a good job--which I got to keep for all of four whole months. Right when I had found a career, right when I had settled in a little, my job was gone and I was emotionally trying to figure out what to do next. I applied to what felt like a million jobs (it was probably more like 50). At the same time, I was sure something would still work out with my original job. I didn't
want a different job. I was happy where I was, happy with the job I already had.
It shouldn't be surprising to me (and yet, sometimes still is) that the "fires" of our lives are often just moments that allow us to look at opportunities and options that we had never before considered, things we never would have even needed to
think of had life kept humming along the way it always had. Without devastation or change or difficulty, we could just sail along the same way we always have. That Tabernacle could have gone on for decades yet to come as simply the beautiful Tabernacle it was.
And so, in these times of re-evaluation, of creativity, of listening more intently, of being open to things that were never before even considered, we often find the greatest miracles. It is when we look at how to rebuild, that often the plans for rebuilding create something much more incredible than we started with. There are so many times when He who knows us perfectly sees what we have the power to become when we ourselves cannot see it and are happy to continue the way we are.
That is how it worked with me. I found another job, a job I wasn't sure I wanted and a job I had never before considered. I thought, "at least it's a job. I can always switch later." It is now in hindsight that I see that that opportunity was given to me by someone who knew there was something bigger for me out there than I had even been able to see myself when I began. I am so much happier than I imagined I could be and have become something better than I would have become had I been allowed to continue the way I'd planned.
Because of that, I think I will smile every time I pass that Tabernacle, knowing that a brick building that thought that it would house concerts and conferences will actually hold within it the power to give those who enter the gift of eternal life. I would say that in the long run, that was worth a fire to figure out.
When life burns down a Tabernacle, God rebuilds a temple.
Something to think about as we look for our own temples among life's ashes.
