The Theory of Everything

For our 21st anniversary, we went to dinner and a movie.  That doesn't sound very special, but it was a very amazing dinner at a local Brazillian steak house and as some reviewers have said, a "sublime" movie:  The Theory of Everything.  The Theory of Everything is an unconventional love story about Steven and Jane Hawkings.  The title comes from Stephen's continued quest to marry the theory of relativity to quantum physics and somehow find one "simple and elegant theory" which could explain the genesis and functionality of nothing short of everything in the universe.  The emotional gravitas of the movie comes from the exceptional struggles, sacrifices and successes of the young and determined pair of great minds and good hearts who are Steven and Jane, but the backdrop of Steven's quest is likewise compelling.  It made me think of a scripture from The Book of Mormon.  A Christmas scripture, that includes what I propose as a sort of Theory of Everything:

And it came to pass that I saw the heavens open; and an angel came down and stood before me; and he said unto me: Nephi, what beholdest thou?  And I said unto him: A virgin, most beautiful and fair above all other virgins.  And he said unto me: Knowest thou the condescension of God?  And I said unto him:  I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things.

In the same breath that Nephi admits to not knowing the meaning of everything, he cites a theory which if fully explored could very well unlock the hazy "meaning of all things." I suppose Nephi wouldn't call it a 'theory', in that, as Nephi states, "[he] (already) knows that [God] loveth his children..." but could the simple yet active, responsive and relentless existance of God's love work as rather a template or key to the meaning of everything else?

There is another scene in the movie, when Steven proposes a landmark/although later disproven by himself/ theory on the origin of the universe. His mentoring professor tells him "brilliant!...and now, go to work!" In other words 'get busy' doing all the mathematical equations required to back up your case. Even though I also already know that God loves me and I believe all of his children too, it takes some going to work/ can even be a lifelong quest to understand/draw the lines between the love of God and the face of all the inequalities and injustices, drudgeries and tragedies of life --  but what if the key to "the meaning of all things" can only be arrived at by never letting go of such?  In addition, what if God's love brings along enough meaning on it's own, so that it's not so much unlocking the meaning of everything, (although it does do that) as it is presently embueing our everythings with meaning...almost like He can't help himself?  On top of it all, what if God's love can be a catalyst so transformative that those things which are the hardest to work out or justify today or even from our past, can one day be retroactively altered to a pure state beyond the limits of finite time and space as we know it..  The story of Christmas.  John 3:16.  What a simple & elegant thought, and better still...true.  

His and Her Trees

My husband is an artist.  He is a podiatric surgeon by trade, but he possesses the eyes and vision and skills of an artist.  He is deliberate and inspired in the act of creation whether he is making an omelette for breakfast or sketching plans for a painting he hopes to tackle one day or suturing up an incision after a successful bunionectomy.  There are no Frankenstein-looking scars for his patients. And you should see his Christmas tree -- talk about a work of art!  I say "his" Christmas tree, because in our house we have his and her Christmas trees. I guess it's like that old saying about handkerchiefs: "one for show, one for blow."

Let me explain,  it's not that we have a super independant sort of marriage. Carlos and I share a lot -- bank accounts, our big king-size bed (with or without a post-nightmare little visitor,) the responsibility to love and care for our children, our dreams and hopes and toothpaste,...but Christmas trees are another matter.  We just can't agree about the tree, so we've given up on sharing.  He has his tree in the two-story living room (aka home teacher visit room) and mine is in the family room along with the piano, cozy fireplace, and squishy blue couches.

Carlos' ideal Christmas tree and my ideal Christmas tree are about as opposite as can be.  His was born in his imagination years ago as a symbol of future happy Christmases and family life in general -- born in the wake of some complicated teenage years following his parent's divorce. The concept of a themed, even professionally decorated tree for a home was introduced to him by a family in his neighborhood.  He admired the two-story glittering wonder and couldn't wait until he had the opportunity to recreate such a vision of loveliness in his own future foyer.  It had to do with being enabled to create a future more beautiful than the rough patch he was struggling through at the time. The seeds of that vision lay a little dormant during our early impoverished years.

How well I remember our very first tree together.  It was a hand-me-down.  We were married the week before Christmas -- during the break between BYU semesters (of course, why else would someone make their anniversary at the same time of year as Christmas?)  Carlos had been working security at the Canon Center.  When it was time to take down and dispose of the tree by the reception desk as the students were all going home for Christmas, Carlos asked his boss if he could have it.  As a surprise, his boss, who was also a good friend, drove it up to my Grandparent's cabin in Provo Canyon where we would arrive on Christmas Eve, just off of our honeymoon.  We were so happy to have a tree at all.  The next few lean years, we decorated our trees together with paper mache red, green, and gold ornaments, scottish plaid ribbons, and sometimes a string of popcorn and cranberries as garland.   These were often skinny tree lot specials. One year I remember we didn't bother tying the tree to the roof because it was light enough to hold out the window and carry along as we drove down University Avenue.

