Saturday morning, while Trish and the children were helping Muzzie and her girls get settled in their rented condo, Bishop Shepherd sat at his dining room desk attempting to write the required letters to and about Marybeth Lanier. He had prayed for words, but so far they hadn’t appeared on the paper. Marybeth had taken exception to being addressed as “Sister,” so he had begun by writing, “Dear Mrs. Lanier,” but for some reason, that troubled him, and he crossed it out and wrote “Mrs. Marybeth Lanier” on the first line, and under that, “Dear Marybeth.” That seemed better friendlier although the feelings he was experiencing at the moment were less than friendly. He was upset with Marybeth, yes, even a bit angry with her, for her stubborn refusal to try again to find out the truth of the gospel of Christ, for her cavalier attitude toward the tender feelings of her husband and family and the covenants they had made, and for her light dismissal of the beliefs he, himself, cherished and tried to abide by.
He threw down his pen and headed for his truck. It was time for a drive to Shepherd’s Pass, the homestead his forebears had settled, and a place his heart turned to in times of stress and struggle. He kept the radio off as he drove, trying to allow his mind to relax and be open to promptings of the Spirit. The day was cool and windy, and it felt good to be out in it. His favorite tunnel of trees, instead of shading the road as they did in summer, now cast moving shadows of nearly bare limbs across the pavement. Fields had been harvested and plowed under, animals were kept closer to barns, and the land waited for winter.
He stopped at the farmhouse, the home of his cousin Spurling Deal, to let the family know he was about, so that no one would think he was trespassing.
“Well, hey, Jim,” greeted Spurling’s wife, Kaylene. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“Hey, Kaylene. No honor, I’m afraid. Just another of my hiking trips around the property, if y’all don’t mind.”
“No problem. I’ll just call Spur and let him know you’re here.”
She extracted a cell phone from her apron pocket and did so.
“He says maybe you’ll run into him. He’s cuttin’ brush up by the falls.”
“Good, maybe I will, then. You know, I’m going to have to get me one of those phones, much as I hate to think of not being able to get away from some calls.”
“Well, they’ve been a blessin’ for us. Like now, I can get ahold of Spur anytime I need to. Wisht we’d’ve had ’em years ago.”
“Reckon I’ll have to move on into this century, pretty soon. I’ve even been learning to use a computer. So how’s everybody up here?”
Her smile was cheerful. “Oh, we’re same as. Can’t complain, except that we seem to get older, ever’ birthday. How’s your family?”
“Great, thanks. Can’t complain, either except that the kids seem to get older, every birthday!” He grinned. “Reckon it’s planned that way, but I’d sure like to keep ’em young, and they’re rarin’ to grow up fast as possible. My Tiffani’s sixteen, now kind of a scary age.”
“Oh, mercy. No more peace in the valley for y’all! I remember when Davey turned sixteen, I near thought I’d die of worry every time he took the truck anywheres. He’d peel outa here and kick up enough dust to bury us all! I’d keep the radio goin’ the whole blessed time he was gone, just listenin’ for news of accidents. Is your girl drivin’, yet?”
“She’s working on it. I don’t look forward to her first solo drives.”
“First hundred, is more like it. Well, you enjoy your hike, Jim, and give my love to Trish and the young’uns.”
“Will do. Thanks, Kaylene.”
He tramped along the edge of the fields where they bordered the woods until he found his favorite sitting rock, where he perched with his knees drawn up and his head on his folded arms. He listened to the wind in the trees, the gentle clacking of the branches and rustling of brown leaves, the occasional buzz of an insect, or cry of a bird, and allowed the stress and frustration to seep out of him.
“You see, Father,” he prayed, “I think I feel partly defensive on my own behalf, partly on Brother Scott Lanier’s behalf, and partly in Thy behalf, that this sister makes light of Thy revealed truth and the gospel of Thy Son. Now, I know Thou art able to fight Thine own battles, and I know Thou art aware of Sister Lanier’s state of mind and whatever the causes and reasons may be for the decision she’s made. Wilt Thou please bless me to know how to deal with her according to Thy will, and forgive me for the upset feelings I have toward her, and for anything, no matter how small, that I may ever have done to help to bring about her loss of faith. Please bless me with Thy love, Father, and grant me a portion of the pure love of Christ, that I may learn to have charity toward Marybeth and toward all my fellow beings. I’m so very human, with so many obvious weaknesses, and I pray Thee to make up the difference, so that those I’m called to serve may be served in a way pleasing to Thee.”
