Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  She giggled. “You know it’s next Thursday.”

  “Ah, yes, so it is. So you’ll be advancing to the Laurels class. That’s wonderful. And are you preparing to take your driver’s test?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m taking Driver’s Ed.”

  He frowned. “Who’s Ed, and where are you taking him? Is he a nice guy?”

  “Dad! You’re being as silly as I am. I thought this was supposed to be a serious interview.”

  “Tiff, I reckon I feel a little strange, myself, though I’ve given you many an informal interview at home.”

  “You have? When? I don’t remember any.”

  “That’s because they were just daddy-daughter chats about how your life was going, and how you were feeling about things.”

  “Those were interviews? I thought you were just interested.”

  “I was. I am. More than ever. So let’s just have one of those little chats now, and we’ll call it an interview, okay?”

  She gave him a look that plainly said, Okay. If we must.

  “So how’s school going?”

  “Fine.”

  “Keeping up in all your classes? Not feeling overwhelmed? Getting along with your teachers? Making friends with good kids? Feeling safe and secure in the school environment?”

  “Let’s see. Yes, keeping up; yes, overwhelmed in sewing and geometry but plugging along; yes, teachers are all okay except Miss Leonard in keyboarding she’s too serious and prissy um what else did you ask?”

  “Friends? Feel safe there?”

  “I have friends. I mostly run around with Claire, as you know, and sometimes with Lisa Lou and some of the other kids from church. And Vanessa you know Vanessa Rogers I’ve known her since fourth grade. Oh, and a girl named Jenny Daniels, who just moved here last year. She’s nice. I’d like to ask her to come to church with me, but I haven’t had the nerve, yet.”

  “I see. Well, that would be a good thing. Just pray to know when and how to approach her. How about boys?”

  “What about boys?”

  “Well, as you know, when you turn sixteen, there may be some young men who are aware that you might be allowed to go out on group dates. There may be a line forming down the block from our house by Thursday afternoon. I just wonder what to do about it.”

  “Oh, right!” She smiled, but shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know anybody right now that I’d want to go out with. Not anybody special, I mean. I’m not like Lisa Lou, who’s in love with somebody new every Monday morning.”

  He smiled. “And I’m glad of that. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to keep up with Lisa Lou. Who’s her current favorite? Is she still sweet on Elder Rivenbark?”

  “Oh, she wrote about fourteen letters to him, and sent I don’t know how many batches of cookies and stuff, but she’s only had one little thank-you note, so I don’t think she still has much hope, there. I can’t see them together, anyway.”

  “Hmm.” The bishop couldn’t, either and he had figured that Lisa Lou’s crush on the good-looking, handicapped missionary would perish of its own weight, sooner or later. “I see.”

  He took a different tack. “Tiffani, what are some of the goals you have set for yourself either in conjunction with the Young Women program, or on your own?”

  She wrinkled her nose, as if this were a difficult question. The expression so reminded him of Trish, at Tiffani’s age, that he nearly laughed. Tiffani didn’t really resemble Trish a great deal, either in coloring or in feature, but every now and then, an expression or a gesture appeared that was so very Trish-like that it caught him off guard.

  “I let’s see. I want to get good grades, so I can go to BYU after I graduate.”

  “BYU’s a long way from home,” he said. “Lots of other good schools closer by have fine institute programs, with quite a number of LDS students, and you wouldn’t have to travel so far.”

  She fixed him with a look. “Dad are you being an overprotective father, again?”

  He winced. “Yep. Sorry. Go on. You were saying . . .”

  “BYU. And, in the meantime, I want to learn to quilt. I mean, real pieced quilts, not just tied ones.”

  “You do? I’m surprised. You don’t seem to be enjoying your sewing class all that much.”

  “It’s not at all the same thing. Well, I mean, you have to use the sewing machine for part of it, but not all. I like hand-sewing, like embroidery and stuff. And I love quilts, because they’re so friendly, and cuddly and colorful, and creative and all.”

