Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  “Want to have prayer here, then?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  They knelt beside two of the dining room chairs. He prayed. He had intended to ask Trish to be voice, but somehow he didn’t want to risk having her refuse. Maybe he would feel too much like Scott Lanier in that case. He already felt properly chastised and smarting.

  * * *

  During sacrament meeting, looking out over the congregation, he prayed silently for discernment regarding the members and their needs. He was still troubled by the fact that he hadn’t known of Marybeth Lanier’s loss of faith. What else should he know? His eyes paused here and there, lingering on the faces of Tom and Lula Rexford and young T-Rex. Lula’s face looked strained, and Tom was frowning. He knew they were struggling financially, but they were proud people, especially Tom, and reluctant to divulge the extent of their troubles or to accept help. He spotted Tashia Jones, sitting with the Arnaud family, smiling happily just to be present. How could he help her achieve her goal of baptism, and obtain the agreement of her spirited grandmother, Mrs. Martha Ruckman, who had been his fifth grade teacher? Mrs. Ruckman was a devoted Christian and a member of a largely black congregation whose pastor she greatly admired. It was a wonder of some magnitude that she allowed her young granddaughter to attend services here at all.

  The Jernigans were in attendance, and he was glad to see that they had made the effort to leave their fortified home and mingle with the Saints. They needed strengthening and reassurance and fellowship to help combat their fears and paranoia. Next to them sat the stalwart and faithful widow, Sister Hilda Bainbridge. Elderly and nearly blind, she nevertheless remained cheerful and willing to help in any way she could. Constant was a word that came to mind when he thought of Hilda. Ida Lou Reams sat beside her. Another stalwart, this beloved Relief Society president combined love and unstinting service in her approach to her calling, all the while worrying that her lack of formal education would hinder her abilities. He knew she yearned to attend the temple, but her non-LDS husband, Barker, had so far not agreed to that privilege for her.

  His eyes rested on the Smedley family, and he was grateful for their dependability and goodness. Likewise, he appreciated Brother and Sister Warshaw, and the Birdwhistle family, who always brought a smile to his face when they trooped in and made their way to the front. By common consent, the same row was always left vacant for them, even if they were late, because everyone knew they would be coming usually all twelve of them, from Ernie and Nettie, the parents, and elder children Pratt, Moroni, and Rebecca on down to two-year-old baby Emma. Pratt would be mission age, soon. The bishop promised himself a visit to them in their log home in the foothills. An expedition to church was a matter of a sixty-mile round trip in two vans, and they fell under the jurisdiction of the Fairhaven Ward because it was logistically easier for them to travel there than to other wards in the stake, and because they had always done so. He worried a bit about the children because of their isolation home schooled and unable to attend many of the youth activities of the ward, they depended upon each other for company and upon their parents for most of their education, temporally and spiritually. He hoped it would be adequate, in both cases. The Birdwhistles came as close as anyone he knew to being self-sufficient, independent pioneer types. He just hoped the children would be sufficiently socialized that they would be able to fit in the world, go on missions and to college without undue stress. These times weren’t exactly the same as the days in which a young man would be allowed to build a cabin on the edge of his father’s land and take a wife from a neighboring family and settle down to raise a crop of children of his own. The Birdwhistles grew hogs, corn, and soybeans as well as children, and did well enough, but their land wouldn’t support all seven of their sons, even if the boys wanted to follow their father’s line of work, and the price of land and farm equipment was escalating. He hoped plans were in progress for the boys and the girls, for that matter to get training in areas of their interests.

  Melody Padgett slipped in just after the sacrament had been passed and sat alone by the exit that led to the Primary area. He wished she would associate more with the sisters of the ward. She was so embarrassed by her family situation that she was even more reclusive now than she had been when Jack had deliberately isolated her. He would speak to Trish, see if there was any way the sisters could help her.

