Gratitude Practice 2024 Feb 18: From the Shadows of the Everlasting Hills

The soundtrack of my childhood is heavily influenced by my mother’s strong devotion to the weekly Mormon Tabernacle Choir broadcast known as “Music and the Spoken Word.” Every week of her life, she would set the TV to channel five or switch on her crappy old school am transistor radio to 1160 KSL and our home was flooded with the melodious sounds of the Mo Tab. Each broadcast is centered around a common theme and includes both sacred hymns and some kind of complimentary sermon-esk narrative read aloud by the choir's spokesman. Over the scope of my 47 years this coveted emcee role has always been held by local talent…all men with very soothing smooth voices and equally suave haircuts and snazzy suits often with flashy pocket squares…always a top notch presentation. The iconic presentation both begins and ends with a classic phrase …”from the shadows of the everlasting hill.” These well constructed seven words are deeply burned into my DNA and I think of them often and always read in a manly convincing voice.  

As a Utah native and proud Salt Lake City resident I’ve lived in “the shadow of the everlasting hills” for most of my life. These hills not only provide the eastern border of the Wasatch front but they provide structure and safety and a navigational reference point for our entire community. Seven distinct canyons create this mountain range and my little family loves exploring all of them. Not a day goes by that I don’t look eastward at these mountains and I am stunned and comforted by their beauty everytime. Perhaps this daily practice is a carry over from childhood  and a habit of a small girl desperately seeking evidence of safety and security. Perhaps I love these hills because as a moody teen and young adult, I found solace driving “The Loop” with my radio blasting as I tried to make sense of all things associated with adolescence and independence and individuation. And now as a grown up woman, I look out my east facing bedroom window and look past the rooftops and powerlines of my weird little neighborhood and gaze at these beautiful mountains as I find my place in this city. My sacred little plot of land anchored at the base of these everlasting hills reminds me that all seasons come for a while and transition into something new in time and that this is the pattern of life.  Grateful for this view. Grateful that as I look out my bedroom window and trace familiar peaks and known valleys of this mountain range with my eyes I am reminded that even in the height of life's chaos there are many things that remain steady and strong and steadfast. Grateful for my mother and her weekly tradition and the associated imprint of this silly phrase. Grateful for what I saw this afternoon…my mountains vibrantly dusted with snow and surrounded by puffy clouds celebrating this season and carefully preparing for the next. Forever grateful for the beautiful life I’ve created living in the shadows of these everlasting hills.