by Janette Oke
Marty smiled at Ma’s way of thinking it all through.
“So I decided,” continued Ma, “thet I just should be thankin’ the Lord fer all the good years ’stead of fussin’ ’bout the years to come.”
“An’ it helped?”
“Ya bet it helped. Every day I think of somethin’ more to be thankful fer. I have a good family—mine an’ Ben’s. We raised us good young’uns. That’s truly somethin’ to be thankful fer.”
Marty agreed wholeheartedly. What a burden it must be to have children who fought against their parents, against the Lord.
“I have lots of good mem’ries, too, an’ a mind still alert enough to enjoy ’em.”
Marty hadn’t thought about the “mind” bit, but Ma was right.
“So it’s easin’ some? The pain, I mean?” Marty asked softly.
“It still hurts. Many times the mem’ries bring a sharp pain with ’em, but each day I tell myself, This is a new day. It can be just a little bit easier than yesterday was.”
Marty rose to get the perking coffee.
“An’ how is it fer you?” asked Ma.
Marty suddenly realized that things were just fine for her. Yes, she had wanted to bring Ma to her house so that she could cleanse herself of all of the pain of seeing her Clare hurt so deeply. She had wanted to pour out to Ma that she was going to lose her Ellie, and she didn’t know how she would ever do without her. She had wanted to feel Ma’s sympathetic eyes upon her, to feel Ma squeeze her hand in encouragement, to see the flicker of pain on Ma’s face, mirroring her own. She didn’t want that now. Not any of it. She didn’t deserve it. Every mother had to watch her children suffer at times. Every mother had to someday loosen the strings and let her children go—not just one of them, but all of them, one by one. It was all part of motherhood. One nourished them, raised them, taught them for many years so that they could be free—free to live and love and hurt and grow. That was what motherhood was all about. Marty swallowed away the tears in her throat and smiled at Ma.
“Things are fine,” she assured her, “really fine. We’ve had us a good winter. Kate an’ Clare came through their sorrow even closer to God an’ each other than before. There will be more babies. Nandry turned all her bitterness ’bout her pa an’ Clark’s accident over to the Lord. Ellie has found the young man she wants to share her life with, an’ he will make her a good an’ God-fearin’ companion. An’ me—well, I still have me this here little one to look forward to. Ellie an’ me’s been hopin’ fer a girl, but I wouldn’t mind none iffen it was another boy—just like his pa—or one of his older brothers.”
Marty had not looked forward to coming back from the West to a church without Pastor Joe. Not only did she miss her son-in-law as family, but she knew she would miss him in the pulpit, as well. The adjustment had not been as difficult as she had feared. The young minister who now was shepherding the local flock was easy to learn to love and respect.
Pastor Brown was his name, though many of the people in the congregation called him Pastor John. He had taken a good deal of ribbing in his growing-up years. “Hey, John Brown,” the kids would call, “Is yer body molderin’ yet?” Then would follow a chant of “John Brown’s Body.” John hated the teasing. He had tried unsuccessfully to get his family to call him Jack. Perhaps then the kids would miss the pun in his name. It didn’t work. His family never seemed to remember that he preferred Jack, and on the few occasions where they did remember, the kids didn’t stop their teasing anyway. John decided to develop the ability to laugh with them. It was difficult at first, but it did help him to develop a delightful sense of humor. One thing John Brown was never guilty of, and that was making fun of another individual. Humor was never intended for this, he maintained. It was to make people laugh with, not at another.
Pastor Brown seemed to have a true gift of sensitivity in dealing with people. The older members of the congregation marveled at how well he could often right a difficult situation. Even the children in the church respected him. Never could he be accused of intending hurt to another.
Clark looked up in surprise from his harness-mending to see Pastor John approaching him.
“Hello there,” he called. “Be right with ya. I’ll just hang me this harness back up on the pegs, an’ we’ll go on in an’ see what the womenfolk got to eat fer a bachelor preacher.”
Pastor John smiled. “I’ve already been in the house an’ greeted the womenfolk. They’ve already given me an invite to dinner, so I’m way ahead of you. Smells awfully good in there, too.”
“Well, let’s go on in an’ sit a spell, then,” said Clark.
“No, no. You go right on fixing your harness. I’ll just sit here on this stool and watch you while I’m talking. Anything I got to say can be said right here.”
Clark understood that there was something the young man wished to talk about in private, so he resumed his work on the harness, letting the preacher pick his own time and pace.
“Been a long, mean winter,” spoke the parson. “Sure will be glad to see it coming to an end.”
“Me too,” agreed Clark. “Me too. An’ I expect all the animals thet been winterin’ through it, both wild an’ tame, share our feelin’.”
“Reckon they will at that.”
“Speakin’ of animals, ya got one with ya?”
“I’m riding, all right. Too hard walking in this snow.”
“Best bring it on into the barn.”
“Not too cold out there in the sun, and I won’t be long.”
“Still, it can be feedin’, though,” Clark responded. “Might take us a long time to eat up all those vittles the ladies are a fixin’.”
John Brown laughed.
