They prayed to Heavenly Father (it was never God, but Heavenly Father) for His Spirit to be upon them, the only light coming from the curious stones, glowing in the dark.
There were Amens, and then Brother and Sister Schafer chanted “Pay Lay Ale” thrice, and a minty mist imbued the air. The room suddenly felt damp, and I could smell the verdant earth after the rain. As they continued to chant in a language I could not understand, I felt the floor beneath me shift, like the plate tectonics I had learned about in school. Brother Schafer placed his palms on the stones, and his whole body was filled with light.
My surroundings change from four walls to a woodland. The ceiling opened up and disappeared, and sunlight streamed through the treetops. Birds were singing sweetly in the breeze. I stood in awesome wonder as I beheld who I recognized as the Prophet Joseph as a boy, on the Hill Cumorah. He was conversing with an angel. I started to walk towards them. The angel looked my way, but the boy did not seem to hear me. As I drew nearer, I saw that the apparition was not an angel, but a goat. It was beyond this scene that I saw a path through a grove of trees, leading down into a dark abyss, and I knew that was from whence this creature had come.
I rushed to the boy, trying to tell him this being was not of God but a demon, wanting to touch him, but unable to, screaming for him to see what I saw.
It was strange, for I could still hear all around me, all that was going on in that room, the two worlds colliding—one of sight, in the past—one of sound, in the present. Had I slipped into the fifth dimension of imagination, for I surely felt like I was being taken on a journey through the Twilight Zone, only to be left there.
The spell was broken as Brother Schafer ended what had turned out to be a séance of sorts, conjuring up visions of visions. Had I gone back in time, only to be unable to change the history that had been made before my eyes?
No one had seen what I had seen, for I had been alone there in the forest. The very people who believed in Joseph Smith’s teachings had brought him back from the dead, only for God (or had it been the devil tricking me?), to tell me he had been mistaken, to show me that after all, he had been just a boy with an imagination out of this world.
Logline for Because of Mindy Wiley: An Irish-Catholic girl coming of age in the Deep South during the New Millennium finds her family splintered when two Mormon missionaries come to her door, their presence and promise unearthing long-buried family secrets, which lead to her excommunication and exile.