"Stories on the Sabbath"

                                                        Ministers of Christ

It had been a stressful Sabbath!  As I pulled into the garage after church, I dreaded going into the house and facing the rest of the day alone with the kids.  Today had started out like any normal Sunday, but as the morning went on I could feel Satan’s attempt at trying to discourage me.  As a mother of five, there are times that I feel I will never have a moment to myself.  I had really desired that morning to be able to sit down and read a few articles that my sister had suggested from the Ensign.  But that never happened.

As second counselor in the Bishopric, my husband had already been gone for almost four hours.  Our ward had just moved to a new building while our old chapel was being renovated and that also meant changing from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. for our block of meetings.  You’d think that we would be extra earlier, but that was not the case. There had been quite a bit of contention between the children that morning about who was going to sit in the front seat and anything else they could think of.  We had put off the last minute things, and soon realized that if we didn’t leave right then we were going to be late.  Quickly, we had family prayer and went to get in the van to leave.  As I tried to turn the key over, the battery was dead!  We had ten minutes to make a twenty minute drive to get to church. 
My oldest daughter suggested that we take her car.  Trying not to lose my temper, all six of us piled into her tiny Nissan and made our journey to the new chapel.  As we walked in, I could see that my husband was conducting.  Thank goodness there were no seats in the front of the chapel so that I wouldn’t have to meet his condemning stares.  I knew there was no excuse for being late!  We found our seats and tried to calm ourselves from the frantic morning.  The opening song was announced and as I reached for a hymn book, I remembered in horror that I had been asked to lead the music!  As the music began playing, I looked around to see if they had asked anyone else to lead the music.  I could see no one else getting up.  The music continued playing and I finally stood and motioned to the bishopric to see if they still wanted me to lead.  Nodding their heads, I quickly made my way from the back of the cultural hall just in time to lead the beginning phrase.  Talk about stress!

What a day I had already had, and now my husband had to stay after church for more meetings.  Again I felt that overwhelming feeling come over me as we pulled into the garage and piled out of the car.  Inwardly I chastised myself for feeling this way.  I knew that my husband was about our Father’s business, how could I complain? It was just that Sundays seemed so lonely.  I knew what he was doing was important, but what about me?  When would I be able to serve my fellow men?

We hadn’t been home very long when the phone rang.  “Mom, it’s for you,” one of my children yelled from the kitchen.

“I’ll get it in here,” I said as I walked into my bedroom.

“Hello, Michele this is Jamie from next door.”

“Hi, how are you doing?” I said, noting a peculiar tone in her voice.      

            “I’m fine, but I’m not at home, I’m at work.  We have a problem and we’re wondering if maybe you or your husband might be able to help us out.”
           “Sure, what can we do for you?” I said, remembering that she worked as a nurse at one of the local hospitals.

“There is a family here that is really upset.  Their father just came in through the Emergency Room and just passed away.  They were not expecting it and are taking it really hard.  They have requested someone to come pray with them, but because it is Sunday we have not been able to find anyone.  Do you think that Craig might be able to come down and help them out?”

“I’m sure he would be happy to, but he is still at church and I don’t know how long he will be.”

 I could hear the disappointment in her voice.  I thought for a moment and then said, “Would it be alright if I came down and prayed with them?”

“Are you kidding?  You would do that?” she said with surprise in her voice.

“I’d love to!”

“You’d love to?” she said repeating my words as if to let the others in the room know how our conversation was progressing.

“Yes, I’d be honored to,” I said.

“You know when they couldn’t find anyone to pray with them, I immediately thought of you and your husband.  Let me have you talk to the nursing supervisor and she will tell you where to come.  Thank you so much for doing this.”

After I hung up the phone, I grabbed my purse and told my children about the call and then left for the hospital.  I bowed my head and offered a prayer asking Heavenly Father to bless me to know what to say and how to comfort this family.  I also asked Him for the ability to say the right things.  As I drove to the hospital I felt such peace. I realized that partly it was from being away from my noisy children and partly from being about my Father’s business and having the opportunity to serve my fellow men.

As I waited in the lobby of the hospital, I began to be filled with anxiety.  Would I know the right things to say to this family?  How could I be of comfort to them when I have never lost someone close to me?  What should I say in the prayer?

Just then a woman dressed in white walked by me and smiled.  “Are you a minister?”She asked me.

“Uh... no I’m not,” I said as her comment totally caught me off guard.  “I’m a Christian though,” I said as I stammered a reply.  “I’m a Mormon and have come to pray with this family and try and offer them comfort.”

“Oh, that is so nice of you to come,” she said.  “They’ve called everyone and can’t find anyone who is available today.”

She smiled as she left, but I was filled with fear!  A minister!  Is that who they want?  Oh no, I never should have volunteered.  The longer I waited, the more I wanted to leave.  I felt like I was an imposter.  How could I give this family comfort?  I wasn’t even trained to do this!  Maybe I should have waited for my husband.  I don’t even have the priesthood.  Just when I was about to talk myself out of this Christian act, Donna the nursing surpervisor arrived. 
“Are you Michele?” she asked as she stretched forth her hand.

