the Manti fiasco

It was a Thursday. Forget the insurance agent on the other end of the line, forget what my parents would say, forget the vital bodily fluids spilling from my car, and most of all forget the stupid boy I was foolishly excited to see that night. It was Thursday and my best friend was getting married on Saturday, in Manti, and there I was, watching my beloved Minerva (my minivan) bleed out in Provo. On Thursday.

Friday, 9pm, after appealing to every remote relative and indifferent acquaintance owning anything with four wheels, I finally found a car to borrow. As I climbed into the stylish car Saturday morning, with “plenty of time to spare” according to a friend from the Manti area, I thought my troubles were over. False.

There are two ways to Manti from Provo: through Spanish Fork canyon and through Nephi. No sooner had I entered into Spanish Fork canyon than I knew I had made the wrong choice—construction. I should have known. Heavenly Father is constantly trying to teach me patience, frequently in the form of sending price checks to whichever checkout line I happen to be in or slow people to clog every lane. In one of my better moments, I took a deep breath and chose patience. Apparently it wasn’t as easy to prove my reformation as I had hoped, because half way through the canyon traffic stopped dead, just cars as far as I could see, none of them moving, and no cars coming through from the other direction. I could either sit there and likely be bald before I ever made it to Manti, or I could take my life into my hands, flip a u-ey, and BOOK IT through Nephi. Well, maybe someday I’ll learn patience.

Lucky for me all emergency response an law enforcement vehicles in the area were preoccupied with whatever horrible accident had closed the canyon, because I found myself going 90 in a 45. Not knowing exactly how to get to Manti through Nephi, I added to my dangerous driving by making some phone calls. In this process I received contradictory directions and found out that the car that I was currently using to dart in and out of traffic in a thoroughly illegal manner was unregistered and had multiple outstanding DUIs. Great.

The next hour or so are a blur (possibly because I was going 90, 100, and 110 mph) of illegal driving maneuvers and—wouldn’t you guess it— more construction. As I was racing down the final stretch with the Manti temple in sight, I thought to myself, “if a cop tries to pull me over, maybe I’ll just race him to the temple and claim sanctuary. It worked for Quasimodo.” That proved unnecessary, and I pulled into the temple parking lot, apparently immune from traffic laws, and parked at 10:57. The wedding was at 11:00 and I was supposed to be there at 10:30. Lacking sufficient time to do things in a more dignified manner, I left my fancy shoes in the back seat, hurriedly scooped up my temple clothes in an unseemly heap, and ran up the temple hill in my flip flops. I changed clothes in a whirlwind, leaving my street clothes hanging out of my temple locker and ran to the nearest temple worker to ask for the Reynolds wedding. “I’m sorry, dear, you’re too late.” I’m not ashamed (okay, maybe a little) to admit that I shed a tear or two at this point. It was my best friend and I’d already been through a lot to be there. Immediately I was surrounded by overly sympathetic old women in white who stroked my arm and dried my tears and told me everything would be OK.

When they had calmed me sufficiently, I was led to the sealing room where I had to walk between Elder Dallin H. Oaks, who had already begun his speech, and the happy couple to get to the only available seat. Once there I realized that in my clothes-changing frenzy, I had left on all of my large, loud jewelry. As inconspicuously as I could, I took it off and put it in my pocket while still trying to control my rapid breathing from the sprint up the temple hill. I felt as conspicuous as if I were wearing bright pink to this all-white wedding. After the ceremony, I hugged my friends and went to leave, but the only exit was guarded by an Apostle of the Lord. Normally, I’d be thrilled at the opportunity, but I was humiliated. He shook my hand, pulled me in for a kiss on the cheek, and whispered in my ear, “I’m glad that you could make it, young lady. *Face palm*