The Little Drummer Boy

After work the other night I decided to take advantage of a rare cool breeze by strolling around the grounds of the Provo Temple. I acknowledge outright that this only reinforces the stereotype with which I’ve been associated: the nerdy, lanky Mormon dude who teaches at the MTC and patronizes the Creamery. But the temple is so close to work, and there is so little to do in Provo on Wednesday evening that I figured a walk was my best option. The main entrance of the temple is beautifully landscaped, featuring two pristine fountains and several benches—the ideal venue for couples looking to get makey-outey in public. I passed quickly through this infamous PDA zone and headed for the back garden on the temple’s east side. It was getting dark, so I couldn’t really enjoy the flower beds or the hedges that wrap around the white walls of the building. But I was pleased to find that no one was back there and that I had my pick of several benches facing the well-illuminated temple. Within minutes I had drifted into a pleasant reverie on my favorite bench; reflection is easy when you’re by the temple.

Then the night changed.  Some dude—we’ll call him the Little Drummer Boy—appeared out of nowhere, spawned, I imagined, by the same villain who inspires people to yak on their cell phones in public places. He had arrived without my noticing him and had sat on the bench nearest me. Clad in short shorts and a tank top, my vertically-challenged neighbor (he couldn’t have been 5’5″)  looked ready either to run a marathon or to impersonate Richard Simmons. But in fact he did neither; he drummed. What did this rogue temple-grounds percussionist pound on? Whatever he could reach. Starting with thigh-smacking, he progressively built a rhythm that segued into street-light–tapping and culminated with bench thumping. It’s difficult to use a solid slab of concrete as a drum, but this dude laid down some beats.

Despite my sitting eight feet away from him, the Little Drummer Boy may have had no idea I was there. He played his solo in a  frenzy, punctuating some of his beats with swooping head nods. I couldn’t believe it. Was this guy really rocking out in the shadow of the temple? My peaceful moment interrupted, I quickly became annoyed by the LDB. I resented him partially for his tactlessness but mainly for his ability to enjoy himself at my expense. “This is an outrage,” I told myself as I silently passed scathing judgments on the drummer.  I stewed in my anger. The drumming continued, and the sky darkened.

Then a moment of revelation arrived; the contrast between the glowing white temple and the night sky suddenly became starker than the contrast between what had been my reverie and the drumming. Staring at the high temple walls, I realized that I had allowed someone else’s actions to decide what I thought and how I felt. The drummer, lost in his own communion with the infinite, was edified by his surroundings and at peace with himself. And I was a wreck. Just at the moment all this dawned on me, the drumming stopped and the LDB walked abruptly away. He had been there no longer than three minutes.

Too quiet then. I went home.

The Provo, Utah Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints