God Works in Mysterious Ways

Being raised in a larger than average family of twelve was normally a pretty big deal—if you didn’t live in Utah. But we did. Nine girls and two boys. The boys were the youngest. One prayed for and the second a “slip of the dick,” I heard my father refer to him as one time. At least it wasn’t another girl.

Somehow, despite there being nine of us, we were all a burden. Turns out, I was the biggest burden. Not the substantiated bread winner, according to my religion, nor could I produce any new followers of Christ. A barren woman. What good was I? My marriage was failing, and the one who’d promised to cherish and love me no matter what had a change of heart as the childless days passed. Our church couldn’t blame him. Females were, after all, created to populate God’s Earth.

I was devastated and worthless. When the bishop called my husband and I into his office, I was shocked to hear Bishop Eaton’s news of a family who had recently experienced a horrific fire. It left a solitary child. Alone. No relatives. No one. He thought of us.

Bishop Eaton’s suggestion of adopting Emily and raising her as our own left my husband and I equally dumbfounded—for completely different reasons. Kyle was hesitant, wanting to raise a child in his own image, like God did. But Bishop Eaton reminded us that God works in mysterious ways, and this event may very well be the reason we couldn’t bear children. We were little Emily’s hope and called upon to be examples for other church members to step into the light of selfless giving.

Seconds later, as we stood speechless, the bishop pressed a button on his phone and asked that Emily be brought in—as if she were waiting in the hall. Kyle eyed me as if the bishop and I were playing some sort of mindgame, teaming up on him. The look of surprise on my face likely expressed the words of his that followed. “Just like that?”

Bishop Eaton grinned as if he were Santa and just granted us what we’d been hinting at getting all year. “You’re no stranger to God working miracles. He absolutely does work in mysterious ways.” Trembling, unsure if it was trepidation or excitement, I grasped at the chair beside me and quickly planted myself. “On top of this tragedy, the Campbell family was new to the ward. They’d only been here about a month, if you recall, before this heinous event occurred.”

“Yes,” I said. I remembered the family of four, a mother, father, older sister, and little Emily standing in front as they were introduced into our ward. I remember thinking how frail and insecure she seemed, and how her sister resembled a younger version of their mother, but Emily didn’t really look like any of them. Small and pale with a stripe of freckles across her seven-year-old nose. Red, curly hair pulled loosely into two elastics behind her ears created full coils of fire laying across her collar. And her eyes. Jade.

A hearty knock at the office door was followed by it opening to reveal the frail girl with fiery locks flowing over her shoulders. “Emily,” Bishop Eaton said, “This is Brother and Sister Crane. They are going to take care of you now.” His warm smile grew as he ushered her in, guiding her to us. Then, he offered us a wink, “I’ll have an attorney bring the papers over to your house as soon as they’re in order.”

“Now? Like right now?” Kyle stammered in disbelief. Suddenly, his face had the confused look of a child who won a regional karate competition without ever having attended a class.

The bishop rounded his desk and took a seat with satisfaction settling proudly upon his face. “Of course, we’ll provide the furnishings, clothing, etc. needed for her. This will be a new experience for her as well. My hopes are that we will bring a whole new family into Christ’s fold with this arrangement.” 

With that, he stood and extended his hand over the desk toward Kyle. “The finalization won’t take nearly as long as if we’d done this the old fashioned way.” He gave a chuckle before saying in a much quieter cadence, “I’m certain this little one can use all the love you’ve stored up in your heart, so the easier for everyone the better. Don’t you agree?”

Half in shock, while also elated, my hand rested on the shoulder of little Emily as I gingerly guided her through the door. Behind us, Kyle quietly followed. Having absolutely no idea what his first words would be when we had a chance to freely speak, I decided to engross myself in my new future of motherhood. As ridiculous as it must sound, my mind kept going over all the braids, buns, and hair pinnings I knew how to do, and how others would be jealous. They’d all say, “I knew she’d make a fantastic mother, better than the natural ones!” No, that didn’t sound right. But still, they’d be secretly jealous.

The first night, as one might imagine, was a bit touch and go, as no one knew what to say to the others. I mean, I certainly didn’t want to ask about the fire, or even bring up the subject of her family. Once the tears started, I had no idea if I would be expected to hold her until she ceased sobbing, or if she’d hate me for drudging up the pain she must be struggling to sort through. I figured being the sole survivor of such a tragic event was apt to bring on feelings of guilt, no matter how young she is. Either way, the subject stinks and I wasn’t about to touch on it without the help of a professional. Kyle seemed as lost as I was.

We immediately cleared a room, but the furnishings wouldn’t be here for a couple of days. And a seven-year-old’s bedroom shouldn’t resemble a cot in an empty office, especially considering everything she is already going through. “Maybe we could let her sleep in bed with us,” I suggest to Kyle, who’s hardly said three words the entire night. “Just for tonight. She’s probably terrified.”