“Go ahead,” said Clark. “Bring ’im on in an’ put ’im in thet stall right there. I’ll throw in a bit more hay.” And Clark grabbed his crutch and went to do just that.
The parson brought in his horse and pulled off the saddle.
“Never could stand to see a horse eat with a saddle on his back,” he said. “Makes me wonder how I’d enjoy eating if I had to stand there holding my day’s work in my arms.”
Clark laughed at the comparison. “Never thought on it,” he responded.
The horse was tended, and Clark went back to his harness. The pastor pulled the stool closer so they could chat as Clark worked.
They talked of many things. Besides the winter, they discussed the new developments in town, the growth of the church, and the new members in the community. Clark was sure none of these subjects was the one the young preacher had come to talk about.
“Hear tell you’re good at solving a man’s problems,” the pastor said at length.
Clark did not raise his head. “Don’t know ’bout thet. I’ve had me a little practice. Seems I have my share of problems to solve.”
The preacher reached down and picked up a long straw, which he proceeded to break into small pieces.
“You got a problem needs carin’ fer?” Clark prompted.
“Sure do. And I never had one quite like it before—and I’m not sure just what to be doing with it. I’ve been praying about it for three days now, and something seemed to tell me to come and see you.”
Clark continued to work on the strip of leather before him. “I’m not promisin’ to be able to help ya, but iffen ya want to share it and work at it together, I’m willin’ to listen.”
The preacher cleared his throat. “It’s kind of a touchy thing,” he said. “I won’t be able to give you too many details because I don’t want to break confidence.”
Clark nodded to say that he understood.
“It’s one of my parishioners,” the preacher began. Clark could feel how very hard this was for the young man.
“Rumor has it that he’s been seen in town … doing … ah … doing something he shouldn’t be doing.”
“Rumor?” said Clark, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, a pretty reliable source, really. I say ‘rumor’ because I haven’t talked
to the individual involved yet, and a man is innocent until proven guilty, right?”
“Right,” said Clark.
“Well, this ah … source … says he has seen this occur more than once. He’s concerned that others have been seeing it, too, and that it will reflect on the whole church.”
“I see,” said Clark.
“If it is happening, and if he is doing … what he shouldn’t be doing … the man’s right, Clark. It could reflect on the whole church. It’s wrong … and it’s against God’s commandments … and I’m really not sure what to do about it.”
“Did yer … ah … source say what should be done?”
“He wants him thrown out of the church.”
“What do you want?”
“What I want is of no importance here, as I see it. What I want to know, Clark, is what does the Lord want?”
Clark laid aside the harness then and looked into Parson John Brown’s honest blue eyes. He had just gained new respect for the young man.
“Guess we better take it a step at a time,” he said and sank down onto a pile of straw, sticking his one leg out before him.
“First of all, someone … meanin’ you, I think … needs to talk to the man and find out, if ya can, iffen he’s really guilty as charged. Iffen he refuses to give ya the truth, then one needs to inquire further from the source an’ from others. Iffen one person has seen these … these …”
“Indiscretions,” put in the parson.
“This here indiscretion, then it’s very likely thet others have seen it also … unless yer source has nothin’ to do but sit him around an’ spy.”
“It’s not like that, Clark. He’s a good and reliable man, concerned only for the good of the church. He’s not a busybody or a tale carrier.”
“In that case, one has to pay considerable attention to his testimony.”
“That’s the way I feel about it. But the man accused should still have an opportunity to speak for himself.”
“Agreed,” said Clark.
“So I go to see him and hear his story. Now I need to know what to do about it.”
“Well, let’s say, first off, that he says he’s innocent.”
“That would be rather hard to believe, but I’d have to take his word unless we had further proof.”
“Okay,” said Clark, “we are thet far. He is innocent until proven guilty.”
“And what if he admits to his guilt?”
“What does the Bible say?”
“You mean about taking the two or three witnesses to show him the error of his way?”
“Iffen he admits to his guilt, I don’t reckon he can seriously deny the error of his way, though it’s true thet some have tried.”
“All right, let’s say that he does admit his guilt but he has no intention to stop … to stop doing what he has been doing. What then? Does our little church discipline its members?”
“First, I think we need to understand what discipline is all about and why it is sometimes necessary.”
“It’s not easy to discipline a fellow believer, Clark. Who says that I’m so strong that I’ll never fall? I’m not good at setting myself up as judge and jury.”
“An’ yer not the judge. God’s Word is what we judge a man upon. Iffen He says thet it’s wrong … then we can’t make it right.”
The young minister nodded his head.
“But should we bring judgment upon him … or leave it to God to judge?”
“Iffen ya committed a sin, do ya think you’d need to be making things right?”
“Certainly. I’d be guilty, and as such, I’d need to straighten the thing out with God and make restitution if necessary.”
“The Bible teaches thet all the members of the church are of the same body. Iffen any part of my body sins, my whole being is held responsible. Iffen any part of the church body sins, we are all responsible to git thet thing made right. Iffen we, as the rest of the church, accept it as okay an’ pass it off, then we, too, are guilty of thet sin.”
The young preacher sat deep in thought. “His sin is my sin if I make no attempt to correct it when I know about it,” he concluded.
