Love Came Down

Love came down at Christmas, / Love all lovely, love divine;/ Love was born at Christmas, / Stars and angels gave the sign. Christina Georgina Rosetti
“We didn’t find what we were looking for,” my hubby said as we headed back toward I-70, “but we did find what we weren’t looking for.”
We had traveled up and down the dirt road along Westwater Creek near the Colorado border, looking for an inscription on the sandstone cliffs. In 1837, Antoine Robidoux hiked the Old Spanish Trail from Westwater Canyon up to the Uintah Basin. On the way, he carved the following inscription: ANTOINE ROBIDOUX/ PASSE ICI LE 13 NOVEMBRE/ 1837/ POUR ESTABLIRE MAISON/ TRAITTE A LA/ RV. VERT OUWIYTÉ. Translated it means, “Antoine Robidoux passed here 13 November 1837 to establish a trading post at the Green Ouwité River.” Although the wording seems clear, historians have debated its exact meaning.
Antoine Robidoux was born in St. Louis, Missouri, to French-Canadian parents, Joseph Robidoux III and Catherine Marie Rollet dit Laderoute. Joseph III owned a fur trading company, and Antoine as well as his five brothers joined their dad in the family business. Antoine did his part by blazing trade routes into New Mexico, still part of Mexico at the time, and eventually settled in Santa Fe where he met his common law wife. During that time, he and his brother Louis built Fort Uncompahgre near the Gunnison and Uncompahgre Rivers in Colorado. In 1832, he bought the Reed Trading Post from William Reed and Denis Julien near the confluence of the Uinta and Whiterocks Rivers in Utah and rebuilt the one-room post into Fort Robidoux.
The controversy over the exact meaning of his inscription stems from the fact that the Uintah Basin trading post was already established by the time he carved his message on the cliff, and if he built a third trading post, it never made the history books.
Ted and I moseyed up and down the road several times and even took several sideroads. Despite our scrutinizing the cliffs, we didn’t spot the inscription. It should have been easy to find since it measures nine feet tall and more than four feet wide, but it’s on Westwater Ranch private property with no trespassing signs posted every few yards. Nothing indicated its location, not a sign or a trail. However, through the binoculars, we could see stunning Ancient Puebloan and Ute rock art, including shields symbolically decorated, representing strength, protection, and spiritual power. That spiritual power seemed to pulse from the rocks.
Ted was right. We had found the unexpected, but after we returned to Blanding, we researched Robidoux’s life and inscription more thoroughly. In 1844, seven years after he’d inscribed his message, the Utes burned down both trading posts, probably because he was much less than kind and honest in his dealings with them. With the fur trade declining, he retreated to the Midwest.
A few days after we had searched for the inscription, we headed up to Orem’s smog-filled basin to attend our grandson’s graduation from UVU’s Firefighting Academy. Before the event began, he drove his parents and us around in a firetruck, turning to grin at us as he blasted the siren and explaining what they’d endured in the flashover, tower, and physical fitness training. I don’t know about the rest of the family, but I cringed at the danger he and his classmates had already experienced.
Later, during the ceremony, one of the instructors asked the graduates to stand and face the audience. He said, “During this course, we’ve taught you that your classmates’ safety is more important than your own. Now, I want you look at the audience. Look closely. Their lives are also more important than yours. Remember that.” The boys applauded, but I couldn’t help but think what a challenge it must be to put someone’s life, even a stranger’s, before your own safety.
After the awarding of the diplomas, our grandson bounded down to where we were sitting, hugged his parents, his other grandparents, and then wrapped me in a bear hug. “I love you sooo much, Grandma,” he said. He turned to Ted, hugged him, and said, “And I want to be just like Grandpa.”
If the experiences hadn’t come back-to-back, I wouldn’t have thought so much about them. The first exposed a man who put himself first and suffered the consequences. The second, the rock art shields, revealed warriors who relied on spiritual power and protection. The third, our firefighting grandson, had been trained to save others at the cost his own life. Even though it wasn’t mentioned during the graduation, perhaps the newbie first responders, like the long-ago warriors, were learning to rely on spiritual power as well as on their own. Whatever the case, selfishness, spiritual connection, and sacrifice are three faces of humanity, and no doubt we contain some degree of all of them.
Like the first responders’ willingness to sacrifice, this time of year we contemplate the life of another who made the ultimate sacrifice. That source of love came down in the form of a baby boy, born in a cave, and asleep in a cattle trough. He’s the reason we decorate with colored lights, put up Christmas trees, and buy gifts for family and friends. If we let Him, His transcendent love can transform our baser human instincts, so we become more like Him. That may be the most unexpected gift we unwrap this year.