  Scott Lanier kept his head down, apparently studying the Sunday School lesson he would shortly present. He sat against the wall, and the rest of his pew was occupied by Frankie and Gene Talbot and their family. He needed to speak to Scott maybe just after the block of meetings, unless someone else claimed his attention. He looked at his own family. Trish sat on the same row that her family had most often occupied when she was a teenager. Mallory was beside her, then Jamie, who apparently was drawing pictures to amuse his little sister. Tiffani sat on the aisle, looking the other direction, almost as if intentionally distancing herself from the family, her gaze toward the opposite wall. He sighed. He knew that children needed to go through a process of separation from their parents, and that it was often a painful process for both sides, and he dreaded it hoped it could be as painless as possible. He looked at the pew he had always tried to occupy when he had been secretly in love with Trish slightly closer to the front than hers, and to one side, so that he could turn a little sideways and steal glances at her.

  His heart swelled with love and gratitude that the Lord had blessed him with Trish for his wife a blessing for which he had hardly dared hope. He only wished he understood her a little better, so that he would never cause her stress or worry. The niceties of polite society were so foreign to him that he rarely gave them a second thought. His code of dealing with others sprang from the gospel each was your sister or brother, one of God’s children, and deserved to be treated as such. Sometimes, when you were in a position of authority, such as that of a parent or a boss or a bishop you needed to be firm, but always you were loving and kind and helpful as possible. If you offended, you apologized; if someone apologized to you, you accepted the apology graciously. Beyond that, the finer points of propriety and etiquette were a mystery to him. He supposed he ought to read up on such things. Trish seemed to know them, innately, and that was good hopefully she could pass them along to the children but he kept unwittingly bumping his head against a barrier he didn’t even know was there. Of course, he knew to open doors for women, and to allow Trish to precede him into a room or a row of seats, and he knew he should walk on the street side of the sidewalk, and begin eating with the outermost fork when there were more than one but beyond that, he was clueless. It was something to look into. A bishop should know his manners.

  * * *

  He caught Scott Lanier’s eye after priesthood meeting and beckoned to him.

  “Could we have a word?” he asked, and Scott nodded, accompanying him through the halls to the bishop’s office, his head down, avoiding speaking to people they passed.

  “Well, you know I met with Marybeth,” the bishop began, as they seated themselves in the two chairs before his desk.

  “Thank you for trying,” Scott said. “I know it must not be easy for a bishop to hear of someone’s testimony disintegrating like that.”

  “It is tough,” the bishop agreed. “But I’m only her bishop. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you.”

  Scott started to speak, then covered his face, and his shoulders began to shake. The bishop waited, a lump in his own throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Scott said at last, clearing his throat. “I’m fine, except when someone’s kind to me,” he added, trying to muster a laugh.

  “Don’t even apologize. This is certainly worth crying over, even more so, in my opinion, than if Marybeth had died.”

  “She is dying, spiritually. She’s so changed. So I don’t know flip, or something. And she seems so unconcerned about my feelings on the matter, or John’s.”

  “Boy, that must be hurtful. She told me she feels relie
ved. I imagine that’s pretty common, for folks who have felt that the gospel is restrictive just a bunch of rules to hold people back from enjoying life. She’s apparently never had a testimony of prayer, and now she isn’t even sure that God exists. I tried to get her to say she’d make one more attempt to read the Book of Mormon and pray about it, and about the existence of God and the divinity of Christ but I’m sorry to say she declined. So then I suggested to her that if the time ever comes that she feels depressed, or that something’s missing in her life, she should pray for help in that moment, and she’d get an answer. That was all I felt I could say, at that point. I’m sorry, Scott, that I wasn’t able to make much difference. All I did after that was to bear my testimony to her, and she thanked me and left, with the request that we take care of her petition in a timely way. I’m so sorry. But I haven’t given up, either. Let’s continue to pray for her and to love her, and see how things go.”

  Scott shook his head. “She’s adamant about leaving the Church,” he said sadly. “And I don’t think she has a clue what she’s giving up.”