We walked into our bedroom, me leading Emily to the big bed. Kyle reached out and snatched his pillow from the bed, gathered a fuzzy, blue blanket from the closet, and made his way past us into the hall.

“Kyle, what are you doing?” I nearly followed him, but caught Emily’s abandoned face and stopped. “Kyle!” 

He ignored me. I decided I could do this on my own and let him have his pouty moment. In the morning, he’d be making stacks of pancakes and bacon for behaving so immaturely. I tried to remember if we had orange juice. That would be the perfect first family meal. A fantastic start!

Rather than letting his actions get the best of me, I prepared Emily’s princess pillow by fluffing it up on Kyle’s side of the bed and folding the blankets back. “I’ll be right here with you if you get scared, okay?”

Emily climbed into position and promptly lay down. I pulled the blanket up and gave it a pat across her chest, like a mother would likely do. With her red ribbons of hair framing her freckled face, her emerald eyes gleamed, and her tiny pink lips actually curled into the faintest smile. “Thank you.” Her porcelain arms draped over the top of the blanket and she candidly asked an unusual question. “I don’t have to call you Mommy yet, do I?”

Caught off-guard, my words were instantly stuck in my throat behind my breath. My eyes were locked onto hers—searching as if she would somehow answer her own question. I felt my cheeks soften and my smile grew wide between them. “Of course not, Emily. That will take some time,” I sat down on the bed, leaned over her, and pushed one strand of hair from her forehead. “We have lots and lots of time. More than ten years.” 

Relief filled my throat when her eyes reflected the assurance I felt at that moment. Rounding onto my own side, I rolled over and clicked the lamp off before snuggling beneath the warm bedclothes myself. 

“More than ten years…” I heard her repeat in a whisper in the dark.

The next day, Kyle had already left by the time we got up.

The following Sunday, the kids in church sang. Emily stood on the front row. I’d used two pink ribbons to tie her hair in high pigtails, matching her lacy dress. Her face beamed and her eyes twinkled as her mouth stretched wide with each word of the song, “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam to shine for him each day. In every way try to please him at home and school and play. A sunbeam. A sunbeam. Jesus wants me for a sunbeam! A sunbeam. A sunbeam. I’ll be a sunbeam for him.” And every time she sang the word, “sunbeam,” she bounced up on her toes and her pigtails followed. She belonged. We were a family. Now, I just needed to convince my husband. 

In class, the kids made cookies for their parents, and as Emily presented them with confidence, her lively eyes twinkled. “I made the biggest one for you!” she told my husband, pushing the paper plate beneath his chin.

“Ugh!” he abruptly shoved it away. “I’m allergic to peanuts.” 

“There’s not real peanuts in them,” she argued. “It’s just peanut butter.”

As he rolled his eyes and stormed out of the church. I explained that peanut butter comes from peanuts, and if Kyle ate them, he could die.

At first, she thought I was joking, but then she grew sad.

“Tell you what, we can make a pie next Sunday for him,” I suggested. She grinned with a nod and ate his cookie while I ate mine.

For the past week, he’d been acting aloof, working late, rarely speaking, and continuing to sleep on the couch. Emily had been in her own room for the past few nights, and he knew that, but he insisted on being difficult. Tonight, as I lay alone in bed, I decided this foolishness needed to end. 

The family room was dark, except for the television, and it was turned down low. The program was an old rerun of Happy Days with the Fonz being cool, thumbs up, and likely saying, “Aye!” as his head bobbed with confidence.

“Kyle?” I walked up from behind the couch—it’s back to me, blankets overflowing over the end onto the floor. “Kyle,” I could see him stretched out over the length as I grew nearer. “We need to talk.”

Groaning as he stretched his arm over the back of the couch to pull himself up, he craned his head around to face me—halfway. “Now?” His voice was scratchy, which should be expected. Looking at my watch, I realized it was just after midnight. Still, he was up now. May as well make the most of it.

“Yeah, this has gone on long enough. Let’s talk about what’s going on here.”

Sitting up taller and crossing his legs beneath him, he did this thing indicating he has the upper hand. Half of his mouth pulled up and he squinted an eye. “So, a week and a half later, at midnight no less, you’ve determined it’s a good time to discuss whether or not we’ll have a seven-year-old child move in?” Without waiting for a response, he shifted, pulling his legs in with his hands and wiggling a bit. “I mean, having a female child that’s ours is one thing. I could handle that. But you know how important it is for me to have a son. That bedroom was supposed to be for him—or at least, if it was a girl, our own flesh and blood. It’s unfair of you to decide this alone.” 

I wanted to tell him I was caught by surprise as much as he was, but what would that create? Likely a discussion of giving her back. I couldn’t do that.

