by Jack Weyland
Emily gasped. “There must be some mistake. You can’t have me for your Relief Society president.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it must be obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not to me. Not to the Lord.”
“Oh, please, not this, Bishop, anything but this.”
“I’ve never been more certain about anything than I am of this calling.”
Emily asked for a tissue and planted her elbows on his desk and cradled her head in her hands as the tears flowed freely. After a minute she sat up and faced the bishop. “The girls will not accept me, and they will make fun of whatever I do or whatever I say.”
“If that is true, then why does the Lord want you to serve in this position?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know, either. Will you accept this call from him?”
She nodded her head but then burst into tears once again.
“Who would you like to serve as your counselors?”
Through her tears, Emily asked him for his counsel, and after discussing several of the girls, she chose two young women she thought might have been called as the president. They were both beautiful, capable, well liked, and faithful. In her mind, they were better qualified than she was, but when she told the bishop that, he smiled and told her that’s the way he’d felt about his counselors too.
When she left the bishop’s office, she went to the back row of the room where they were to hold sacrament meeting. She hoped she could manage not to be noticed for the time being.
What if they won’t sustain me? she thought. What if they’re ashamed of me to be their Relief Society president? What if they won’t come to our meetings because they can’t stand to look at my face? What if they laugh at me behind my back?
There were tears in her eyes as the bishop announced the opening song.
Oh, dear Father, let me feel your love and the Savior’s love. Don’t make me face this alone. You were with me in the hospital. Please be with me now.
After the opening prayer, the bishop stood up. “We have some ward business. It has become necessary to release, with a vote of thanks, the following . . .”
Emily said a quick prayer.
“We have called Emily Latrell to serve as Relief Society president. Emily, will you please stand?”
Chapter 11
A girl near the middle of the congregation audibly gasped.
Everyone turned around to look at Emily.
Don’t look down, Emily told herself. This is not your church. You didn’t ask for this. This is the Savior’s church. He is the one who called you to this position.
She and her counselors were set apart during Relief Society meeting. She hoped she could just turn the time over to the teacher for the lesson, but there was no lesson prepared. There’d been a mix-up in signals. Before leaving the room, the bishop suggested Emily take some time to talk to the sisters. There were thirty minutes to fill.
Standing before the young women in her ward, Emily felt very self-conscious. It was bad enough to have to wear the compression suit, but at least it covered up the worst of her scars. She wondered what they would say if they could see the other places where she’d been burned. In some ways it was her secret that she kept hidden from the world.
Looking at the room full of young women, it occurred to her, They may have things they wish to hide too, less visible but just as deep and just as painful.
To give herself time to gather her thoughts, she called on the former Relief Society president to bear her testimony. And then she asked her newly sustained counselors to respond. They said all the right things, and it was easy to see they were going to be well accepted by the young women of the ward. That didn’t bother Emily. That’s why she’d chosen them.
But now it was her turn. She asked for a tissue and five appeared in outstretched hands. She wiped her face and then tried to smile through her tears.
“I can understand if some of you were shocked that I was called to be Relief Society president. Believe me, you weren’t as shocked as I was.”
There was some nervous laughter in the room.
“The most important thing I can tell you about myself is that I love the Savior.” Her voice caught, and she had to stop because she was afraid she might lose control of her emotions.
A long moment passed while she tried to gain her composure. Finally she was able to go on. “I’m grateful that he has looked beyond my scarred exterior to see into my heart.”
Once again, she had to stop. She said a silent prayer for help.
“I’ll do my best to serve you. And I ask you for your support.”
Suddenly a feeling of calm came over her. She smiled. “Oh, one other thing, don’t feel sorry for me. One nice thing about the way I am now is I don’t need to spend a lot of time deciding what shade of eyeshadow to use.”
It was the perfect thing to say. The girls, many of them through their tears, began to smile. Emily smiled back. It will be better for me not to take myself too seriously. I’ll take their problems seriously, but not my own. And that will help both them and me.
They’d run out of tissues, which meant it was time to close the meeting.
* * * * *
One last interview with President Merrill was all that remained of Austin’s mission. He had been invited, along with two other missionaries who were also going home, to the mission home for a farewell dinner with President and Sister Merrill. Elder Hastings was one of the three, and Austin enjoyed being with him again. He was sure that, no matter where their paths might lead them, he and Elder Hastings would always be friends.
Thinking back on their early experiences together, it was surprising to Austin that he would think of Elder Hastings as a good friend. But both of them had changed a lot as a result of their mission experiences. He doesn’t brag about himself like he used to, Austin thought, even though he’s accomplished so much on his mission. Austin smiled. I taught him that.
The subject during dinner got around to courtship and marriage. “Do you have someone waiting for you?” Sister Merrill asked Elder Hastings.