“Somethin’ like thet,” said Clark. “I never was a theologian, so’s I’m not sure how they would explain it.”
“Then it’s my responsibility to see that it’s cared for. Boy, I hate that, Clark. It’s not an easy thing to point a finger at another man.”
“It’s not easy. But it’s not as hard as it seems when one realizes the purpose of the finger pointin’, as you call it.”
Clark shifted his position on the straw and continued. “Church discipline is done fer two reasons … to keep the body pure before God and to bring the erring one back to a fergiven and restored relationship with God. Never should it be done fer any other purpose. It’s not to punish, or to make someone pay, or to whip someone into reluctant shape, or show the community thet we really are holy and pure. God already knows whether we are or not.”
“‘To restore them to a right relationship with God,’” mused the young preacher. “Then what about the need to send him from the church?”
“Iffen he makes the thing right before God, there’s no need to throw him out. He’s still part of the body … fergiven just like you an’ me’s been fergiven.”
The preacher smiled. “Boy,” he said, “I much prefer that way.”
“We all do,” said Clark, “only on occasion, it doesn’t work like thet. Iffen he won’t listen an’ won’t make it right, then comes the tough part. Then ya have to … to excommunicate ’im. Thet’s tough, Brother Brown. Thet’s really tough.”
The parson sat deep in thought.
“Clark, I’m going to ask one more thing of you,” he said at last. “I’m going to see this church member tomorrow. Now, I haven’t told you his name or anything about him. If he sees his sin tomorrow and asks for God’s forgiveness, then you need never know the particulars. If he doesn’t, then I’d like you and a couple of the other deacons to go with me next time. If he still doesn’t agree to do something about it … only then will we bring the matter to the congregation. Now, I’m hoping and praying that all of that won’t be necessary, and I’d like to ask you to pray with me that God will work in the heart of the man so that we won’t lose a Christian brother. I know it’s hard to pray not knowing, but …”
“No problem,” said Clark. “I’ve prayed fer many a need not really knowin’ just what the need was, an’ I certainly know thet ya need God’s special wisdom an’ guidance as ya speak to the fella.”
The preacher nodded his agreement.
“I think thet it might be in order to take time fer some prayer right now,” went on Clark.
They knelt together in the straw, earnestly beseeching God for His help and wisdom.
“Thank you,” said the young parson, taking Clark’s offered hand. “Thank you for the support. I feel like part of the burden has lifted already.”
“Yer doin’ a fine job, son,” Clark said sincerely. “I want ya to know thet we all appreciate ya an’ we’re prayin’ fer ya daily.”
The young man smiled and stood up from his cramped position. He put out a hand and helped Clark stand, passing him his crutch. Then they heard Ellie calling them to the dinner table.
“Boy,” said the young preacher, “am I hungry! It just comes to my mind that I forgot all about having some breakfast this morning.”
“Then I’ll expect ya to eat hearty at the dinner table,” laughed Clark. “Can’t imagine a son of mine ever gittin’ himself so busy thet he’d ferget to eat.”
TWENTY - THREE
Ellie Makes Plans
The LaHayes arrived home from their trip west more than anxious to share their experiences with the Davises, so they soon came over to visit.
They were full of news of Willie and Missie and their three small children. The baby was a dear, they insisted, and she was already crawling, and Missie was extremely busy trying to keep her out of mischief.
Iffen they say somethin’ good ’bout the wind, thought Marty, I’m gonna really doubt their sanity. But the wind was not mentioned.
They had now made up their minds. They were going back. They would put the farm up for sale and leave as soon as possible.
They brought gifts from Missie for each of her family. She even sent a hand-crocheted blanket for her new little brother or sister. Marty ran her fingers over the soft wool and pictured their daughter working over it. Marty could imagine Nathan or Josiah questioning, “What ya makin’, Mama” … and Missie’s answer, “I’m makin’ a blanket fer yer new aunt or uncle.” How ironic it all was.
“An’ ya fell in love with the West, too?” Marty asked Callie.
“I loved it,” she responded with no doubt. “It took me a little longer than it took my menfolk, but when I made up my mind, I was really sure.”
“Do ya have a place in mind?”
“We looked at a few. The one we liked best already has a small house, a big barn, and a well.”
“How far is that from Missie an’ Willie?”
“’Bout a four-hour ride.”
Marty had no idea how far that would be in actual miles, but it did seem wiser to measure it in time rather than in distance.
“Plenty close enough to git together often,” Callie assured her.
“What ’bout yer pa? Who does he plan to live with?”
“Willie got ’im first, an’ Pa loves it there. He already has his own saddle horse—three of ’em, in fact—and he loves to help with the cattle. He’d take a daily shift iffen Willie would let ’im. Willie does humor him and lets him go out some but not on a daily basis. Willie has declared him the best fencer on the place, though. Pa loves the men in the bunkhouse, too, an’ would have moved right in with ’em, but Willie an’ Missie insisted that he have the small back bedroom in the ranch house. It’s quieter back there, Missie says, but Pa ain’t askin’ fer no quiet. He loves to be right in the thick of things.”