  “That’s great. What else?”

  “Um I do want to get married someday, but not for a long time. I think I’d like to work a while first, at something I really enjoy.”

  “Any idea what that something might be?”

  “Maybe teaching kindergarten. I just love little kids Mal’s age. They’re so sweet and real and honest, and I think it’d be fun to give them a good start in school. And I’m really into stuff like making bulletin boards and teaching aids and all that. And maybe, someday I haven’t told anybody else this, Dad, so you can’t say anything someday I’d like to write children’s books.”

  She waited, watching as if for any flicker of doubt from her father.

  “Tiff, that is so neat,” he told her. “I can see you doing that, I really can. You read so much, yourself you always have that I’ll bet you’ve developed a good feel for stories that kids would like. Go for it!”

  She looked down, pleased and embarrassed.

  “What else?” he prodded. “Any particular spiritual goals?”

  “I want to get ready for the temple. Nana loves the temple so much, and you guys do, too. It makes me want to go. And, maybe, I’m not sure I might want to go on a mission.”

  “That’d be wonderful, but it’s not a decision you need to make right now. Preparing for the temple, though that’s something you can be doing, right along, by studying your scriptures, going to Seminary and your Sunday meetings, having personal prayer every day, and living according to the commandments the Lord has given to help us be happy.”

  “Yeah. Seminary’s neat. I like Brother Warshaw a lot. He’s a good teacher.”

  “How’re you doing with your personal prayers and scripture reading?”

  “I do them almost every day. Sometimes I forget, or fall asleep before I do them, but most often, I do.”

  “I’m so glad, Tiff. Do you have a testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ?”

  “Sure I’ve always believed in Him. You and Mom taught me to, all my life. Mom used to read me stories about His life from that big Bible with the pictures the one that was Grandpa’s. I’ve always felt like Jesus was real, and alive, and I know he died for my sins and was resurrected, so we all will be, too. There’s a lot I don’t know about the gospel, and the Church, but I’m learning, and I do believe in it. So don’t worry.”

  He smiled. “I’m not worried, honey. I’m really grateful for you, and your testimony. You just keep doing what you should, and it’ll grow to be a strong and sure faith that you can stake your life on. Now is there anything in your life that you should tell your bishop about? Any problem that hasn’t been resolved?”

  “Huh-uh, I don’t think so. Except look, Dad I know I’ve been kinda grumpy, lately like last week about that stuff that went on at the football game. I don’t know why I acted like that. I don’t even like Angie much and I don’t always like the way T-Rex behaves, either. There’s no call for me to be taking up for them. So I’m sorry if it seemed like I was.”

  “I knew you didn’t like what happened. But I confess, I was a little confused about how you acted. Then your mom reminded me that young people often feel kind of lumped together as if they were all the same, so that one gets blamed for another’s misdeeds, and naturally they get a little defensive and take up for themselves and each other when they think they’ve been attacked. I didn’t mean to attack. It was just that one isolated behavior I reacted to.”

  She nodded. “I knew that. It just felt well
, like you just said. Like we were all being criticized or attacked for what Angie did.”

  “I think we understand each other, sweetie. Thank you. Now could we have a little prayer together before you go?”

  “I guess. Do you do that with everybody?”

  He shook his head. “No, but when I feel a prompting to, I do. And I feel a prompting now.”

  “Okay go ahead, then.”

  “Let’s kneel by these chairs, shall we? And Tiff, would you go first, and express your feelings and goals to your Heavenly Father? And then I’ll close.”

  It was a few long seconds before Tiffani’s prayer began, and her earthly father noted a change in her voice as she expressed some of her deepest longings to the Father of her spirit. By the time she finished, there were tears, and her dad’s voice wavered a bit as well as he expressed his love and gratitude for this daughter and asked for the Lord’s protection and guidance as she went about the business of growing up physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

  They stood up, and he wrapped his arms around her slight figure and held her tenderly for a moment. “The Lord knows and loves you, Tiff and so do your mom and I.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered shakily. “I love you guys, too and Jamie and Mal. Even though I don’t always act like it.”