“Yes, I do. We’ve known each other since high school. Her name is Elizabeth. I can hardly wait to see her. Of course, we won’t be getting married for at least two years. She’ll be leaving on her mission in two weeks.”
“She’s going on a mission?” Sister Merrill asked.
“She is. It’s going to be tough waiting for her, but in a way I think it’s good. It’ll give me time to finish college and get into dental school.”
“It sounds as though you have things really planned out,” Sister Merrill said.
Austin broke out laughing. “Don’t say it, Elder,” he teased Elder Hastings.
“Don’t say what?”
“Plan your work, work your plan.”
“What about you, Elder Brunswick?” Sister Merrill asked Austin.
“I’ll be going back to school at Utah State University this fall.”
“Anyone waiting for you?” Hastings asked.
“Not really.”
After supper, President Merrill interviewed the missionaries who would be leaving the mission field the next morning.
“How do you feel about your mission?” President Merrill asked Austin.
“I’m grateful for the experience. I’ve learned a lot.”
“What have you learned?”
Austin tried to think how to say what he had felt in his heart for many months. After a moment, he said, “That, above all else, we are disciples of Jesus Christ, and that we must always remember that, and try our best to represent him well.” Austin paused. “That’s about it, President. That’s not much for two years, is it?”
“I disagree. I think it’s a great deal. Some people never learn that. I’m pleased you have.”
“Thank you, President. Thank you for all your help.” Austin stood up to leave.
President Merrill motioned for Austin to sit down. “Don’t go yet. There’s somethi
ng else I need to say.” Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk, the president said, “Elder Brunswick, every elder fortunate enough to have had you for a companion is now an excellent missionary. In that way you’ve blessed this mission a great deal, and will continue to bless it, long after you’ve left.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Just one more thing. I believe that if the Savior had an important job to be done, he could not do better than to ask you to do it.”
Because it came from a man he loved and admired, Austin took that to be a high compliment. Already feeling emotional about his mission coming to a close, Austin didn’t trust his voice to respond. Instead, he just smiled at President Merrill.
“Before you leave, could I give you a priesthood blessing?” President Merrill asked.
In a quiet voice, Austin said, “Yes, sir, that would be an honor.”
During the blessing, Austin experienced a feeling of peace and happiness. He felt the Spirit affirming that Father in Heaven had accepted his offering of the past two years.
* * * * *
On Sunday, near the end of his ward’s sacrament meeting, Austin stood at the pulpit to give his homecoming report. The audience was filled not only with ward members but friends and relatives who had come to hear him speak.
He looked down at his notes, trying to decide what to leave out. It was nearly time to close the meeting. His parents had taken longer than they’d planned on, but he didn’t mind. What he had to say could be said in just a few minutes.
Instead of sharing mission experiences, he simply bore his testimony of the Atonement and of the mercy and goodness of the Savior. He expressed his gratitude for the chance to serve a mission, and then he sat down.
His mother leaned over to him. “You should have talked longer,” she whispered.
“It was time to close the meeting,” he said.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. They always run late for missionary homecomings.”
“I said what was the most important.”
“You should have told about when you worked in the mission office, helping your mission president get organized.”
Austin smiled and shook his head but didn’t say anything.
After sacrament meeting, his friends, with the exception of Jeremy, who still had a couple more weeks left of his mission, came to the front of the chapel to congratulate him. Some of the girls who had been there for his farewell two years earlier weren’t there to give him a welcome-back hug because they had married since he’d left.
His friends and family skipped the rest of the meetings and went to Austin’s home for a buffet lunch. It was an elaborate meal, provided by a caterer Austin’s mother had hired to prepare the food.
Gradually the crowd thinned out, until finally only the members of Austin’s extended family remained. Austin started hauling the folding chairs they’d rented out to the garage.
“Why are you putting them in the garage?” his mother asked.
“I thought I’d return ’em tomorrow,” Austin said.
“You can return them today. They’re open Sundays.”
“I just think it’d be better to return them tomorrow.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because today is Sunday.”
“They’re already paid for, so it’s not like we’re purchasing anything from anybody.”
“I just think it’d be better to wait until tomorrow.”
His mother paused. “I’ll ask your dad to take them back then, if you can just stack them in the trunk of the car.”
Austin bristled, but did as he was told, and then escaped to his room to read the scriptures and write in his journal.
* * * * *
That Sunday, Emily had to make a choice. She could either go hear Austin report his mission in sacrament meeting, or she could attend burn camp, sponsored by the University of Utah burn unit and funded by private and corporate donations. The Utah burn camp was the only one of its kind in the nation, and was a six-day, river-rafting trip.
It was an easy choice. She went where her heart was; she went to burn camp.
