A
few weeks ago I sat in sacrament meeting and watched a scene on the
other side of the aisle, two rows ahead. A dad had his little
daughter up on his shoulder, jiggling her gently, patting her back as
needed, while he listened, rapt, to the speaker.
The
baby is eight months old, and a tiny little thing. Her mama calls
her “Bird.” Her mother was home this particular day, not
feeling well, and daddy brought the little one to church with him in
order to give his wife a better chance to rest.
She
was wide awake, bright-eyed and fastened on the adults nearby. She
wasn’t fussing, and it didn’t take much to keep her
quiet, just a bit of motion and a bit of attention. He nuzzled her
cheek and ear from time to time, still soaking in the words from the
pulpit as he gave her the barest whispers; and she was cooperative
enough that this was all she needed.
It
was a sweet moment and unremarkable — except for the story
behind the scene.
Jake,
the father, (not his real name) had a long road leading to this
place. His left arm, now on the aisle, propped on the arm of the
pew, was covered in tattoos from his hand to his shoulder and all the
way up his neck onto his scalp, visible through his crew-cut. He has
small tattoos across his knuckles as well.
Somewhere
along the way before his childhood filled up with upheaval, foster
care, and instability, he had been baptized into the Church, but
things unraveled and he was sucked away into trouble and addiction. His
life wasn’t exactly a straight shot in righteous living as we
would hope for it.
To
support his drug habit, he had robbed a store and served time. He
had later met up with a young woman who had a similar story.
When
they moved to this area, he called our bishop, looking for the
Church. He was clean and sober, with the girlfriend, and looking for
help to make a better life. They started coming to church. They had
a baby on the way and got married.
Change
didn’t happen in an instant — it almost never does. A
profound experience with the Spirit, a transformation of desire —
those may happen in an instant, but then you have to continue to make
the choices and get through the struggles that arise out of that
opened door. The bishop offered counsel, temporal assistance, and
encouragement, and the ward offered welcome.
A
fiftyish couple mentored and shepherded them, and cared. Members
advocated for them until someone would take a chance and give them a
rental contract, because this little family of three was living in a
motel room. Jake found some work, another miracle because of his
felony record.
All
of this allowed the Holy Ghost to bring its influence into their
lives, and allowed the blessings of the gospel to become real to
them. There were real people to love and accept them. Our bishop
(just released) liked to say that the Church is in the redemption
business, and he saw an honest desire in this couple to learn how to
live a better life; so he did all he could to bring them along.
The
first time Jake was asked to offer the benediction for sacrament
meeting, he came to the pulpit and offered a simple prayer, with an
open heart, that added to the spirit we all felt. When he had an
opportunity to go to the temple for the first time, on a ward trip,
and do baptisms for the dead, his joy radiated all the way home. He
had let the Lord create in him a new heart.
Last
month at stake conference Jake’s name was presented to be made
an elder, and he was ordained to the Melchizedek priesthood; now his
records have been sent along with them to a neighboring ward. We
hope they take good care of this new family.
I
watched him that Sunday morning with his little daughter, seeing the
tattoos, seeing his care of her and his attention to the words of the
speaker, and I thought how once upon a time those tattoos might have
defined his life. Now it is the Spirit that has sunk into his heart
that defines him. It shines in his ready smile. Now the rest of it
is just skin.
Whether
it’s ink, or the smell of cigarette smoke, or something else,
the places we’ve been may be apparent to others, but none of us
is without some story of struggle. If all of our history was
instantly visible to everyone else, we might all shy away from each
other. It’s a good thing we usually can’t tell.
Alma
said, “Behold, he sendeth an invitation unto all men, for the
arms of mercy are extended towards them, and he saith: Repent, and I
will receive you. Yea, he saith: Come unto me and ye shall partake
of the fruit of the tree of life; yea, ye shall eat and drink of the
bread and the waters of life freely….Behold, I say unto you,
that the good shepherd doth call you.” (Alma 5:33-34, 38a)
Wherever
he calls us from, what matters is that we hear and let Him gather us
in.
Marian J. Stoddard was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in its Maryland suburbs. Her
father grew up in Carson City, Nevada, and her mother in Salt Lake City, so she was always
partly a Westerner at heart, and she ended up raising her family in Washington State. Her family
took road trips all over the United States and Canada, so there were lots of adventures.
The adventures of music, literature, and art were also valued and pursued. Playing tourist always
included the local museums as well as historical sites and places of natural beauty. Discussions
at home, around the dinner table or working in the kitchen, could cover politics, philosophy, or
poetry, with the perspective of the gospel underlying all. Words and ideas, and testimony and
service, were the family currency.
Marian graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland, and attended the
University of Utah as the recipient of the Ralph Hardy Memorial Scholarship, where she was
graduated with honors, receiving a B.A. in English. She also met the love of her life, a law
student, three weeks after her arrival; she jokes that she had to marry him because her mother
always wanted a tenor in the family. (She sings second soprano.) They were married two years
later and have six children and six grandchildren (so far). She treasures her family, her friends,
and her opportunities to serve.
Visit Marian at her blog, greaterthansparrows. You can contact her at
bloggermarian@gmail.com.
Marian and her husband live in Tacoma, Washington. Together they teach those who are
preparing to go to the temple for the first time, and she also teaches a Stake Relief Society
Institute class.