The Mitford Bedside Companion

by Jan Karon

  “Lord, make me a blessing to someone today!”

  He uttered aloud his grandmother’s prayer, raised his umbrella and, beneath the sound of rain thudding onto black nylon, turned left and headed to Lord’s Chapel to borrow a volume of Jonathan Edwards from the church library.

  Shepherds Abiding, Ch. 1

  “I’M A SINNER saved by grace, Lew, not by works. It doesn’t matter a whit that I’m a priest. What matters is that we surrender our hearts to God and receive His forgiveness, and come into personal relationship with His Son.”

  “Earlene, she’s got that kind of thing with, you know…” He pointed up.

  “Would you like to have it?”

  Lew gazed out the driver’s window, then turned and looked at Father Tim. Tears streamed down his roughly shaven face. “I don’t know, I guess I ain’t ready t’ do nothin’ like that.”

  “When you are, there’s a simple prayer that will usher you into His presence and change your life for all time—if you pray it with a true heart.”

  Lew wiped his eyes on his jacket sleeve.

  “How simple is it?”

  “This simple: Dear God, thank You for loving me and for sending Your Son to die for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins and receive Christ as my personal savior. Now, as Your child, I turn my entire life over to You.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I don’t know about turnin’ my entire life over.”

  “An entire life is a pretty hard thing to manage alone.”

  “Yessir.”

  There was a thoughtful silence as the heater blasted full throttle.

  “Meanwhile,” said Father Tim, “why don’t we pray about what you’ve just told me?”

  “Yessir. I ’preciate it.” Lew bowed his head.

  “Lord, thank You for Your mercy and grace. You know the circumstances, and You’ve heard Lew’s heart on this hard thing.

  “All we ask, Father, is that Your will be done.

  “In the mighty name of Jesus, Your Son and our Savior, amen.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Father, but that don’t seem like much t’ ask.”

  “It’s the prayer that never fails, Lew.”

  “Never fails?”

  “Never. I hope you’ll pray it in the days and weeks to come.”

  Lew considered this. “Exactly what was it again?”

  “Thy will be done.”

  Lew nodded, thoughtful. “OK. All right. I can do that. I don’t see as there’s anything to lose.”

  “Good thinking, my friend!”

  Shepherds Abiding, Ch. 8

  BETWEEN HIS NAP and the trek to the church, more than an inch of snow had fallen, which would undoubtedly inspire the merry greening party in their labors.

  But, alas, he found no greening party, merry or otherwise. He found instead that he must unlock the double front doors and let himself in. As the key turned, the bells began to toll.

  Bong…

  The moment he stepped into the narthex, he smelled the perfume of fresh pine and cedar, and the beeswax newly rubbed into the venerable oak pews.

  Bong…

  And there was the nave, lovely in the shadowed winter twilight, every nuance familiar to him, a kind of home; he bowed before the cross above the altar, his heart full….

  Bong…

  The greening of the church was among his favorite traditions in Christendom; someone had worked hard and long this day!

  Bong…

  Every windowsill contained fresh greenery, and a candle to be lighted before the service…the nave would be packed with congregants, eager to hear once more the old love story….

  Bong…

  Families would come together from near and far, to savor this holy hour. And afterward, they would exclaim the glad greeting that, in earlier times, was never spoken until Advent ended and Christmas morning had at last arrived.

  Call him a stick-in-the-mud, a dinosaur, a fusty throwback, but indeed, jumping into the fray the day after Halloween was akin to hitting, and holding, high C for a couple of months, while a bit of patience saved Christmas for Christmas morning and kept the holy days fresh and new.

  He knelt and closed his eyes, inexpressibly thankful for quietude, and found his heart moved toward Dooley and Poo, Jessie and Kenny…indeed, toward all families who would be drawn together during this time.

  “Almighty God, our heavenly Father…” He prayed aloud the words he had learned as a young curate, and never forgotten. “…who settest the solitary in families: We commend to Thy continual care the homes in which Thy people dwell. Put far from them, we beseech Thee, every root of bitterness, the desire of vainglory, and the pride of life. Fill them with faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, godliness. Knit together in constant affection those who, in holy wedlock, have been made one flesh. Turn the hearts of the parents to the children, and the hearts of the children to the parents; and so enkindle fervent charity among us all, that we may evermore be kindly affectioned one to another; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

  In the deep and expectant silence, he heard only the sound of his own breathing.

  Shepherds Abiding, Ch. 9

  THEY RECITED THE Lenten devotion in unison.

  “…Now as we come to the setting of the sun, and our eyes behold the vesper light, we sing Your praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit….”

  He asked the blessing then, and they looked at each other for a moment across the pine table.

  “I’m thankful for you,” he said, “beyond words.”

  The dogs snored, the fire crackled, the clock struck seven.

  She leaned her head to one side and smiled at him. “Here we sit, under the dome of a winter sky, two people facing the unknown, holding hands across the table in a room lighted by a single candle and a fire on the hearth. I find it all too wondrous, Timothy, and I feel the greatest peace about your new calling; He has called you to come up higher.”