He sat and thought and listened for a while, prayed some more, then stood and stretched and walked into the wooded area, his shoes making a satisfying crunch in the fallen leaves and twigs. He heard the sound of sawing and chopping and followed it until he came upon his cousin of some degree or other, he wasn’t exactly sure what, Spurling Deal. Spur was several years older than he of a generation about halfway between his and his father’s, and while they weren’t exactly intimate friends, they’d always been cordial, and the farmer seemed to understand the grocer’s occasional need to walk these lands and get away from the pressures of life in town.
“Hey, Spur,” he called, and his cousin put down his saw and held out a hand to shake.
“Hey there, your ownself,” Spur answered. “How in the world are you?”
“I’m good,” the bishop replied. “Or at least, I’m trying to be. Thanks for letting me come up here and tramp around. It does my soul good, somehow.”
“Know what you mean,” the older man agreed. “There’s somethin’ about bein’ out in God’s green earth that heals a body, and helps him think clear. Reckon that’s one reason I was set on raisin’ my family up here, so the kids could grow up feelin’ that.” He lifted his cap and scratched the back of his head. “I’m not one hundred percent sure it worked on all of ’em, but I do think the distance from town held down the problems just a little, and workin’ the earth is kinda like helpin’ the Lord out, if you catch my meanin’. It puts things into perspective, and it gives you faith to see how regular the sun comes up ever’ mornin’ and the crops ever’ spring.”
“Exactly. Perspective. I think that’s what I come up here looking for,” the bishop agreed. “What you doing today cleaning out some undergrowth?”
“Yessir, I don’t like this area to get too wild and overgrown. Too many critters take up habitation here if it does some that harm the crops. Even at that, we get a passel of deer and coon and rabbits and skunk and possum. If I made it too friendly for ’em, we’d never harvest a leaf of anything. Plus, when it’s dried out, there’s a fire danger from lightnin’ strikes. So how’s the store-keepin’ business?”
“It’s not bad. We won’t become millionaires as independent grocers, but it’s a living, and I enjoy most things about it. We’re always real happy to get fresh produce from you folks. It sells out fast.”
“Uh-huh, that’s good. Reckon if it was me, I’d be worried that the big superstore chains’d force me out of business.”
“They sure do provide some stiff competition, and we can’t beat ’em in a lot of ways,” the bishop admitted. “I don’t know, for certain, whether there’ll be a business to pass on to my Jamie when he’s grown and of course, that’s assuming he’s interested, which I reckon I shouldn’t assume.” He looked out over the fields. It was a concern he had not a major worry, but a concern.
“Wal, yeah iffen he’s interested. See, I thought my David would take over the farm, here, but no he’s gone off to Huntsville and become an accountant. It’s Harvey that loves the place, and when he was a young’un I couldn’t hardly get him to turn a hand to do
anything around the fields or the animals, neither one. Now I depend on him, and he’s stepped up to the plate like a trooper. So, go figger.”
“So far, Jamie’s most interested in the space program, but who knows how things might change by the time he’s grown.”
Spurling wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up his saw again. “Whoo-ee! This old world’s changin’ so fast, I cringe to think how things might be by then. Y’all keepin’ up with this terror business?”
“Oh, sure we are. Can’t avoid it, even if we wanted to. It’s a wake-up call, for certain.”
“Kaylene and me, we figger folks better turn to the Lord, and stop tryin’ to outdo one another in sin and greed.”
“Spurling, I totally agree. Listen, I won’t keep you from your work, but thanks again for letting me hike around up here.”