  “I didn’t feel that she’s had a really clear understanding of the gospel, either, which is strange, considering how bright a woman she is.”

  Scott nodded. “She is bright, but she tends to see things through her own preconceived filter, if that makes sense. She’s perfectly capable of filtering out truths that don’t support her view of things. It makes it hard to reason with her, quite honestly. I’m just beside myself, Bishop, trying to see what I should do next.”

  “I would be, too. I know one thing’s extremely important and that is for you to remain staunch and strong in your own testimony, and not allow yourself to be pulled away into her view of things. You can’t help her up the ladder unless you’re a step above her and reaching down, if you’ll excuse a homely and simple example. So you just keep on keeping on attending your meetings, whether she comes or not, and I guess she won’t studying your scriptures and praying for the strength to deal with this problem. As I said, we’ll continue to pray for Marybeth, too, but as someone said, you can’t pray away another person’s free agency. So you might concentrate your prayer efforts on finding out what the Lord wants you to do in this situation, and asking His help and comfort. That would be my suggestion. He’ll lead you, I know He will.”

  “He already has, Bishop, to a great extent. In fact, that’s the only reason I’m not completely around the bend. But it surely is hard. It’s like having my whole right side cut away. It’s tough even to find topics for conversation that don’t have any bearing on the Church, or on spiritual matters. The gospel’s so much a part of my life and thinking that sometimes I’m at a loss for what to say.”

  “That’d really be uncomfortable,” the bishop agreed. “And you probably already know that things aren’t just as simple as my removing Marybeth’s name from the Church records as she’s asked. I looked into it. If she’s really intent on doing as she says, she’ll need to write a letter to me, expressing her desire. Then I’ll need to complete a Report of Administrative Action form and forward the file to the stake president. Before I do any of that, though, I’m obligated to write a letter to Marybeth, detailing the consequences, informing her that if she goes ahead, she will forfeit the effects of her baptism and confirmation and have her temple blessings revoked.”

  Scott shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, then looked at Bishop Shepherd with pain-filled eyes. “There won’t need to be a church court, will there?”

  “Not unless there is evidence of a serious transgression that would normally result in a disciplinary council. That failing, such a request is basically a self-excommunication, though it won’t be called that.”

  “That’s good. She’d be very resentful if that happened. She feels like she’s done the honorable thing by talking to you.”

  “I see. Well, I hope she’ll be willing to read and consider the letter I’ll be sending her. Maybe seeing the consequences actually spelled out will have an effect on her and cause her to reconsider. I hope so.” He sighed. “But I reckon we’ll just have to see how things develop. Personally, I’m still hoping for a miracle!”

  “We could use one,” Scott agreed, with a ghost of a smile. “Thanks so much, Bishop. You’re a good man.”

  “Well, you’re another. Let’s not give up just yet, okay?” He patted Scott’s shoulder as the man nodded and headed out the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  “call life a good gift, call the world fair”

  The dining room was resplendent with Grandma’s floral china, Trish’s best silver, crystal goblets of water, an arrangement of fall leaves and flowers, and tall white tapers. A smaller, round table had been pressed into service for Jamie and Mallory, and it sported an orange cloth and a ceramic Halloween witch among the leaves. That left seven people at the large table, which could accommodate eight with the extra leaf inserted, so there was plenty of room, but the younger MacDonald child, Ruthie, sitting dutifully by her mother, cast occasional longing glances at the smaller table.

  Twelve was such an in-between age, pondered the host. Not yet a teenager, but not as young as Jamie, Ruthie didn’t really fit with either age group. She sat with downcast eyes as Trish brought in the pork roast surrounded by succulent baked apples.

  “Ah-h,” approved Mac. “That looks terrific, Trish! So much better than bread and milk.”

  Trish laughed. “I’ll just get the vegetables and rolls, and then we can start,” she said, and her husband followed her out to the kitchen, saying he would help. While there, he told her what he had observed about Ruthie, and she regarded him worriedly.