  He knew she was right. No matter about mice and squirrels, or even, God forbid, snakes; he knew she was right.

  He breathed easily, then did something he couldn’t remember doing for a while. He leaned back in the chair and felt the tension release. “Ahhh,” he said.

  “Amen!” she replied with feeling.

  Light from Heaven, Ch. 3

  HE TURNED TO the communion rail, and ran his hand along the wood. Oak. Golden and deeply grained. He rubbed the wood with his thumb, musing and solemn, then dropped to his knees on the bare floor and lowered his head against the rail. Barnabas sat down beside him.

  Lord, thank You for preparing me in every way to be all that You desire for this mission, and for making good Your purpose for this call. Show me how to discern the needs here, and how to fulfill them to Your glory and honor.

  He continued aloud. “Bless the memory of all those who have gathered in these pews, and the lives of those who will gather here again.”

  Barnabas leaned against the vicar’s shoulder.

  “I am Thine, O Lord. Show me Thy ways, teach me Thy paths, lead me in Thy truth and teach me.

  “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  Light from Heaven, Ch. 3

  AGNES MET HIM at the wall, where they stood looking down at clouds collected in the hollows after last night’s rain. Then, carrying the tea basket, and the folder under his arm, he walked with her to the nave.

  He saw it at once and drew in his breath.

  “Beautiful!” he exclaimed, hurrying ahead of her to the pulpit placed on the gospel side of the aisle.

  He smelled the familiar scent he associated only with churches and his mother’s parlor; the pungent wax that had been rubbed so carefully into the oak would long after release its sweet savor upon the air.

  She came behind him on her cane. “Clarence made it four years ago, when God renewed our conviction that He would send someone. It sat here only a short time, and then we took it to th
e schoolhouse where it would be safe.”

  The polished oak glowed in the light from the window above the altar. “Exquisite!” he said.

  “He brought it over on Sunday evening, and with great joy, we installed it. Do you like where it’s placed?”

  “Couldn’t like it better! What became of the original?”

  “It was stolen many years ago. The vandals who did this were not thieves, but desecrators of another stripe.”

  She pointed to the initials rudely carved into the left side of the pulpit. “Just there…‘JC loves CM.’ We were at first greatly distressed, then I realized that we might take it to signify: Jesus Christ loves Clarence Merton.”

  He laughed. “Lemons into lemonade, and gospel truth into the bargain! And look here! Such elaborate detailing. He did this, as well?”

  “Yes, with his old carving tools given him long ago.”

  He ran his fingers over the tooled oak, tracing the path the knife had taken before him.

  A crown of thorns. A heart. A dove. A dogwood blossom. And in the center of these, a cross.

  “Agnes…” That’s all he could find to say.

  She was moved, proud. “Yes.”

  “Let’s thank God!” Indeed, it was pray—or bust wide open.

  He took her hand in both of his, and they bowed their heads.

  “We praise You, Lord, we thank You, Lord, we bless You, Lord!

  “Thank You for the marvel and mystery of this place, for these thirty remarkable years of devotion, for Your unceasing encouragement to the hearts and spirits of Your servants, Agnes and Clarence, for Your marvelous gifts to Clarence of resourcefulness and creativity, and for Your gift to them both of a mighty perseverance in faith and prayer.

  “We thank You for this nave above the clouds in which Your holy name has been, and will continue to be, honored, praised, and glorified. Thank You for going ahead of us as we visit our neighbors, and cutting for each and every one a wide path to Holy Trinity. Draw whom You will to the tenderness of Your unconditional love, the sweetness of Your everlasting mercy, and the balm of Your unbounded forgiveness.

  “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

  Light from Heaven, Ch. 6

  HE BENT OVER where Dovey lay, and looked into another pair of brown and solemn eyes. “Dovey.” He took her hand and instinctively held it in both of his.

  “Dovey,” he said again; the name seemed an odd comfort to him. “May I pray for you?” he knew nothing about her except what he saw in her eyes.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He sat in the chair beside her. “Dear God and loving Father, Creator of all that is, seen and unseen, we thank You for Your Presence in this home, at this bedside, and in the heart of your child, Dovey. Give us eyes to see Your goodness in her suffering, give us faith to thank You for her healing, give us love to strengthen us as we wait. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Agnes.

  “Amen,” whispered Dovey.

  Light from Heaven, Ch. 7

  EARLY AFTERNOON SUN filtered through the leaves above; they were light and shadow beneath.

  He lay on his back beside her. “So what are we going to do about your work space?”

  “Lloyd says we haven’t seen anything yet, it’s really going to get messy on Monday morning—they’ve been tiptoeing around the inevitable. Then there’s Lily, of course, who must have the kitchen if she’s going to cook, so we’re looking at…chaos, to put it plainly.”

  “Sammy’s room gets good light. Maybe, somehow…”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Can we move you into the smokehouse? It has a window.”

  “Ugh. Lots of creepy crawlies in there, and spiders with legs as long as mine.”