Although it was dark, the television lit up half his face. He looked old and mean. “The subject wasn’t even discussed.” He waited, picking up and taking a sip of his protein shake. “Me!” his thumb poked into his chest, “I am the man of this house. I decide what happens—.” He stopped, slammed his drink on the coffee table. “Holy crab cakes!”

When I turned around to see what caused his abrupt silence, Emily stood in her nightgown, her princess pillow dragging from her hand by the corner, and her pigtails lopsided. She wore a sullen expression and her head bowed. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to… I had a bad dream.”

My head swung around, anticipating solemn remorse from Kyle, but it wasn’t there. Instead, an expression that dared me to choose this stranger over my own husband. 

“Kyle…” But I stopped as he flicked his hand my way and resumed his former horizontal position. “We aren’t finished,” I cast over my shoulder, swinging Emily up onto my hip.

“Why does he hate me?” she sighed as we climbed the stairway.

“It’s complicated.”

Settling Emily back into our bed, I surveyed the room before shutting off the light. Rolling over, I whispered, “You don’t need to worry anymore, sweetheart. Your bad dreams are in the past. Now we just have our future.”

She wiggled closer to me and put her tiny hand on my cheek. “Okay, Mommy.” And then she snuggled beneath my chin and fell asleep. 

“That’s just what happened!” the little voice cried out, awaking me from my deep sleep. Bolting upright, I see Emily flailing about, her arms swinging this way and that. Then, I noticed my nose was wet. She must have clobbered me in her sleep. Grabbing a tissue, I briefly tended to my bloody nose before directing my attention to the flailing little girl tangled in the bedclothes.

Climbing beside her on the bed, I struggled to gather her into my arms and tighten mine around her body—all while simultaneously holding a tissue to my nose. “Emily, you’re safe with me, okay?” I murmured against the tissue, above the crown of her head. “What on Earth was happening?”

“My parents had a boating accident when I was five. It was awful. My mother fell overboard without a life jacket and when my father jumped in to save her—and they died.”

My heart stopped. My brain couldn’t grasp what she was saying. “In your dream?”

“No,” she looked down at her hands, balling them into fists before releasing them again. “That’s how they died.”

My head tilted, confused. “No, sweetie, your parents died in a fire.”

“That was my adoptive family. My real parents were run over by a boat.”

My head must have spun around a few times, because nothing made sense, and I couldn’t think. When I pulled away and turned on the lamp, I observed Emily’s calm demeanor. Her cherub smile and innocent kitten eyes as she peered up at me. “Kyle…” I caught myself gasping, and then louder, “Kyle?”

Scrambling off the bed, I dropped the tissue and snatched my robe. I crammed my arms down the sleeves and my hands fumbled tying the bow. “Kyle?”

The living room lights blazed on as my hand glided over the switch. “Kyle, we need to talk—NOW!” 

The television was on and silenced. The blankets were hanging over the end.

“He isn’t going to talk about it, Mommy,” a young voice, trailing down the stairway, called.

Her nearly monotone voice continued as she followed me into the living room. Meanwhile, I was circling the couch to peer down into my husband’s eyes.

There they were. Big. Brown. Still. Lifeless. By all appearances, he was dead. And then, a phone rang. Kyle’s phone. It was muffled and coming from his jacket pocket on the back of the recliner. My watch said it was nearly seven a.m. Frozen, I couldn’t think. But I didn’t have to. 

Emily answered it by whispering, “Hello?” and replied with a “no,” before saying, “Yes, she’s awake,” and handed it to me. “It’s Bishop Eaton. I told him Daddy is not awake,” she murmured, handing me Kyle’s phone.

“Hello,” the voice came through clearly, “I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for what happened. Brother McAvoy called me up, feeling bad about agreeing to take Kyle to the airport this morning. I was calling to talk Kyle into giving it another chance, but obviously, if he’s sleeping, he’s changed his mind.” And then he asked, “Are you okay? Can I do anything for you and little Emily?”

“No,” the quiet spills from my throat. “We’re just a little shaken, but I am sure he finally agreed we need to talk. Thank you for calling, Bishop Eaton. We’ll be just fine.”

As soon as I hung up the phone, I checked for the pulse I suspected wasn’t there. And then, I asked Emily to call 9-1-1, while I rolled him over for CPR. Putting my lips to his cold ones, I quickly sat up and looked around. His nightly protein drink was on the table. The cup was light when I picked it

“Emily?” I held up the cup.

“Oh, I forgot he can’t have peanut butter. I thought he might like some in his refrigerated drink before bed.” Racing over, her arms lock around my waist and she buries her face against me.

I drop to my knees and gently take her chin in my hand, peering into those trusting eyes. “No,” I said, “Don’t ever say that again. God works in mysterious ways, baby. Thank goodness He brought me you.”