Paint Me True: Sample Chapters

Four: Blessing

I flipped on the porch light and hauled open the door. A whoosh of damp, sweet smelling air blew in, and there on the stoop were Hattie’s loser semi-boyfriend, Mike, and Len’s housemate, Chris. Chris, who was medium height with ash blond hair, had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his khaki pants. “Hey,” he said. “Um... so... I couldn’t find Ben tonight but I wanted to come see how you were.” Chris and Ben were my home teachers, two priesthood holders in the ward assigned to visit me every month and look out for me in any crisis.

“I’m fine, guys, but thanks for coming by.” I shrugged at Chris. “It was an amicable breakup, you can tell the media that we intend to remain friends. Why, is he upset?”

“I dunno. He’s in the middle of a Bioshock marathon.”

Len was an obsessive video gamer, yet another trait that made him all wrong for me.

It was chilly out here on my porch. “You guys want to come in, or...”

They exchanged a look. “Yeah,” said Chris. “Sure.”

Not what I’d expected, but I knew it would be rude to show my surprise, so instead I stepped back and ushered them in. With the front door closed, the air inside was still once more. I flipped on the lights to the living room and went to close the curtains as the guys plopped themselves down on the couch.

“Would you like a blessing?” Chris asked me.

Chris wasn’t a very intuitive person, and he wasn’t hyper religious, so I must’ve looked like I was in bad shape. Some guys offered blessings with the same frequency they offered handshakes. Chris didn’t even bother to visit me most months. Usually when I saw him, he’d be on his couch at home eating an Evol burrito and watching reality television. If he even noticed I was there, all I got was a wave of the burrito. Now that Len and I were over, odds were, I’d never see him at all outside of church.

“No, I’m okay. I mean, I just got a call from my aunt and she broke her arm, so I’ve gotta go fly out to help her.”

“Oh, she all right?” Mike asked. He had dark hair and very green eyes that were slightly almond shaped. They gave him a kind of weasley quality as he gazed directly at me. He was a youngster, too. Twenty-two, barely back from his mission, still living at home. He still seemed like a teenager to me, self absorbed and clueless about making his own way in the world.

“I think so. I just have to pack. I’m flying out in eight hours.”

“You need a ride to the airport?” Mike asked.

“Um, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”

“No, I’ll do it. I’ll come by at what time?”

“It’s an international flight. Three hour check in. Really, I’ll be okay.”

“Three a.m.? Okay, I’ll be here.”

Chris palmed his hair forward – an odd habit he’d developed since he’d started buzzing it himself. He claimed it stuck straight up and he wanted to train it to lie flat. “You sure you don’t want a blessing?”

“Um... okay, sure.” There was no harm in a blessing. If they were willing to go through all this trouble on a Saturday night, I might as well oblige them.

“You need a blessing for the sick or one of comfort and counsel?” Mike asked. He got up from the couch.

“Just comfort and counsel,” I said. I hauled the piano bench out and sat on it as the guys stood on either side of me.

The two of them put their hands on my head. I felt a little silly, doing this. It was yet another reminder of how, as a Mormon, I couldn’t ever really aspire to be a normal person, but I shut my eyes and bowed my head and resolved to listen.

Mike began by invoking his priesthood authority and pronouncing a blessing.

Then Chris took over. First he invoked his priesthood authority, and then it was time for him to give some additional counsel.

This is where I pricked up my ears. Not that the other words were unimportant to me, but this part of the blessing was the part that was personal. Chris would do his best to clear his mind and speak as he felt moved to speak by the Holy Ghost.

I waited.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. After what felt like minutes, he spoke. “Your Heavenly Father would have you know,” he said, “that He has a very special lesson for you to learn.” Then he paused.

I tried to sit up straight despite the gentle pressure of their palms upon my head.

The pause stretched into a prolonged silence. Then Chris closed the ordinance in the names of the Godhead and lifted his hands. I looked up at him and he just shrugged in reply.

“Thanks,” I said.

“That’s gotta be a record for shortest blessing ever,” said Mike.

“I appreciate it,” I said, and I did. My heart wasn’t on fire with the Spirit right then, but what mattered was that these two guys had cared enough to make an effort.

I saw them to the door and thanked them again as they stepped out into the chill night.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said, but I waved that away and shut the door.

One thing about being older than most of the ward, I felt more settled in my faith. I wasn’t trying out religion as an adult to see whether or not it was something I could sustain. My testimony was burned in deep. If it weren’t for God, I knew I’d be a very different person. How else could I survive the deaths of all my close, female relatives and still get through the day? Adages like “time heals all wounds”, are lies. Let me be clear on that. Each death hurts just as bad today as it did the day it happened. The people I’ve lost were ripped from me and took pieces of my soul with them, and I can feel the wounds every second of every day. Like a Hollywood actress I can call up tears on demand. They’re always there, tickling the back of my throat. There isn’t a moment that I don’t miss my mother, or wish I could pick up a phone and call my sisters.

But I’ve had holes in my heart for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories is my last visit to my Aunt Claire, before she died later that night. All through elementary, junior high, and high school I’d taken breaks for funerals with the kind of regularity other kids got the flu. Still, people were always surprised whenever they heard the family medical history. Many asked how I got through the day.

Step by step, I guess. The Lord has never given me a major miracle. None of my relatives had a spontaneous remission from cancer. I’ve never seen great white lights or angelic figures. But the Lord gives me small blessings every moment. Turmoil that I can’t purge by whining to a friend disappears when I pour my heart out in prayer. Nights when I wondered how I’d endure, I’d get a full and deep sleep and wake up just strong enough to put one foot in front of the other again.  And then there were moments like tonight, when two guys from my ward felt impressed to come check on me. Even though they’d stayed less than twenty minutes, I felt better knowing they cared.