  “Oh, rats! It didn’t occur to me that she might rather be with the little ones,” she said. “She does kind of seem young for twelve, doesn’t she? I’ll ask her. She’ll be embarrassed, but at least she’ll have a choice.”

  She did ask, and Ruthie’s voice was tiny when she replied, “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, we can easily move you over there if you’d rather,” Trish said warmly. “I’m not real sure that when I was your age I’d’ve wanted to listen to the grown-ups’ conversation. But you’re probably way more mature than I was.”

  Ruthie laughed a little. “No, I’m not,” she asserted, and glanced up at her mother, who shrugged and indicated that the choice was up to her. Ruthie pointed shyly to the children’s table, and the bishop sprang up to move her chair and place setting.

  “Cool,” muttered Jamie under his breath, as if ashamed to approve too heartily of anything a girl might do, but Mallory was more vocal.

  “I’m so glad you’re eating with us! Do you like to play Barbies?”

  Ruthie smiled at her. “Sure,” she answered. “Which ones do you have?”

  The bishop happened to be looking at the MacDonalds’ son, Petey, a tall, altogether-too-handsome boy who looked at Tiffani with an expression that obviously communicated the thought, Kid stuff. I’m glad we’re beyond all that. Tiffani smiled slightly and looked down at her plate.

  The bishop invited Mac to bless the food and immediately wondered if it were some unknown breach of etiquette. He threw a hasty glance at Trish, but she was merely bowing her head along with everyone else. He hoped that was a good sign. Mac’s sonorous voice expressed thanks for the kindness of friends and the good things of life and the boundless love and mercy of Christ Jesus, in whose name he prayed. Amens seconded his sentiments.

  “Your daddy prays funny,” whispered Mallory to Ruthie.

  Ruthie scrunched up her face and leaned over to reply. The bishop leaned over, slightly, to hear. “It’s because he’s a minister,” she explained.

  “What’s a min’ster?”

  “Don’t you have one in your church?”

  “Huh-uh, do we, Jamie?”

  “Hush, silly we have a bishop instead, and that’s Dad.”

  “Do you got a bishop in your church?” Mallory inquired.


  “No, but we have four in our chess game,” answered Ruthie, which sent Mallory into a peal of giggles.

  At the adult table, there was much appreciation for Trish’s dinner, and praise from Ruthanne for the beauty of the table and the antique china. The bishop hoped Trish’s insecurities might be salved. There were questions about the local schools, and Petey inquired about the basketball team and which teachers were good, which questions Tiffani was pleased to answer.

  “If you want, I’ll introduce you to some cool people,” she offered, and her father suddenly realized what prestige it would bestow on Tiffani, to be the first to know the handsome new boy in school. He hoped the prestige (and Petey) wouldn’t go to her head. He also hoped she wouldn’t introduce him to Lisa Lou. A follow-up thought reminded him that she wouldn’t need to Lisa Lou would undoubtedly take care of that little matter herself.

  * * *

  “It went okay, didn’t it, babe?” he asked a few hours later as he and Trish walked hand-in-hand on their customary Sunday evening stroll through the neighborhood.

  “I think so,” she said slowly. “I couldn’t tell what Ruthanne really thought, and that’s because of her impeccable manners and good breeding. I think she was kind of testing me when she asked what organizations I belonged to around here. And you know me, I’m not much of a joiner. I mean, the Church and the PTA keep me plenty busy. But she seems to be a very social type in a Christian way, of course.”

  “So what’d you tell her?”

  Trish smiled. “I said I belonged to one of the oldest women’s organizations in the world the Relief Society.”

  “Good for you. Was she impressed?”

  “Who knows? She hadn’t ever heard of it, so I told her a little about our aims and ideals. She seemed interested, but that was probably just her politeness. I also told her that I have friends who go to garden clubs and Bunko groups and reading groups and charitable organizations, and that I was sure there would be some Christian women’s groups she might enjoy. I’ll ask Muzzie; she’s more of a joiner and socialite than I am. She’ll know.”