  He grinned. “It’s all in growing up. And you’re doing that, just fine.”

  * * *

  He was packing up his briefcase to go home for Sunday dinner when Sister LaThea Winslow sailed in and poked her head around the open door to his office.

  “Bishop! Do you have a couple of minutes? I have the most wonderful news!”

  “Well, sure, Sister Winslow. What news would that be?” He poked his own head into the clerk’s office and sent an apologetic look to Dan McMillan, who was the last one there. Dan nodded, understanding that the bishop required someone else to be nearby for the sake of propriety when visiting with a sister alone, and went back to the desk chair he had just vacated.

  “Well,” began LaThea, perching on the edge of a chair as the bishop consigned his own weary posterior to another stint on polished oak. Maybe he should speak to Trish about getting him a cushion. “You remember my telling you about our son, VerDan, who’s been attending the University of Utah? You won’t have met him, yet, as he hasn’t been home since the wards were combined, but he’s decided to withdraw from school this semester and serve a mission! He just called last night and told us, and I am so thrilled! Harville and I have always hoped he would go on a mission, and encouraged him to, but of course it needed to be his own decision, so we haven’t pushed. And now he’s decided! He’ll be flying home tomorrow, so I told him I’d hurry and make an appointment with you, so that you can get the ball rolling right away!”

  “Well, well that is good news,” the bishop said, trying hard to remember anything he knew or had heard about the Winslow boy. There was nothing only the impression he had that all the Winslow children had flown the nest. “How old is uh VerDon?”

  “VerDan, Bishop. He was named for his two grandfathers, N. Verd Winslow and Daniel D. Compton. That would be of the good Comptons, of course the pioneer stock not the ones who came to Salt Lake later, from South Dakota. We’re not at all related to them. Oh and he’s twenty.”

  “A-ha. I see.” He had never heard of either family.

  “Anyway, VerDan’s ready to commit, and I’m so delighted I just couldn’t wait to tell you, so you can start getting the paperwork ready for him.”

  “And I’ll be delighted to get acquainted with him. If he’s real anxious to get started with the process, I may be able to squeeze him in for an initial interview on Tuesday evening. Let me just check with Brother McMillan on that.”

  Dan McMillan assured him that he could probably shift the time of the bishop’s last scheduled interview on Tuesday up by half an hour, to allow time for him to meet the young man, and this he duly reported to LaThea.

  “Oh, Bishop, thank you. I knew I could count on you. I just want to strike while the iron or the missionary is hot, if you know what I mean.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure he did. “Do you feel that uh VerDan might change his mind about going?”

  “Oh, no, not really. It’s just that sometimes, you know, young men get cold feet if things drag on too long. I just know that VerDan will be a great missionary. He’s a very confident, well-spoken young man, and he comes of great missionary stock.”

  “Well, I certainly look forward to getting to know him. Thanks for coming in to share your good news.” He stood and came around the corner of the desk to offer his hand to her, but she stayed put.

  “There’s one other thing I wanted to run by you,” she stated. “And that’s about the ward social coming up in November. I’ve decided on a feast, based on the Jewish Feast of Booths, or Tabernacles. That’s a harvest festival, and I thought it might be really interesting to incorporate some of their ideas into our own harvest celebration.”

  The bishop thought so, too. He sat back down. He could say one thing for Sister Winslow her socials were unique and interesting enough to bring everyone out. The first ward party, a celebration of ward unity among ethnic diversity, had been a rousing success that people were still talking about. There had been a ward barbecue and a swimming and ice cream social during the summer. Then, in September, plans had changed from a square dance to a special fast day followed by a ward prayer service and dinner, the proceeds of which had been sent off to Humanitarian Aid specifically for the needs of the September eleventh victims.