  “Del would have them out of there in no time flat.”

  “No, sweetheart. Even with a window, too dark and confining.”

  “Here’s a crazy thought…” he said.

  “I love your crazy thoughts.”

  “The barn loft. The old hay doors open straight out to the north.”

  “The barn?” She was quiet for a time, thoughtful. “I don’t know. But He knows. Could we pray about it?”

  He took her hand.

  “Father,” he said, observing St. Paul’s exhortation to be instant in prayer, “thank You for caring where Cynthia cultivates and expresses the wondrous gift You’ve given her. We’re stumped, but You’re not. Would You make it clear to us? We thank You in advance for Your wise and gracious guidance, and for Your boundless blessings in this life…for the trees above us, and the good earth beneath. For the people whose lives You intermingle with ours. For Sammy, who was lost and now is found. For Dooley, who’s coming home…”

  “And I thank you, Lord,” prayed his wife, “for my patient and thoughtful husband, a treasure I never dreamed I’d be given.”

  He crossed himself. “In the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ…”

  “Amen!” they said together.

  “That feels better.”

  “Thanks for the kind words to the Boss.”

  She patted his hand; they listened for a while to the bleating of the lambs.

  Light from Heaven, Ch. 14

  Going and Telling:

  The Life of a Faithful Priest

  An odd thing happened during the ten-year span of the Mitford series.

  When Father Tim supplied a pulpit in Whitecap (A New Song), some readers vociferously objected. Though supplying other pulpits as an interim priest is precisely what many retired clergy do, readers wanted him to cling, instead, to Mitford.

  Yet if Father Tim hadn’t gone to Whitecap, who would have walked seven times around the wall of fear and loneliness in Morris Love, and brought the wall down through prayer and faith?

  In the same way, there will be readers who object to Father Tim and Cynthia’s being called to Holy Trinity (Light from Heaven), which is also set outside Mitford.

  I would ask those readers to consider this:

  If Father Tim hadn’t come up higher to the little church above the clouds, who would have ministered to Rooter and Jubal and Robert and Donny and Sissie and Dovey and all the rest? How would we have gained the privilege of knowing Agnes and Clarence and witnessing their very private, yet somehow universal, ministries?

  Scripture doesn’t exhort us to loll about on beds of familiar ease.

  Indeed, the Great Commission contains, in summary, just three words—Go and tell—not the least of which is this:

  Go.

  This is what our faithful priest does throughout the series.

  Thus, those who insist on clinging to Mitford may wish to skip books five and nine entirely, though they will, thereby, miss a great essential in the life of a true pastor.

  One Small Verse: Scripture Quotes

  Many Christians have what they call a life verse. That is, a single verse from the vast lexicon of the Word of God that will serve in any situation, no matter what. That’s a lot to ask of one small verse. My brother Barry claims Proverbs 3:5–6. I take this text from the King James translation:

  “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

  So. If we trust Him, seek His wisdom, and acknowledge Him in all our ways, look what happens, look what we’re promised:

  He will direct our paths.

  This is very potent stuff. Indeed, I want and need Him to direct my path, for I remember what happened when I did all the directing myself. Not good.

  If I had to absolutely, positively come up with a verse to live by in this tough and out-of-control age, it’s one you’ll find again and again in the Mitford books.

  “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).

  Indeed, Olivia Davenport and Father Tim have a little “family joke,” if you will. They say to each
other, “Philippians four-thirteen, for Pete’s sake.”

  Don’t have a verse of your own? I hope you’ll find one, for Pete’s sake. You’ll be amazed at how often you call upon its reassurance and tonic wisdom.

  “‘LET NO CORRUPT communication proceed out of your mouth,’” he quoted in a loud voice from Ephesians, “‘but that which is good to the use of edifying….’” Suddenly, the dog sat down and looked at his prey with fond admiration.

  “Well, now,” he said irritably, wiping the notebook on his sleeve. “I hope you’ve got that nonsense out of your system.” At this, the dog leaped up, stood on its hind legs, and put its vast paws on the rector’s shoulders.

  At Home in Mitford, Ch. 1 (Ephesians 4:29)

  “‘AND AS JESUS passed by,’” intoned the rector, avoiding the doleful stare, “‘he saw a man which was blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, saying, “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?”’”

  Barnabas sighed and lay down.

  He continued, without glancing into the corner: “‘Jesus answered, “Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.”’”

  He read aloud through verse five. Then, he stopped and studied Barnabas with some concentration.

  “Well, now,” he said at last, “this is extraordinary.”

  “What’s that?” asked Emma.

  “This dog appears to be…,” he cleared his throat, “…ah, controlled by Scripture.”

  At Home in Mitford, Ch. 1 (John 9:2–3)

  HE HAD DASHED off a note to Walter after his morning prayers, quoting the encouraging message of Hebrews 4:16: “Let us, therefore, come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in the time of need.”

  Boldly! That was the great and powerful key. Preach boldly! Love boldly! Jog boldly! And most crucial of all, do not approach God whining or begging, but boldly—as a child of the King.