Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [66]
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
I was overcome with emotion as I knelt by his side; I tried to remain calm, but my throat grew tight and tears began to fall. Uncle Rulon had experienced a second stroke and was now hard of hearing, but he seemed to listen intently as I started to tell him my feelings. In my mind, I thanked God for granting me this moment. All this time, I had been fasting and praying to the Heavenly Father for help, and I believed that he’d allowed me to be before the prophet that day.
In a hesitant voice, I explained to Uncle Rulon that I was not trying to defy him or God’s directions for me but that I felt like I was too young to be married. “All I’m asking for is to have two more years to grow up a bit,” I begged. “If nothing else, could you please find someone other than my cousin Allen for me to marry? Allen is the last person I can ever imagine being a wife to. So, please, just if there is any possible way, can things just not happen now?”
A confused look crossed his face as I stared into the prophet’s eyes. “Now, what did you say, sweetie? Will you repeat that, please?” he asked solicitously. I took a deep breath and desperately tried to slow my heart down so I could compose myself as I repeated my worries and concerns.
Just then Uncle Warren leaned down from his towering six-foot-plus height and jumped in on the conversation: “This young lady feels like the place you have found for her to be married is not right and she knows better,” he began.
I didn’t like the way Warren was distorting my words, making it sound as though I was ungrateful and thought I knew better than the prophet. It was disquieting and made me seem more defiant than I was, but I was too frightened to speak up.
“She feels like you haven’t decided right and she wants your permission not to be in the marriage,” Warren continued as I looked up at him in frustration. He was trying to make me feel terrible for even making such a request, for questioning the word of the prophet and God.
Puzzlement swept over Uncle Rulon’s face as he looked up to Warren and back down at me. For a moment he said nothing, and then he smiled kindly. “You follow your heart, sweetie, just follow your heart,” he told me, gently patting my hand.
While he’d not given me a direct answer, his words were clear and relieving. My heart leapt into my throat. Finally, someone was listening to me and going to give me the chance to decide. Rising to my feet, I felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted off my chest. The prophet had told me to follow my heart; the will of God was for me to listen to my own judgment.
“God bless you, and keep sweet,” Rulon said, smiling, and he turned back to his lunch.
Uncle Warren ushered me out of the dining room and back down the hall. I expressed my relief aloud: “The prophet told me to follow my heart, and my heart is telling me not to do this.”
Suddenly Warren’s pace slowed. “Elissa,” he said, turning his gaze in my direction. “Your heart is in the wrong place. This is what the prophet has revealed and directed you to do, and this is your mission and duty.”
Confusion rocked me. I had just walked out of a meeting with the prophet where he himself had told me to follow my heart, and my heart was telling me that this was not right. Now Warren, who in my mind was only second in command, was telling me that my heart was in the wrong place.
“Well, he told me to follow my heart,” I reminded him. “And my heart is screaming no!”
Uncle Warren looked astonished.
It was like he hadn’t heard a