Mercies and Miracles

by Sharon Downing Jarvis

  The bishop scanned the congregation for reactions. T-Rex was leaning back in the corner of a pew, grinning. No, Thomas, don’t choose him for a hero, he thought, and then decided that after Fairhaven High’s defeat in their last home game, it was good that T-Rex was even here, grinning about anything. He knew the loss had been hard on the boy. Lisa Lou glanced at the girls behind her, who were apparently both scandalized and delighted at the irreverent tone of the talk. Trish frowned slightly, and Brother Warshaw frowned mightily. Most people looked noncommittal, but he caught a few exchanged glances that weren’t hard to interpret especially the one that passed between the two missionaries.

  This boy, a missionary for the Lord? The bishop just wasn’t sure he felt ready to unleash an Elder VerDan Winslow on the world. The jury was still out. LaThea stood and allowed what appeared to be a mink-trimmed jacket to drop from her shoulders to the seat she vacated to approach the pulpit.

  “Brothers and Sisters, I’m just so delighted that we have the opportunity to speak and let you get to know our family better! VerDan is our youngest, and he’ll soon be entering the mission field, following the examples of his older siblings. Our eldest, Martin, is named for the Martins of the Martin Handcart Company, and I’m sure you all know that story. Marty served in Argentina, and was assistant to the president his last few months. Then our daughter, Laurel Anne, served in Vermont, near the birthplace of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and, incidentally, the birthplace of our own ancestor Richard Harbury, who joined the Church and came to Nauvoo, and later served a mission to England, leaving his wife and seven little ones to fend for themselves in the middle of a bleak winter, sustaining them only with his prayers from afar. Richard is only one of a whole bevy of pioneer ancestors we’re blessed to call our very own, so you can see that VerDan comes from spiritually rich stock. I’m sure he’ll be as excellent a missionary as his brother and sister were, and all who served before him, from our family.

  “I’ve chosen to tell you of one of our dear pioneer ancestors as the subject of my talk today, since he was a close associate of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, and all the other early Church leaders.”

  Bishop Shepherd watched a polite glaze begin to form on the eyes of the congregation as LaThea regaled the heroics and spiritual contributions of her ancestor, which admittedly were impressive. He couldn’t say exactly where or why her remarks began to pall, but by the time she ended, he was relieved for himself as well as those who faced the stand. A couple of older brethren were openmouthed not in awe, however, but in restful slumber.

  Brother Harville Winslow came to the microphone with only five or six minutes left, so his talk had to be cut rather drastically, but even so, it was by far the best of the day. Harville spoke of the early missionary efforts of the Church the sacrifices, the difficulties, and the great successes and harvest of souls, especially in the British Isles, and how the influx of Saints from that area, Scandinavia, and other parts of Europe bolstered and renewed the faith and vigor of the Saints who had given so much to establish the Church in the American West. His talk was well-researched and without the dared he call it pomp? the bishop wondered that had characterized LaThea’s offering. The congregation sang, “Come, Come Ye Saints” with more gusto than usual, which the bishop hoped indicated good expectations ahead for the choir.

  After the prayer, he thanked Ricky Smedley and the Winslow family for their participation and made his way slowly from the stand, being stopped by several people with greetings, questions, tithing envelopes, and such. A little knot of people behind the back row of seats caught his attention. VerDan Winslow was holding court, surrounded by a group of girls that seemed to include every young woman in the ward. Tiffani was among them, smiling shyly at the handsome prospective missionary. “No, Lord,” he prayed under his breath. “Not my Tiffani!”

  * * *

  As people were leaving the Relief Society and priesthood meetings, he stood by the door closest to his office and greeted all he could. Sister Forelaw collected her brood from Primary and shook his hand as they passed by. Suddenly, she pulled her youngest back and paused to lean in close to the bishop and whisper, “Guess what, Bishop? My Book of Mormon went missin’, and where do you think I found it?”

  He shook his head, and bent to hear her answer.

  “In Sarge’s truck! I never said a word about it, didn’t let on I knew it was gone, let alone where, but I was so shocked I like to’ve died! Sarge hatn’t ever wanted me to talk religion to him, said it was a person’s private business what they believed, so I’ve gone along with that. I’m dyin’ to know if he’s readin’ it, but I cain’t ask.” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Probably best not to,” the bishop agreed, his smile as big as his delight in the news. “We’ll just keep talking about the gospel and the scriptures when I visit, and hope he listens.”

  “Oh, I think we can be pretty sure he’s doin’ that. What he might be thinkin’ on the subject’s a whole ’nother matter, but I sure hope it’s good.”

  “Come on, Mama,” urged little red-haired Katie. “I’m plumb starvin’.”

  “Hey, Katie, we don’t want anybody starving around here! Hang on a sec.” The bishop hurried to his desk drawer and pulled out several small packages of crackers with peanut butter that he kept on hand for days that were too busy to get home for a meal. “Is it okay, Sister Forelaw, if we stave off starvation with these?”