However humble, Carlos still made sure that our trees looked very nice.  I would help too.  We would be aware of symmetry and bald spots and our decorations would be color coordinated,,.  One Christmas, we splurged on a bigger tree because my in-laws were coming for the holidays.  We didn't have enough ornaments to cover it properly and so I supplemented with my mother's antique doll collection.  It was a themed-tree that year and I thought it was charming.  This was all before two things:  before we were home owners and before the children had started school and were bringing home sundry homemade ornaments made of clothes pins and gold-sprayed macaroni and rainbow colored beads.  You see that would mess up our color coordination.

My ideal tree was the tree of my childhood:  a voted-on by the whole family usually bushy real pine tree covered with a gaudy mishmash of ornaments including the homemade variety as well as old and new glass bulbs (because we were always breaking some.) The scant retro survivors from my parents earlier married years were my favorites:  they exhibited a long-lost craftsmanship:  some had carved out greetings in the glass and others looked like the glass had melted into itself to form a kaleidescope-like pattern of color.  This was in addition to yards of multi-colored lights, thick gold tinsel, fake apples, fancy ribbon made into bows, and finally, to top it off:  hair-like silver tinsel cascading a few at a time over everything:  a vacuuming nightmare, but mother always gave in anyway. The reason I loved those trees had as much to do with the nostalgic meanderings inspired by the process of decorating the tree as it did with the garish finished product.

When our children were still little, we had not accumulated too many of the treasured homemade ornaments yet.  I kept them together and displayed them on a bough either over the fireplace or hanging on the wall over the couch in our little townhouse in New York, still showing them off and yet leaving the artistic integrity of the tree intact at the same time.  Meanwhile, we had moved up to glass bulbs in addition to our original paper mache finds and our trees were getting taller by the year.

Flash forward to our move to Texas.  In Texas, we were able to purchase a home with a two-story living room that was screaming for a Texas-sized Christmas tree.  Carlos found an arificial 14 footer on sale and began making his dream of the ideal Christmas tree a reality.  To my credit, I think I inspired him.  In New York, when we were renovating our town house and I was shopping for light fixtures, I saw a box of leftover chandelier crystals laying in the shop.  I thought 'how beautiful!' there must be some use I could think of for these:  I could turn any light fixture into a chandelier with these, or I could hang them in the windows and catch rainbows...I asked the gentleman at the counter if the crystals were for sale.  "The crystals?  They are just leftover, extras...I don't even know how much to ask you for them.  What do you want them for?"  I was sort of embarrassed to ramble on about my whimsical plans,...as I hesitated the man intuited, "You know what.  You can just have them."  As he handed me the box, he shook his head and added,  "I have one of you at home."  "Thank you, Thank you!"  I said, and thought it was too bad I couldn't thank his wife too for helping him be so understanding.  A month later I realized -- wouldn't these look amazing sparkling on the tree-- like winter ice!  Now Carlos had a theme:  a winter white Christmas tree accented with silver and crystal.  The tree itself wasn't flocked, but all the ornaments would be either white, clear glass, silver, or mercury glass.  That's his Christmas tree.  It really is stunning, and every year only gets better.

My Christmas tree is the in the family room.  It is a fresh one that we pick out with the children.  I have done away with the gaudy gold tinsel; it usually has more of a country feel, but there are plenty of homemade ornaments from grade school and primary parties and home projects.  One year I added mittens, another year plastic red pears.  I use the big white old fashioned-looking teardrop shaped lights and gold and plaid bows, of course.  The children have fun seeing their old creations, and I have fun remembering too.

I used to think that my tree was better; and maybe Carlos thinks his is better too; although we both sincerely respect and value each other's trees.  There have emerged sort of two camps in the family:  Ainsley, Miles, and Blake prefer the big fancy tree while Chloe and Weston wax more sentimental.  Weston, being the most adamant that mine is the only real tree in the house...But when I really think about it, both trees have their place -- and it isn't really accurate to simply categorize them as "one for show, one for blow."  Carlos' tree is not just for show.  It is an embodiment of his perennial hope in a brighter future and his willingness to work for it (his tree is a lot of work!)-- and my tree is not just useful or pedestrian -- it has it's charms:  in fact it's old fashioned and charming on purpose as a nod to old comforts and remembrances of the past.  Put them together and voila!  Isn't that the recipe for the best present Christmas: to both reminisce about the good old days and look forward and make plans for a sparkling future all while making new memories?  Granted, you probably don't have to decorate two Christmas trees to do it.