by Janette Oke
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.
They praised Willie’s spread; they praised the little neighborhood church; they praised the school operated by Melinda; they praised the mountains, the hills, and the grazing land.
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.”
“I’m so glad he’s happy out there.”
“Oh, he’s happy, all right. Never seen him so happy since Ma died.”
“So he’ll stay on with Willie an’ Missie?”
“He’s promised to come an’ be with us some, too. He’s rather anxious to help us fix up the new spread.”
It all sounded good to Marty. She hoped with all her heart that it would work out well for them.
“Do ya have a buyer fer yer home place yet?” she asked.
“Not yet, but we are sure we will sell with no problem. Spring is the best time to sell—spring or late fall. Ain’t too many folk out looking fer farmland with the snow piled up to one’s ears.”
Marty agreed.
“Will ya stay till it’s sold?”
“Don’t know fer sure. We’re sure in a big hurry to git on back. Like to git things in order an’ a small herd out on the range as soon as the spring grasses start to grow. We’ve talked to Lane. With a bit of persuasion, I think he would stay fer a while. Maybe care fer things till a buyer comes along. Iffen he agrees, we hope to git on back there as soon as we can.”
Marty felt
a small stirring in her breast, a stirring of hope. Maybe Ellie wouldn’t need to leave her so quickly after all. Marty knew that Ellie and Lane were making plans, but she hadn’t asked what the plans were. Ellie would tell her in her own good time.
Marty served coffee and cake to their visitors and listened to the talk circulating around and around her. It was good to share in such enthusiasm—in such dreams—even if they did belong to another.
Ellie had sat enraptured, drinking in every piece of news about Lane’s West. She wanted to feel a part of it so she might feel at home when she finally arrived. She wanted to know and love it just as Lane did. She felt that something about the bigness of the West would correspond to the bigness of the man.
“Have ya heard,” Ellie asked her mother, “they want Lane to stay on an’ care fer the farm till it sells in the spring?”
“Is he goin’ to?”
“It’s sort of an answer to prayer,” replied Ellie enthusiastically.
Marty looked up from her mending.
“Lane and me thought he would have to leave soon. Which meant I would need to travel alone later.”
“Why later?” asked Marty.
“Oh, Mama, you know very well I wouldn’t up an’ leave ya before thet new baby comes. An’ I don’t plan to leave ya right away afterward, either. Not till yer well on yer feet an’ I’m sure things are goin’ fine.”
“That would have been a problem,” agreed Marty.
“The biggest problem would have been our weddin’. We talked of two possibilities . . . an’ I didn’t care fer either of ’em. We could have been married now an’ Lane gone on alone an’ me come later. I wouldn’t like losin’ a husband so soon after I’d gotten one,” she said, smiling shyly. “Or,” she continued, “we could’ve waited an’ been married when I got out there. I didn’t like thet, either, ’cause it would have meant you an’ Pa wouldn’t have been at my weddin’.”
“I wouldn’t have liked thet, either,” admitted Marty.
“So ya see, this is sorta an answer to prayer,” Ellie repeated. “We can git married soon after yer baby is born an’ I can stay on here and help ya in the daytime, an’ we can live over in the LaHaye house. Callie has already promised us thet we can.”
It sounded good to Marty. Ellie would not need to leave for a few months yet. Marty would welcome each additional day.
“Sounds like ya got it all sorted out.”
“We been workin’ on it.”
“So when do ya plan the weddin’?”
“Well, thet there little one is due the end of February, right?”
“According to my calculations.”
“So we thought we could be married ’bout the end of March. Thet way ya won’t wear yerself all out gittin’ right into a weddin’ after the baby comes, an’ after the weddin’ I can still come over days to help ya out.”
“Land sakes, girl. You’ve really spoiled me. Ya think I won’t be able to care fer yer pa an’ the little one after a month of time?”
“Well, we don’t want to rush ya, Mama.”
Marty blinked away tears. Ellie was more than considerate as a daughter.
“Look here, dear,” she said. “I’m in no hurry to lose ya . . . ya know thet . . . but ya go ahead an’ make yer plans just as ya would have ’em to be. Don’t stop to fit all of yer life round me. I’m just fine now, an’ I’ll be just fine after this here little one gits here.”
Ellie crossed to put her arms around Marty. “I’ll tell Lane thet the end of March is fine, then,” she said.
Twenty-Four
Church and Home
Clark was out milking the roan when Pastor John rode up. His smile was broad and his handshake firm as he joined Clark in the barn. “It worked,” he beamed. “We don’t have to take the next step. And more importantly, we don’t need to take away his membership.”
Clark responded to his smile with an enthusiasm of his own.
“Just wait till I git done with Roanie here, an’ I want to hear all ’bout it,” he said. “I’m near done.”
The pastor walked about the barn, stopped to pet a cat, and strolled around some more. Clark could tell he was anxious to share his experience. He hurried to finish up with Roanie.
Clark hung his pail, brimming with foaming milk, well out of the reach of the barn cats and pulled a stool over for himself and one for the preacher.
“Sit ya down,” he offered, and the parson sat.