“You’re fam’ly,” Spurling said, his tanned face creasing into its well-established pattern of wrinkles and laughlines. “Come anytime. Bring your young’uns next time, hear?”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
The bishop continued his hike to the falls that Kaylene had mentioned, where he spent some time watching the trickle of water that fell little more than a yard into a mossy pool that fed a minuscule stream meandering down through a meadowland. In the spring there was much more volume and rush to the water, but just now the small-scale trickle was pleasing to the eye and ear and spirit. This spot had been a place of prayer for him a number of times, and it was so, again, on this occasion. He enjoyed attending the temple in Birmingham, and was grateful to have such a blessed place relatively close to his home, but somehow, this little glade felt, to him, almost as hallowed as that sacred edifice.
When he returned home that afternoon, he still didn’t know how to word his letter to Marybeth Lanier, but he was calm, and no longer angry and for that, he was grateful.
* * *
“Hey, Bish-upp!” It was the unmistakable voice of T-Rex in the church parking lot, and the way the young man emphasized the second syllable made the bishop smile. Obviously, the lesson on speaking respectfully to and of priesthood leaders and others had taken, and T-Rex was letting him know it. He grinned and joined him on the way into the building.
“Hey, Thomas! How’s it going?”
“Aw, Bishop, I’m pretty bummed about the season bein’ over, and we didn’t get to the finals. That sucks. Uh pardon the expression.”
“I know it does. Well, if it’s any comfort, you did your part you were unstoppable! Hey, that reminds me, Thomas, I’ve got something for you, and I think it’ll blow you away. I’ll bring it over to your house, first chance I get.”
“Aw, Bishop, you shouldn’t have! I don’t really need a new motorcycle.”
“Yeah, right. I’m not convinced you need the one you’ve got! Now, an old truck to work on and race that’s the ticket.”
“Is that what you did, back when?”
“It sure is. And I still get this nostalgic, yearning feeling whenever I see an old truck of that vintage, or whenever I see something on TV about the Nascar truck series. Takes me right back to those glorious Saturday mornings with all the dust and the roaring engines and speed and cheering.”
“Yeah, that’d be cool, all right! I didn’t know you were into racing and stuff.”
“Oh, yeah. Every now and then I get mesmerized, standing in front of the television watching a race, when I only meant to walk through the room on my way somewhere else. Then my wife notices, and waves her hand in front of me, like, ‘why are you standing there with that look on your face? I thought you were going to wash the car.’ See, my wife’s wonderful, and I’m grateful I married her, but she just doesn’t get this fascination I have for trucks and cars chasing each other round and round in circles.”
“Don’t reckon most girls or ladies would. Lots of women do go to races, though.”
The bishop sighed. “Not mine. Jamie likes it, though. He’s a kid after my own heart. So anyway, Thomas, I’ll bring that little gift around, soon.”
“Great. Thanks, Bishop!”
“Oh, Thomas are you folks going to be around for Thanksgiving, or are you heading off to be with family or something?”
“Reckon we’ll be around. Mama says we’re keepin’ it simple this year. Just chicken and dressing and football on TV.”
“Okay, then I’ll catch up to you sometime during the holiday.”
* * *
After teaching his priests that day, the bishop followed VerDan Winslow down the hall toward the back door of the building, waiting while the boy chatted with several young people, then placed a hand on his shoulder and asked for a few moments of his time. He had studied VerDan during sacrament meeting, and it had become clear in his mind what he must do. VerDan followed him to his office.
“Brother Winslow, I’ve been giving the matter of your mission some serious and prayerful consideration, and I have a proposal for you.”
VerDan combed his hand through his hair. “I’ll bet you didn’t like my talk last week very much, did you, Bishop? My mom got all over me about it, but I was just trying to add a little humor, that’s all. I’m sorry if it didn’t come across okay.”
The bishop shook his head. “Actually, I wasn’t going to mention your talk. I’m pleased with you for making the effort, and I’ve never objected to a little humor, as long as it’s in good taste. You were a little hard on Brother Brigham, true, but that’s not what I called you in here for.”
“Oh. Okay. What’s the proposal?”
