burned

I spent the weekend following breaking news from my hometown of the tragic loss of the historic and beautiful Provo Tabernacle, which was devastated by fire on Friday. Like many people from Provo, I loved this building. It stood majestically in the heart of downtown, and was a gathering place for residents all over the Wasatch Front. Several times a year I'd sit in the pews for religious services and community concerts, and it was from those rather uncomfortable benches that I'd let my eyes wander over the intricate and loving details in the design and architecture.

The Provo Tabernacle, as seen in better days.

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And now it's gone. The windows are blown out. The roof collapsed. I cried as I watched this footage of the main balcony as it crashed down in flames. The inside has been reduced to piles of rubble. John Curtis, the mayor of Provo, said after he entered the building during an initial inspection that it "looked like World War II." After pouring over the images depicting the fire and its aftermath, I'd say that's a pretty accurate description.

In flames.

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Devastated.

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I need to stop looking at those images, not only for the sake of my broken, aching heart and to keep my mascara from running, but also because this is what Garrett drew on the back of his nursery handout yesterday at church:


"It's a fire," he told me, accurately portrayed using red, orange, and yellow crayons. He needs to go back to drawing portraits. Pictures of fires -- of this fire -- are too painful.

In his statement, Senator Orrin Hatch summed up nicely how I think many of us feel about this building:

The Provo Tabernacle was about more than mere bricks and mortar; it was an enduring symbol of the city and of the faith and fortitude of those early Utah pioneers. Fire may have destroyed the building, but it will never tarnish their proud legacy. It also will never diminish the cherished memories of those of us who were privileged to assemble there and feel of its special spirit.

It's too early to say if it can or will be rebuilt. But its spirit and its legacy will no doubt live on in the hearts and memories of those who have been privileged to assemble there. I know it will in mine.