  She smiled. “Sure, but watch what kind of trend you’re startin’. Young’uns are like kittens they don’t forget who feeds ’em.”

  The bishop shrugged. “If I feed ’em crackers, maybe they’ll let me feed ’em truth when I visit. I haven’t forgotten that I’m bringing you kids a story, next time,” he reminded them.

  “Me, neither,” said Carter. “Thanks, uh mister.”

  “Just call him ‘Bishop,’” their mother instructed, and the other two complied, adding their thanks. He was glad, at the moment, that there weren’t other little ones in the hallway. His supply of crackers was limited.

  * * *

  After Sunday dinner, there was a chance for the adults to relax in the living room of the bishop’s home and visit. Muzzie’s tears seemed to have abated, at least for the moment, and she told them how pleased she was with the response of the particular female attorney someone had recommended to her.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “she just jumped in with both feet and went to work, even if it was a weekend. It makes me feel better just knowing that she’s on my side. She’s dealt with some pretty tough situations before, sounds like, and she’s a great advocate for kids and against pornography and such. She made me even more sure that I’m doing the right thing. And listen she knows of a furnished condo I can probably rent for a reasonable price, so please don’t think we’re planning to camp on your doorstep for the duration! Y’all are so sweet to let us be here, though. I don’t honestly know where we’d have gone. A motel or such would be the first place Dugie would look.”

  Trish spoke. “You’re all welcome, Muzzie you know that for as long as you need to stay.”

  “Well, I surely am grateful for that. But here we are, right at the same time you have that poor little boy to take in, too. Not that he seems to be much trouble, though. He’s sure quiet.”

  The bishop nodded. “I suspect Buddy’s made a career of being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. I get the feeling he’s not completely welcome at either parent’s home.”

  “That’s so sad. And how’s he going to feel, going back to that, after seeing what it’s like here with you guys?” Muzzie wondered. “Because I hope y’all know there is a definite feeling in your home and family, that’s different from any other home I’ve been in. I’m not sure what it is, whether it’s because y’all love each other, or because you pray and believe God hears you, or what but it’s way different from the feeling we’ve had in our house, especially lately. In fact, I’d like to bottle it and take it with us.” She laughed sadly.


  “Don’t have to bottle it,” the bishop told her. “You can create it, yourself, bit by bit, same as we have. It does come with love and prayer and trying to do what’s right, like you just said. And much as I hate the notion of separation and divorce, I do feel that by getting your kids away from Dugie’s negative influence, you’re taking a giant step in the right direction. You just pray for wisdom and guidance, for understanding, for your son’s safe return to you or to his school, and for the Lord’s will to be done concerning your husband.” He couldn’t believe he was counseling Muzzie Evans Winston this way, as if she were one of his ward members. And he didn’t even feel nervous just confident and sure that the counsel he heard falling from his lips was actually coming through him more than from him. “The Lord loves you, Muzzie, and he’s aware of your situation, and all of your children. He stands ready to help you through this difficult time. Just turn to Him in confidence, and talk to Him as you would to a beloved father, in the name of the Savior and then pause to listen for answers. I can assure you they’ll come.”

  Across the room, Trish watched him, wide-eyed. Muzzie listened carefully, biting her lip against the tears that threatened to return.

  “You really think He’d listen to my prayers? After all the years when I’ve gone along with Dugie, even though I hated it, and knew better, deep inside?”

  He nodded. “I know He’ll listen. In fact, I think He’ll rejoice if you turn to Him.

  “Look, we’ve all done things we regret. That’s why Jesus suffered and died for us, so He could pay the price for the things we’ve done wrong. We can be forgiven for them as we repent and turn away from them, and ask for forgiveness and healing in our lives. It’s more than just a pretty thought it’s real, and it really does work. I can assure you of that. I’ve seen it work and I’ve felt it work. I can tell that you have a high degree of spiritual sensitivity, Muzzie, or you wouldn’t feel so bad about what Dugie wanted you to do, and neither would you be able to sense the good feeling you find here. We call it the Spirit, by the way, meaning the Holy Ghost, who’ll come and dwell with us as long as we’re in harmony with Him. If we were to start to quarrel and fight, or deliberately do things we knew were wrong, the Spirit would leave us, because He can’t be in a contentious place it’s contrary to His nature. But I believe that’s really what you feel, right now.”

  Muzzie gazed at him as if mesmerized. “Do you know that you’ve taught me more about God in these few minutes than I think I ever knew?” she asked softly. “Here you’ve got me convinced that He’s real, and alive and interested in me and my children that He actually knows us and our problems, and cares! See, I’ve always wished it was like that, but I suspected God was so grand and far away that I could never approach Him and expect to be noticed. You know like all mysterious and incomprehensible, and just sort of vapory intelligence or thought. I mean, I know we’re taught to pray, ‘Our Father, which art in heaven,’ but I thought that was just an expression, because He apparently created the world, and all that’s on it, including us. But I get the feeling y’all are talking about somebody a whole lot more personal than that.”

