Pillars

What comes to mind when you heard the word “pillar?” Perhaps you have a moment of panic as you recall studying for your Humanities final in college, trying to remember the difference between Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns. Maybe you ponder the Five Pillars of Islam, Martin Seligmen’s Five Pillars of Well-Being, or T. E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom. If so, please go stand in front of a mirror and repeat the following ten times: “No one likes a bore.” Or perhaps read this and engage in a moment of self-reflection. If you are like most people, you probably just picture a crumbling marble column holding up part of some decrepit Greek temple–one whose name you failed to remember for the aforementioned Humanities final.

When I hear the word “pillar,” however, my mind immediately goes back to the summer of 2003, to a chapel in the Oak Hills Stake in Provo, Utah, where I am holding our youngest son in a circle of priesthood holders and giving him his baby blessing. I never really thought about or planned ahead what I would say in any of my sons’ blessings; instead I relied on the thoughts and impressions that came to me in the moment, as strange as they sometimes seemed to be.

With Robbie, the word and impression that overwhelmingly came to mind as I gave him his name was “pillar.” I blessed him (among other things) that he would one day become the pillar of our family–both physically and in other more intangible ways. The rational part of me wondered at the time what in the world I was doing. Robbie was the youngest, and wasn’t the oldest supposed to be the rock–the “elder statesmen”–of the family? Did that mean Sean was going to sell his birthright for a mess of pottage? Or that Sean, Ben, and Adam would be the Laman, Lemuel, and Sam to Robbie’s Nephi?

Nevertheless, I soldiered on and finished the blessing, figuring that no one would ever remember what I had said anyway. And if Robbie turned out to be the physical, spiritual or emotional runt of the litter, I would always have plausible deniability on what had been said, or not said, during the blessing. When I returned to my seat in the chapel, Mary told me what a beautiful blessing it was, and then handed me her meticulous, extremely detailed and accurate hand-written notes of what I had said. Drat.

I had many occasions over the following years to doubt the feelings and impressions that I had experienced during Robbie’s blessing. Without going into gory detail about Robbie’s childhood, let’s just say that he spent more time in “time-out” than our other three kids combined. Also, none of our other children expressed their displeasure at being ignored by Mom because she was on the telephone by taking a carrot peeler and pointedly shaving the top of a kitchen cabinet door until Mom hurriedly hung up. Like most kids, he seemed to struggle at times in discovering or understanding what his role in the family was, or more importantly could be.

Fast forward 20 years. All of these thoughts were going through my mind as we prepared to leave for Denver to pick up Robbie as he returned from his two-year church mission to Colombia. I thought about how he had grown and changed over the years, and how he was–without even realizing it–developing into the man that I had envisioned all those years ago as I held a one-month old squirming infant in my arms. Physically, he is the tallest in the family. Funny how that was the one part of my blessing that I worried wouldn’t come true. Maybe because it would be the most obvious indication of whether the impressions I had during his blessing were being fulfilled. You can debate the relative spiritual or emotional support any one person provides to their family, but it’s hard to argue with quantifiable, observable fact (despite this, this, or even this). He has also developed a firm faith in his Savior, and a strong spiritual foundation upon which not only will he continue to build, but upon which others can lean. The emotional ups and downs and frustrations of his teenage years have morphed into a steady and more mature understanding of his place in his family and the larger world, and a hopeful vision of what his future holds. As we greeted Robbie at the airport and I watched him embrace his mother, I felt the peaceful confirmation that my 20 year old vision of his future had been accurate. I still don’t know how his role as pillar will unfold, but I do know that it will, and it will be according to God’s plan for him as he moves forward with faith.

Post script: I write this, knowing that I am perhaps violating Elder Holland’s injunction against comparing your children. So, just for the record, I want Sean, Ben and Adam to know that they are all bright and . . . errr . . . pretty?