“Yes, I am,” I said somewhat relieved she had appeared.

“We just can’t thank you enough for coming down to do this today.  Come with me.”

We walked down the corridor leading to the Emergency Room.  She typed in a code that gave us access to the room.  My heart began beating harder and harder.  Donna introduced me to Mary, the charge nurse.

Mary showered me with the same kind of appreciation as she took me down another hall.  “I know the family will be so appreciative.  They have been so grief stricken.  When they left, they insisted that someone give him his “last rights” before the coroner came.”

I stopped dead in my tracks!  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  “You mean the family is not here,” I asked filled with trepidation?

“No, they left a little while ago.  They went to their hotel to begin making the arrangements and a few more phone calls.”

I was dying inside!  I was totally in over my head.  There was no way I could do what was being asked of me.  I felt like an imposter.  That lady had been right.  What they needed was a minister and that I was not!

By this time we had come to the room where the lifeless man lay behind the drawn curtain.  Mary started to pull back the curtain, but I stopped her.  “Mary, I’m not a minister,” I said wanting to make sure I didn’t appear to be something that I wasn’t, “I’m just a Christian.”

“That’s fine,” she said, not the least bit concerned.

Still not feeling totally sure what I should do I said, “Do you know what religion they are?”
“They are Protestant,” she said, “but I don’t think they are practicing ones.”

           Still stalling I continued, “Well, I was hoping to be able to pray with the family and maybe offer them some comforting words.”

“They were mainly concerned about their father.  They wanted to make sure that someone prayed over his soul.”

“You mean what they want is just a last prayer for his well-being?” I asked not knowing exactly what ministers did when they gave people their last rites.

“Yes that’s all they wanted, just someone who could pray for him.  We’ve tried everyone and we can’t seem to get a hold of anyone.”

I thought to myself, “Well, I do know how to pray.  At least that I do know.”  I drew in a deep breath and said, “That will be fine.”

She pulled back the curtain and then left me alone with the man.  There on the table lay the body of a withered, 85 year old man.  I had never been around a deceased person so soon after their death.  Fearfully, I looked around the room almost expecting to see his spirit hovering above his body, but I didn’t see anything.  I walked over to his body and gently place my hand on his cheek.  What a sweet old man.  He was someone’s father and from what I could tell, would be deeply missed.  I couldn’t help but think of my own father who was only six years younger than this man.  If I didn’t have the gospel, I too probably would have wanted someone to come and pray for him.  I bowed my head and reverently began my prayer.

As I walked out of the room, I felt a sweet genuine satisfaction.  Both nurses thanked me again profusely and took my name and address so the family could contact me if they desired.  Walking down the halls of the hospital, I saw people coming in and out of rooms.  I couldn’t help but be amazed that no one there felt like they could offer a prayer for this man.  I was filled with deep gratitude that I had been taught how to pray. 

However, on the way home I began struggling with the fact that I didn’t hold the priesthood.  I hoped that I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.  Maybe I shouldn’t have gone, but waited for Craig to come instead.  Then I realized that the man wasn’t a member of our church and it really didn’t matter who prayed for him.  Did I need a special type of authority to pray for my fellow man?  No I didn’t.

I once again thought of the question the woman had asked me and then recalled my instant reply.  Are you a minister?  No I’m not!  The more I thought about it, the more I realized how wrong I was.  In 2 Corinthians 11:23 it reads, “Are they ministers of Christ?  (I speak as a fool) So am I; in labors more abundant, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequent, in deaths oft.”  Today I realized that I am a minister of Christ and so is every one of Heavenly Father’s children.  We just need to be made more aware of it. 

The closer I got to home I began to dread the constant needs of my family.  Suddenly I felt a sting in my heart as I realized the joy I felt while serving others, in contrast to the negative feelings I had because of the constant barrage of requests from my children.  Here I was surrounded by the most important people I could ever minister unto, and yet I was looking elsewhere to minister.

That night as I shared this experience with my family, I tried to look at each one of my children with different eyes.  As I sat down with my eight-year-old and helped him pass off some of his achievements toward his “Wolf”, I felt that same sweet feeling I had felt at the hospital return.  When I lay down with my seven-year-old to read to her and then tickle her back and sing, “I am a Child of God,” I was further blessed.  Then feeling somewhat satisfied by my actions, I sat down and picked up the Ensign to once again try and read those desired articles.  I looked up to see my seventeen-year-old daughter standing above me.

“Mom, can we talk?” 

Quietly I put the Ensign down.  It could wait.  There was still more ministering that needed to be done.  I had been blessed with a new vision.  I may not totally change overnight, but I will continue to try and become better.  For I have realized that every act of service I do at home is just as important, if not MORE important than anything I can do outside of the home.  Yes, I am a minister of Christ to every one of God’s children, but especially to the ones he has entrusted with me at this time.     

                           --Michele Romney Garvin, mother of five (15 years ago)

                                                            (Out of Small Things)