“Well, I strongly feel that in order to be prepared to represent the Lord Jesus Christ and His restored Church to the people of the world, prospective missionaries need to develop a sure and certain testimony of their own regarding His divinity and atonement, and regarding the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the mission of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I’m going to speak very plainly, VerDan. So far, what I’ve heard from you with regard to testimony has been kind of half-hearted and wishy-washy, and frankly, we don’t need half-hearted, wishy-washy missionaries, we need strong, clean, righteous, and committed young people to go out and sound a warning to the world. You remember the scripture about the trumpet giving an uncertain sound?”
VerDan frowned. “Uh I don’t know. Where is that?”
The bishop pushed his Bible across the desk to the young man. “First Corinthians, chapter fourteen, verse eight.”
He watched as VerDan paged through the volume, obviously at a loss to find First Corinthians.
“It’s in the New Testament,” he prompted.
“Oh. Sure.” It was still apparent that he was confused, but the bishop watched patiently until he found the reference.
“Want to read that for us?” he asked.
“Okay. ‘For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?’ Is that all?”
“That’s it. What d’you think that might mean, VerDan?”
“Um I guess it’s something about going to war, and somebody blowing a trumpet, getting ready for a battle, but . . .”
“Okay, good. Now how does that relate to being a good missionary?”
VerDan set the scriptures back on the desk. “Well, I know the angel Moroni on top of the temple blows a trumpet, I guess to wake up the world to hear the gospel. Is that what you mean?”
“Close. See, our missionaries are like Moroni, bringing the restored, everlasting gospel to people. They don’t literally blow trumpets, of course, but they do sound a warning and try to get people’s attention so they’ll listen to the message of the restoration and the good news of the gospel. Now, if a missionary’s trumpet his voice, or testimony is uncertain-sounding, if he isn’t sure of what he’s teaching, how is that going to give people confidence in his message? You wouldn’t want a group of soldiers saying, ‘Uh, was that the battle call? I thought maybe I heard it, but I’m not sure, so I’ll just sleep a while longer, until I know for certain.’ Then, all of a sudden, ‘uh, oh! Here’s the enemy upon
us!’ Do you hear what I’m saying, VerDan?”
“Yes sir, I suppose I do. I need to get a stronger testimony before I go out, is that it?”
“Exactly, so that you’ll be confident and excited to be there, and committed to what a mission is all about. And, see this scripture applies to me, too. What if I’m the trumpeter, but I give you an uncertain call to the battle for men’s souls? What if I say, ‘Well, VerDan, you’re a nice guy, and personable and well-groomed, and I’m sure you’ll make a fine missionary even if you don’t know the scriptures or teach with much power and conviction at least, people will like you, so it’s probably okay if you go out and try to serve.’ Then the burden would be upon me, for your success or failure and frankly, I’m not ready to take that on myself. So what I’m counseling you is to go home and study the gospel and the scriptures like you’ve never studied them before. Pray as you’ve never prayed before, for knowledge and wisdom and testimony of what you study. Pray for forgiveness of any sins you might have committed. Keep the commandments to the best of your ability. Don’t worry about dating, right now. Work until you have a testimony that shines bright as day and you’re excited about the idea of going out and sharing it with others. Then come back and see me, and we’ll talk about a mission.”
“I see. Wow. Um about how long do you think it’ll take me to get ready?”
“That’s entirely up to you and the Lord. I just know it’s been made clear to me that you’re not ready, now.”
“Oh, man, my mom’s going to be hey, Bishop, could you talk to her for me? I just don’t think I can go home and face her and tell her this. I mean, she wants me out in the mission field like, yesterday!”
The bishop smiled. “Your mother is a fine and a formidable woman, and I understand exactly what you’re saying. You just tell her the bishop thinks you need to prepare some more before you go out, and refer her to me for the rest. Okay? Now, let me tell you about a couple of guys who are serving from our ward at the present time.”
He described Elders Donnie Smedley and Rand Rivenbark, and read aloud his last two letters from them. He then gave VerDan a list of scriptures he had hastily compiled during the Sunday School hour and told him to start by studying those. VerDan rose, his expression more sober than the bishop had ever seen it, shook hands and departed. The bishop leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, feeling as though the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders.
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