On that Sunday they met at the hospital at 6:30 in the morning. The participants were organized into groups and introduced to the adults who would be their counselors for the week. The counselors consisted of burn unit staff, firemen, and adults who themselves had been burned.
“So you came after all,” Red said.
“I did, Red. How could I pass up a chance to spend more time with you?”
He smiled. “Good for you. It’s going to be great!”
“How many years have you been doing this?” she asked.
“Gosh, I guess it’s been five years.”
“You take vacation time to go?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Where else could I have this much fun?”
He started to move off to talk to another old friend. “Red,” Emily called out after him.
“Yeah, what?”
“I think you’re pretty awesome.”
“Not really.” He made a pass of his hand at the ones who were going to burn camp. “Don’t you see? These are my kids.”
Emily watched him go from one former patient to another, giving high fives and paying attention to each of them. He has a way of making everyone feel special, Emily thought. He’s one of my heroes. I wonder if he knows how much we all love him.
Brooke, now a new mom, came to see them off and to show off her baby girl.
Emily was asked to be a junior counselor and was assigned Natasha, a thirteen-year-old girl who had been burned about five years earlier. Her burns were similar to Emily’s, except on the left side of her body instead of the right.
From her seat in the back of the bus, Emily watched as each camper climbed onto the bus. Words began to tumble into her mind. As the bus pulled out and they began the long ride to the river, she took a notebook and a pencil from her backpack and began working to put her thoughts on paper. After several revisions, she finished writing a short poem:
We are the shadow children,
The silent ones,
Shy beyond our years.
The children of dusk, the forgotten ones,
Touched by flame,
We turn and embrace the pain.
We are the shadow children,
The silent ones,
Shy beyond our years.
As the bus trip continued, Emily watched a transformation take place in the children who were there for the first time. They began the trip being quiet, shy, withdrawn, and self-conscious, but they ended up behaving like any other group of kids embarking on a grand adventure—excited, noisy, and full of fun.
Each day they rafted down the river, stopping in late afternoon to set up camp, prepare their evening meal, and sing songs and make up skits around the campfire.
On the third night, gathered once again around a campfire, they each told their story. Each could relate to what all the others had gone through.
Emily was one of the last to speak. She put some more wood on the fire, then turned to face the campers and staff. “I can’t believe we’re all gathered around a campfire,” she said with a smile. “I mean, are we slow learners or what?”
Most everyone laughed.
Emily felt she had a lot to say. “I’ve learned so much this week from all of you. I mean, for the first time since my accident, I haven’t felt alone. And, Natasha, I’ve learned the most from you. I’m nineteen and you’re thirteen, and yet you’ve taught me so much. I love you like a sister. I hope you’ll answer my letters, because I am going to write you all through the year.
“We have all had to struggle to win our race, and I guess we have won it, because we’re still going on. Whether it’s more surgeries or just tackling life, we are all doing it. There are no wimps here, that’s for sure.”
She couldn’t stop without saying what was in her heart. “The greatest thing I’ve learned from what happened to me is that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that he l
oves me, and that God is my Father in Heaven. They got me through all this.”
She turned to those who worked at the burn unit and said what many of the others had already said: “You guys are so great. I have to tell you, I love you. We all feel the same way too, don’t we? Let’s give them a big hand.”
It was an old Boy Scout gimmick she’d learned from one of the adult counselors. Silently, they all held up a hand.
After all the campers had spoken, the members of the staff each took a turn, explaining why they take time off work every year to be a part of burn camp. Red said it best: “We give away a little part of us when you come to the burn unit. And we can only get it back by seeing you again and realizing how much progress each of you has made. Oh, sure, I could sit around doing nothing on some dumb vacation, but nothing is as great as being with you guys.”
On Friday, Emily returned home, grateful beyond expression for the experience. Before she left, she asked Red if she could return next year as an adult counselor.
Red beamed. “Are you kidding? Of course you can.”
The next week Emily had another surgery, this one to improve the appearance of the skin on her neck.
It was during the time she was in the hospital that her brother, Jeremy, got home from his mission.
* * * * *
After the sacrament meeting in which Jeremy reported his mission, and following a luncheon at Jeremy’s house, after everyone else had gone, Jeremy and Austin ended up where they had spent much of their free time in high school—in the TV room in the basement, sprawled out on the couch.
“It’s too bad Emily wasn’t able to be here,” Austin said. “How’s she doing, anyway?” he asked.
“Okay, I guess, considering what she’s been through. I saw her in the hospital last night, and she was in pretty good spirits.” Jeremy paused. “I don’t know how she handles it. It’s beeen so tough. But she never complains.”
“She was always a cute kid,” Austin said. “But I have a hard time thinking of her as all grown up.”
