Today I got a glimpse of heaven. Through another’s eyes.
It was our ward’s Primary Program and my three oldest were to showcase the beautiful songs and speaking parts they had memorized. This is a Sunday each year where the chapel overflows with supportive grandparents and family members. My children have never had more than their Dad and I to smile at them, mouth helpful words to them, and be overcome with joy and love because of them. That is, until today.
And I didn’t even know it.
I arrived late to the meeting and entered the chapel just after the opening prayer with Grady’s infant seat in my arms and leading Haven by the hand. The others had arrived early to save a seat. I found their row, placed Grady’s carseat in the aisle outside our bench, told everyone to “scoot over” and sat down. As I was dealing with getting Haven situated and consoling a crying Taryn, who was upset that I wouldn’t let her sit on my lap, I glanced down at Graydon – 5 weeks old and has never cracked a smile except in his sleep – and he had the Hugest most beautiful grin on his face. My attention was turned back to the sobs of my 4-year-old until I could look at him a few moments later, and the smile was still plastered from ear to ear. This was definitely more than a “gassy” reaction and his eyes were wide and bright, no where near a sleepy slumber as he stared off into the void. There was no one in neighboring rows making faces at him. And yet the smile persisted. For at least five minutes, every time I looked at him, he wore the look of a splendored stupor. His happy attitude lasted through half of the meeting until he got fussy from a dirty diaper.
We enjoyed the program immensely. Apparently, our primary chorister is incredibly ambitious and every song they sang from the outline was coupled or tripled into a medley of other primary songs. These kids learned a lot of lyrics this year! Taryn became the one for the congregation to watch. You know the one. She sang the greatest (meaning loudest), and held out those loud, semi-pitchless notes just a second longer than everyone else. She presented her speaking part into the microphone with equal fervor, even adding a few words that she said she felt “inspired” to say. Evan sang the songs with precision and beamed with each doting smile from his parents. His perfectionism showed through during his speaking part, which was delivered with amazing accuracy and clarity – and seriousness, with nary a smile. Zion was a tough one to spot. Her height hid her behind the taller children. But she would peak her head around from time to time so we could see her glowing eyes and send her encouraging smiles. The movements of her mouth were much less exaggerated than that of her sister’s, but I knew how much she loves and knows those songs and did not doubt her contribution to the cause. She spoke her line about Adam and Eve effortlessly and it appears her speech impediments have all but disappeared.
It was an amazing program – bringing me to tears on a number of occasions. It was a meeting truly fit for the angels. I could not have been more proud and honored to be the parents of those three incredible children. I only wished other family were there to witness their achievements.
When I got home, I realized they were.
I laid down, exhausted – as church always makes me. My mind reflected on Grady, and his continuous and knowing smiles during the meeting. I kept replaying them over and over, baffled. Why was he smiling so much? Then, in the peaceful quiet, it hit me. Not as a thought, but as a fact. She was there. She was there!
Grady was smiling at his Grammy!
My mom had come. She traveled further than anyone to see her grandchildren present their special messages and say hello to the grandbaby to whom she recently bid a heavenly farewell. I could suddenly picture her doing “piggies” to his toes and “weeing” all the way home as only she can. No wonder he was smiling so big. His newborn eyes, still tuned to the things of heaven, were the only ones focused enough to see the angel in our midst. In the same moment that my heart filled with joy knowing that she had come, it filled with equal sorrow. I wish I had known. I wish I had felt her enveloping arms. I wish I had taken a breath and savored a sense of her presence.
I didn’t know it, but I glimpsed into the heavens today, through the eyes and smiles of my newborn babe. I have no doubt of it now.
And if the contents of heaven can send an impossible smile so easily to a baby unable to wear one, then that is the heaven waiting for me.
Sometimes the veil between this life and the life beyond becomes very thin. Our loved ones who have passed on are not far from us. -President Ezra Taft Benson
