LED BY THE SPIRIT

LED BY THE SPIRIT

And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.
1 Nephi 4:6 (emphasis added)

A Thursday night snow-storm had turned the Ozarks into a winter wonderland. But it also had caused school to be canceled for the next day. That in turn resulted in all Conference basketball games being postponed. The snow melted quickly, however, so all games were immediately rescheduled for Saturday.

He would have been able to go Friday, but the semi-annual stake priesthood meeting was that Saturday – it had been on the calendar for more than a year. The stake president was unusually quiet as he and his first counselor once again made the hour and a half drive to the stake center.

About half-way down the mountain the counselor broke the silence. “Is there something on your mind?”

“There is a lot of satisfaction in fulfilling our callings, but it’s certainly difficult at times. This is one of those times.”

“Stake presidents feel that way, too? That’s a relief. I thought I was being unfaithful when I felt that way.”

The president smiled. “Another example of the law of opposition at work, I guess.”

“Basketball?”

“I enjoy being a Dad too. It’s his senior year. I vowed not to miss a game this year. I tell myself that he needs me at his games, but truth be told it’s me who needs it the most.”

“Too bad we haven’t figured out how to be two places at once.”

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The meeting had started and was going smoothly. The first speaker was adeptly covering his assigned topic – eight minutes, no more. As he scanned the congregation, the president’s heart filled with admiration, and yes, love for the good brethren, many of whom had come in from even greater distances than he had, and at considerably more financial sacrifice, due to their meager incomes. The president’s eyes focused on Brother Jeremiah Simpson, humble, faithful, trusting, loyal, without guile. His heart went out to the itinerant carpenter with little formal education, who struggled to make a living even though his skills were extraordinary. Brother Simpson’s wife had left him years ago, taking their son with her. From interviews the president had learned that in spite of the court-mandated custody/visiting rights settlement, due to the mother’s feistiness and Bro. Simpson’s contrasting peacemaker nature, the father seldom got to spend meaningful time with his beloved son.

Wait a minute, thought the president. Where do Jeremiah’s son and his mother live? Bartonville! Who is my son’s team playing later this afternoon? Bartonville! Jeremiah’s son plays for Bartonville – my son and his son are going to be playing one another!

The president signaled the attendance taker to summon Jeremiah, who looked up from the congregation at the president, who signaled Jeremiah to meet him in the foyer.
“The meeting’s yours,” whispered the president to his counselor. “You’re the closing speaker now. You know the subject. Wing it. The Lord will be with you.”

Out in the foyer, the president put his arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders. “You and I are going to watch our sons play some basketball!”

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Jeremiah was a backwoodsman at heart. He lived in a cabin on some wooded acreage outside of town. He heated his abode with an ancient Franklin stove and firewood. On the first above-freezing day of early spring, just after their sons’ basketball game with the stake president, Jeremiah somehow prevailed on his ex to allow him time with his son. They were out there on Jeremiah’s property together, sawing up and splitting firewood, so it would season for the next winter. The son was driving in the splitting wedge with the back of an axe. Neither noticed that the head was gradually coming loose. During a mighty swing it flew off its handle, ricocheting off a tree and into the boy’s skull. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.

At the funeral, Jeremiah through his tears thanked the stake president over and over again for putting game over meeting. It turned out to be the last time Jeremiah would ever see his son play ball.