REST UNTO HIS SOUL

REST UNTO HIS SOUL

Come unto me … and ye shall find rest unto your souls. Matthew 11:28-29 (emphasis added)



I'm a consistent home teacher. Last minute. Ten times a year. Because no one likes me to come on Halloween or New Year's Eve.

I perused my new assignment. Dickerson (names changed) family. We visited them, my son and I.

“Welcome. I'm Matt, and this is my wife Karla.”

“And who is this? Let me guess – are you six years old?”

“She is! Tell him your name, honey.”

She peered out shyly from behind her father's leg. “Annie …”

“Hi, Annie, pleased to meet you. This is my son Davey, er, David. He's 14. He has a sister, Rebekah, who's just your age. Can you tell which one she is in this picture?” I showed her the wallet-sized family photo.

She could. “That's right! Would you like to play with her sometime?”

She would. “We'll set that up. And who is this in your mother's arms?”

“This is Jessica – Jessie, we call her. She's 14 months.”

“Hi, Jessie, what a pretty smile.”

“So, what brings you all to Oklahoma?”

“Well, I served a mission here, and taught and baptized Karla when I was assigned to her hometown, Norman. Don't worry, nothing happened while I was a missionary. I waited six months until after I was released, called her and told her I was coming through Oklahoma on vacation, and could I stop by and see her. The rest is history. We got married in the Logan temple, and I went to work in my father's welding shop up there, but she got to missing home. I found this job here at Mercury Marine, only 80 miles from her mom. So here we are.”

The consistent, last-of-the-month visits went well. Our families got together. Until …

Matt was the only one home one month.

“Oh, she and the kids are visiting Grandma.”

Matt was the only one home the next month also.

“She's still with her mother. She's not coming back. I thought by moving to Oklahoma we could save our marriage. I didn't realize it was me she couldn't stand – I thought she just missed her mother. It's over, I'm afraid.”

We kept visiting. He kept his appointments less and less often. His church attendance had diminished to never.

…............................................

We managed to catch up with him after a few months. “I went down to visit my kids. She wouldn't let me see them. On the way home I floored it – 140 miles an hour, hoping the whole time that I'd lose control, have a spectacular crash, and wind up dead. I'm serious.”

He was, I could tell. We talked through things like that. More than once. He would always thank me.

…...........................................

“I met this woman at work. She's so nice.”

“But, Matt, you're not divorced yet.”

“At least I'm not thinking suicide anymore.”

…........................................

I was ordained a high priest and was assigned a new home teaching route. Matt and I lost contact.

…..........................................

Fast forward ten years. I was the newly called bishop. A knock came on the office door.

“Matt Dickerson! You're a sight for sore eyes!”

“Can we talk?”

“You bet! Come on in. How are your girls? Let's see, how old would they be now?”

“Sixteen and twelve. They're still with their mother at their grandmother's. They are not allowed to go to church. We're divorced now, and I supposedly have visiting rights, but their mother still makes it all but impossible to see them. I'm married to Marie, the girl from work I told you about … but before we got married I got her pregnant, and she chose to have an abortion. I'm no longer a member.”

That didn't surprise me, given the sordid tale I had just heard.

“That's what I came to see you about, Bishop. Is there any way I could possibly get my membership back?”

We went to work, going through Miracle of Forgiveness chapter by chapter, week by week, leaving no stone unturned. We pulled the files, reviewed the reports, consulted with the stake president, wrote the required letters, fielded the phone calls from the powers that be, and waited, close to a year.

Finally the permission to reconvene the disciplinary council was granted. We did so. It was a beautiful, sacred experience. Matt was indeed humble and penitent, a truly changed man. The decision was rendered in his favor. The letters were written and sent, along with the record of the council's proceedings. We then waited. Close to a half-year this time.

Permission from the office of the First Presidency arrived, authorizing Paul's re-baptism. I was honored to accept Paul's invitation for me to re-baptize him. I don't know who experienced more joy that day. I know I was all but overcome.

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We left Stillwater seventeen years ago, but have maintained some ties.

“Hey, hon, look at this. Gary and Rhonda Hartfeld have a daughter coming home from a mission, and a son leaving on one. Can you believe it! They were just toddlers when we left, and the parents still students. Anyway, they want us to come to their homecoming/farewell.”

“Let me check the calendar … Might as well – it'd be fun to see if anyone else remembers us.”

They did. We were greeted like returning family. Everyone but us looked older, though.

“Bob and Chris! What a sight for sore eyes! That was your phrase, remember? When you saw me at your office door when you were bishop?” Matt was one of the many with a warm greeting for us.

As Sacrament Meeting started I noticed that he was sitting on the stand right next to the bishop. I thought to look on the back of the program, and there it was: “First Counselor … Matt Dickerson.”

Was this Heaven? It was a glimpse, at least.