  “We are,” Trish agreed. “We believe God is our Father, in a very real sense. He loves us just like you love your kids, only more perfectly and completely and He wants us to turn to Him just like you’d like to hear from Brad while he’s away at school, for example. He wants us to express our feelings and our needs, our joys and sorrows. Not because He doesn’t already know, but because it helps us to grow and feel His love for us when we pray and keep in touch. Plus, it allows Him to bless us even more. It’s pretty exciting, when you think about it.”

  “I’m going to try it, you guys, I really am. I’ve always thought, like, I should pray, I reckon, but what’s the use? I mean, who am I, that God should listen? But maybe He does.”

  The bishop smiled. “We guarantee it,” he said. “And if it seems awkward at first, don’t worry. Just keep trying, and keep it simple. Thank Him for whatever blessings you feel you have, and ask Him for whatever you need remembering that His will is ultimately in our best interests, so sometimes, like any good parent, He has to say ‘no’ and then close in the name of Jesus Christ. It’s very, very easy, and there’s no need for fancy wording or repetition. Just a sincere, simple expression. I recommend it.”

  “So do I,” said Trish. “It’s the one thing that can help you get through times like this. In fact, I think it’ll be even more support and help to you than your good attorney, necessary though she is.”

  “Wow,” said Muzzie reflectively, gazing unseeingly at the floral arrangement on the low table before her. “I’m sure glad I had nowhere else to turn this weekend.”

  “So are we,” Trish said warmly.

  “I’ll say,” agreed her husband, surprised that he really did mean it.

  * * *

  “Jim,” Trish said, later that evening when they were getting ready for bed, “you talked to Muzzie this afternoon almost like you were giving her a blessing.”

  He turned to look at her. “You know what, babe? I think the Lord was giving her a blessing maybe not formally, with oil and all but a blessing, nonetheless. I could tell because I could feel the words coming through me. So it wasn’t me talking. It was something more, and I’m grateful.”

  “Me, too. It was kind of an electric moment, if you know what I mean. The hairs on my arms sort of stood up, like when you hear a really powerful testimony and the Spirit bears witness that it’s true. And I think the Spirit bore witness to Muzzie.”

  He nodded. “I do, too. And the thing is, I think she was ready to hear it. Maybe all this misery has softened her heart and prepared the ground for the seeds of truth, you know? Now, I hope she really will pray. It’d help her, so much.”

  “I think she will. And see, you said it yourself she has some spiritual sensitivity. She’s way more than just a fun, flirtatious social butterfly! I’ve always known that.”

  He smiled. “Reckon you have, else you wouldn’t have stayed friends, all these years. Have to confess, it’s more than I knew, until the Spirit showed me. You know she’s always intimidated me, from the time when we were very young.”

  Trish smiled. “I know but now you’re not fourteen, anymore. We’re all adults, and you’ve seen a totally different side to Muz.”

  “Yep. And I like it better than the other side.”

  “And she’s seen a way different side to you, than just Mr. Grocer and Trish’s hubby. And maybe a little different side to me, too. And a new perspective on the gospel.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he said softly. “This weekend sure has turned out different than I expected.”

  “Me, too,” she agreed, sitting down beside him. “Better.”

  “Better? Even with four extra people as unexpected guests?”

  “Yep. Even. Or because of.”

  He nuzzled her ear and kissed her cheek. “I’m proud of you, Trish. You rose to the challenge, and I know it wasn’t easy.”

  “Piece of cake. Of course, who knows I may fall apart tomorrow, or whenever they all leave. No promises.”

  * * *

  Lying in bed that night, the bishop had a hard time turning down the volume on his thoughts. He thought of Buddy, when he had driven the boy the several miles back out to his mother’s mobile home park. Buddy had hardly spoken, all the way, but when he’d gotten out of the car, he’d leaned back in to get his duffel bag and said, “Thanks, Bishop. Um yer kids are real lucky. ’Bye.”

  He wondered what, if anything, he might do to make Buddy feel a little luckier, too. He also called up the image of Tiffani’s face, smiling up at VerDan Winslow. He sincerely hoped she had gone unnoticed by the good-looking young man who seemed to have such a casual attitude about almost everything. He could see why LaThea wanted this son safely out in the mission field, but he wondered what kind of havoc the boy might wreak in that setting. He didn’t think he wanted to find out. He especially didn’t think he wanted t
o be responsible for sending him out, unless he could discover a different side of VerDan than he’d seen to this point.

  Melody Padgett appeared next on his mental screen, anxious and nervous over the upcoming hearing about Andrea being returned to her. He could visualize, all too well, the arguments that some involved might put forth, saying that her not having managed to keep Andi from witnessing Jack’s abuse to Melody was a form of neglect, if not a sort of abuse in itself.