Priesthood Power

On the first Monday of October, my firstborn son, Hyrum, turned twelve. I was not taken by surprise. This was something we had been discussing and planning about for weeks and weeks, scheduling interviews and ordinations and massive family shindigs and what-have-you. That's not to say I was not introspective about the occasion. I really was.

I catch myself staring at Hyrum, watching him play with his sisters and his friends, reading his books, doing his chores, watching how his face moves when he is telling me about some idea, or a topic that animates him. And he has morphed before my very eyes, from child to young man. It has been both natural and surreal for me. Of course he is twelve. What else could he be after all these years and milestones? He has been taller than me for months now, and his shoes are one size bigger than his father's.

But, seriously, can he actually be twelve? Has it actually been that long? No way that cherubic, unsophisticated little kid is on the cusp of Young Manhood. But he really is. So, he was interviewed by our Branch President, and found worthy to be ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, to the office of a Deacon.

We started telling family and friends back in July (or June?) that this was coming, because we wanted as much of our extended family to come for this moment as possible. The idea of packing the congregation with our Kith & Kin was particularly striking to Hyrum. He often hears Mark and I speak with others about the attendance at Church, and our transformation from tenacious Twig to robust Branch, and nearness to full Ward status. So it rapidly became important to him to be the force for much Sacrament Meeting Attendance good.

Hyrum was ordained on October 11th, and our wonderful family turned out in force. As a fabulous surprise, the rest hymn during Sacrament Meeting was a number performed by all the priesthood holders there. Every man and young man went up to the front of the Chapel. There was not enough room for them on the stand and in the choir seats, so they spilled out to stand at the front of the pews. Those who were visiting for Hyrum's ordination were up there, too. Together, they sang "Ye Elders of Israel". Hyrum just beamed and beamed and beamed. It was an awesome site, in the true meaning of the word.

And when, during the 3rd hour block, it was time for the actual ordination, Hyrum sat surrounded by his father, his grandpa, six of his eighteen uncles, and men in our Branch who he counts as friends and mentors. Mark gave a powerful blessing. I wish I had been taking notes. It was uncharacteristic that I was not, but I was so intent on the moment, I was not documenting it (that, and keeping George quiet).

After Church, we invited all the fam and a slew of friends over for a barbecue. The house was packed to the gunwales, and everyone had a grand time visiting and eating and playing and eating some more. Hyrum wolfed down his food and evaporated with his friends, not to be heard from until dessert was served. Yup, he is definitely twelve.

It was a wonderful day. After everyone had said their last goodbyes and taken their potluck dishes with them, Mark and I put the house in order in record-breaking time. Then we called Hyrum and the girls to the living room to talk the day over just a bit. It wasn't until that moment that we thought we should have had the girls in the room for Hyrum's ordination. And I was a little sad when I realized they could have been there, and should have been there. That would have been a bonding, uniting experience for our little phogles family amalgamation.

So Mark told them about what happened, and I mentioned one or two things said in the blessing (which I am horrified to not be able to remember!), and we gave Hyrum a moment to share his thoughts and feelings about the experience. And it was almost over before I realized I had nary a photograph to mark the entire happy occasion. This would never do. All the uncles had gone home already. But I needed at least one picture of my two priesthood holding men in their Sunday shirts and ties. So I asked Hyrum to run upstairs and put on his birthday tie - the eagle one his uncle Wilson had given him.


He got distracted (yes, twelve for sure), and by the time I got him back down, Mark had taken of his tie. The very cliche it is what it is ran through my head, and I just grabbed the camera and took these shots of my men. George was there, clinging to their suit pants, so Mark swooped him up and added him to the moment. I get all whimsical and misty when I look at these pictures. Them there is my menfolk.

Notice, if you will, in this picture, that George is exploring his nostril. He does that. A lot. George really likes the noise it makes, to squish his fingers in and out, and try to jabber through his blocked nasal passageway. I have yet to capture the double-barrel finger pose with the camera, but I will not give up. I need not repeat the family nose-picking joke.

Hyrum was pretty sick the weekend following his ordination, so he missed his first opportunity to pass the Sacrament. He was sick for days, just sleeping and sleeping and reading. And subsisting on toast and herbal teas. He actually ended up losing enough weight that he went down a complete pants size. So, the following Sunday, when he stood up with the Deacons to pass, he truly was different. The baby fat is gone. The little boy is gone. He looks taller. He is certainly more thoughtful, even solemn at times.

And today, I was called out again during 3rd hour, to be there when he was set apart to be the 2nd Counselor in the Deacon Quorum presidency. Neither Mark nor I knew he had been called. Oh my goodness. My son has a calling.

Anyway, I sure do love these three handsome Galbraith men!

Mark, go wash George's hands, please.