“Went to see him as I said I would,” Pastor John began. “It was kind of tough, I don’t mind telling you that. Didn’t know just where or how to start, but we did get to the point. I told it to him just like it had been told to me. Then I said I wanted to hear it from him. Was it true or not true? At first, he was very ambiguous. I thought sure I would get nowhere. I was even expecting him to outright deny it. He was getting a little angry, too, and I thought maybe I had really missed it.” The man looked around the barn for a moment.
“Well, I decided that we’d better stop right there,” he continued, “before things got out of hand. So I said, ‘Mind if we have prayer before we go on with this? I consider you my friend and brother, and I don’t want to lose you as either.’ He looked surprised but he bowed his head. We prayed together, and pretty soon I could hear his sobs. Clark, he cried like a baby. Don’t know of anything that ever was harder for me than that man’s sobs.”
The young preacher stopped, his face full of emotion. “Finally, we were able to kneel down there together, and he confessed it all to the Lord and promised to make the thing right . . . as right as one can. Some sins one can’t erase, Clark, but you know that. I expect that his past might haunt him more than once in the future. He knows it, too. We’ve got to really pray for him. It’s not all over yet. Maybe never will be. That’s the trouble with sin. It leaves ugly scars.”
Clark nodded in agreement.
“I did leave him feeling forgiven and clean again, though. He said that he was so glad to be rid of the thing that he just couldn’t rightly express it. I’m glad I went . . . though it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“I’m glad ya went, too,” Clark assured him.
“Well, the next thing for me to do was to go call on . . .” Parson Brown stopped and grinned, “my source.”
Clark grinned, too, and nodded again.
“First time I went I didn’t find him at home. Next day I got busy again and couldn’t. Mrs. Watley had another bad spell, so I spent the day with the family.”
“How is she?”
“She’s perked up again. Can’t believe the stamina of the woman. We’ve thought so many times that she was going, and she seems to fight it off every time. Well, I finally got back to my ‘source’ yesterday. I told him just what I’ve told you. I wasn’t sure how he would respond. Thought maybe, in light of things, and fearing a public knowledge about it and all, he might still want to put the fellow out of the church. Well, Clark, when I told him, great big tears started running down his cheeks and he just kept saying, ‘Praise the Lord’ over and over. ‘We’ve still got our brother,’ he said, ‘Praise the Lord!’”
Clark was deeply touched, and he could tell Parson John was, too. They sat in silence for a minute, each with his own thoughts. Clark broke the spell.
“So we will be worshipin’ with ’im on Sunday.” It was a statement, not a question.
“He’s part of the body. A worthy part, I’m thinking.”
“Like your ‘source’ says,” smiled Clark, “‘Praise the Lord.’”
“I’m so glad I came to you, Clark. You steered me in the right direction.”
“Now, back up some,” interjected Clark. “I don’t recall steering you nohow.”
“But you—”
“We talked ’bout it. We talked together ’bout what the Word says. You knew what it says. You made yer decision. You really knew what to do all along. Iffen ya think back a bit, you’ll remember.”
The preacher thought back a bit. He grinned
. “I still needed you, though,” he insisted. “Needed an older, wiser man to think it through with me. But thanks. I see now. You didn’t push or steer me. You let me work it through myself—step by step, with the Word to guide me. You could have just out and told me what to do, but you didn’t. Thanks, Clark. I think I’ve learned a bigger lesson this way. Maybe next time I’ll be smart enough to go through the Word step by step on my own.”
Clark put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Ain’t no harm in sharin’ a burden with a brother. I’m here anytime I can be of help. Remember thet.”
“I will,” said the preacher. “And thank you.”
“Now,” said Clark, lifting the pail of milk from the hook and reaching for his crutch, “let’s go see iffen the coffeepot has any fresh coffee.”
Another letter came from Luke. As usual, the note was brief since he didn’t have much time to write. He told them he was writing at a time he really should be studying. He was thinking a lot about his mother. Was she taking good care of herself and the coming baby? He gave doctorly advice as to what she should be eating, how much exercise she should be getting, and the danger of overdoing. Marty smiled as she read. How strange it was to have her “baby” mothering her. No, not mothering—doctoring. Luke would make a good doctor, as long as he could keep from becoming too personally involved with each of his patients. Marty didn’t want to even think of the day when Luke would lose one of those he treated. The day would come. All doctors had to face it. It would be hard for Luke. He was so tender to the pain of others. Marty prayed that he might be able to handle it without too much anguish.
Clae wrote again, too. They had seen Luke briefly. He had come home with them for Sunday dinner following the church service. The kids loved him. Baby Joey had a tooth. He had been miserable cutting it but was his happy self again once the tooth was finally through. Clae hoped they didn’t have to go through the same thing with each tooth that he cut.
Arnie and Anne came for Sunday dinner. It was the biggest gathering the Davises had had for many Sundays. Kate and Clare came from next door, and Nandry and Josh and the children came, too. It was so good to see Nandry able to laugh and joke with the rest of them. She looked younger and happier than she had in years. Lane came, too, as he did each Sunday. He and Ellie took much teasing, but they didn’t seem to mind it. The whole house looked as if it was vibrating with the chatter and laughter. Marty looked about her and quietly thanked God for each one of them. Tina was getting so grown up. She was almost a little lady, and Marty had to realize that it would not be long until her grandchildren, too, would be leaving their nests. My, there’s no other way to say it . . . how time does fly, she reminded herself with a wry smile.
