It took many a hard year to build the Salt Lake Temple. A lot of history swirled around us as this temple rocked forward. Our prophets never wavered in their faith what it looked like, what would happen inside.
One step at a time the work went on. Temples Manti, and St. George were crowned with glory and opened their doors before Salt Lake. The rest of the world hardly know anything about them. For most of them, Salt Lake was the only temple they know about. Some of them don’t even know about Salt Lake.
“What is a temple?” they ask. Or, in other words. “What difference does it make?” Ah, but the Salt Lake temple already has or soon will live beyond that part of the graveside ritual goes down with the words, “Dust to dust –”
The temple has been reared and the doors have opened. One of our boys was baptized there. Generations after generations have surged through those opened doors. I don’t know if I could explain to a non-member what temple means to us. Better writers than I ever shall be have tried, and come up short of the glory needed to begin. Maybe the right words aren’t here yet.
Maybe it’s the purpose lavished into the blood, faith, and tears they don’t understand or appreciate. where the generations are linked together that those who are now dead may accept the responsibilities of the covenants and rise unto life everlasting.
Maybe they are searching through a telescope for the Rah, Rah, Boom dee A to begin rattling off the walls and rip holes through the ceiling .. and therefore they can’t even hear the whisper in the hearts, can’t even understand the shift in the gears when purpose settles like a warm blanket as new responsibilities settle down over the shoulders and toes dig in for the climb ahead.
They would be bewildered by the soft, sweet and sacred smiles in the Celestial room as the answers to our prayers are imparted and received.
It’s not one answer but thousands. It’s not one purpose but millions. It’s not just one mountain that is moved, but a hundred new lakes carved out. It’s not just one child raised from the dead it’s a thousand new callings to touch the troubled hearts of someone else’s child. From vaulted skies come answers. On tired knees and from solemn lips go the words of acceptance, “Not my will but thine O Father. Give me strength, shore up my stamina.”
All these come wrapped up in our appreciation of the temple. Yea, ALL these things and many more, parcelled out singly and lavished upon whole wards and entire stakes. It’s Love unwavering, hearts softened and sins forgiven. It’s the sparks of memory jolted “that she is the one woman on earth that is mine forever and ever. She has made my life worth living; she hast given and we have built a marriage whose bounds are not set even by the stars and we love more deeply each day. She is mine, I am hers and we are Thine, O Father.”