  Now, in October, they were looking forward to something LaThea called a Trunk-or-Treat party on Halloween. They were to have a chili supper and a pumpkin-carving contest (with some of Ralph Jernigan’s pumpkins), after which the families in costume, of course would repair to the parking lot, where car trunks would be opened (also decorated inside) to allow trick-or-treating from car to car instead of the more dangerous practice of house-to-house begging in their various neighborhoods. LaThea had admitted that this last had not been her original idea; her sister’s ward in Bountiful, Utah, had done it last year with great success.

  “Tell me more about this festival,” the bishop invited.

  “I’m still studying about it,” LaThea confessed. “But I know the Jews used to build little huts or shelters, each family making their own, and use foods of the harvest. I have a vague idea about asking the families in our ward each to come and construct a little booth or hut in the cultural hall. It could be a tent, or something made of corn stalks, or cardboard just anything as long as it’s their own, and their family eats together there. I’ll let you know more when I’ve figured it out but what do you think, so far?”

  “I think it sounds great!” he told her. “What does your committee say?”

  “Oh, well, you know I haven’t had a chance to run it by them, yet but they’ll go along with whatever I decide. They always do.”

  The bishop raised his eyebrows. Did they have a choice? He wondered. LaThea had a powerful way about her. He also wondered, in fact, how much of VerDan’s decision to serve a mission was his own, and how much might be attributed to his mother. Perhaps on Tuesday night he’d be able to get a feel for that.

  * * *

  On Monday afternoon he drove straight from work to the Rexford home, having called ahead to say he wanted to visit with the husband and father, Tom Rexford.

  Tom met him at the door, frowning in anticipation or dread of whatever might have occasioned this visit from his bishop. He was neatly dressed, at least, in a checked, long-sleeved shirt and chino pants, and his hair was combed, and the bishop took heart from that. Tom, in the past, in warmer weather, had received him in shorts and an undershirt, sprawled in a lawn chair in the backyard from which he didn’t rise, to greet or to bid goodbye to his visitor.

  “How’re you doing, Brother Rexford?” inquired the bishop, sticking out his hand and expecting it to be shaken. It was, with a fair degree of heartiness.

  “A
w, I’m good, Bishop. How’re you, and yours?”

  “We’re just fine, thank you.” The bishop moved into the Rexford living room, which was paneled in knotty pine and sported several framed photographs of T-Rex in his football uniform, as well as a clock face on a painted slab of wood featuring what appeared to be a flock of geese rising from a marsh. Red and black checked upholstery on the sofa and two chairs contributed to the general effect, which was warm and cozy but totally masculine, as far as the bishop could tell. Where was Lula’s influence in this house? Maybe in the kitchen, or bedrooms? Well, probably not in the one she shared with Tom, he amended and certainly not in T-Rex’s.

  “So, Bishop, what brings you out this evenin’? Checkin’ to see have I got a job, yet?”

  “Um no, not at all, Tom although my visit does have to do with employment. No, I’m here to invite you to accept a calling in the ward.”

  “Aw, no, Bishop there’s nothin’ along that line I’d be good at. I’m no teacher or leader or nothin’.”

  “I think there is something you’d be good at, and apparently the Lord agrees with me, since he confirmed my prayer about you pretty powerfully. He wants you to be the ward employment specialist. I’m sure you know you folks are not the only family affected by all the changes that have taken place around here in the last couple of years. A number of our people are having trouble finding jobs. The stake puts out a list of job openings that come up in the area, and it’s updated pretty regular. Your job would be to try to identify who needs work and what kind, and what they might need to do to train or retool for a new position, and try to match them with possible openings. You’d be working with the elders quorum president and the high priest group leader, visiting people with them and just doing whatever you could to help. Will you accept this calling?”

  Tom Rexford studied the paneled wall across from him as if waiting for writing to appear there to instruct him how to answer. Finally he pulled his eyes away from this contemplation and asked, “I wouldn’t hafta give a talk or nothin’, would I?”