Brother Bench

In the late summer of 2005, my siblings and I had gathered with our children at the home of our youngest brother and his family, to celebrate the 75th birthday of our dear mother. The years were creeping up on Mom, and health was beginning to fail. Her birthday surprise dinner at Uncle John’s house was a chance to honor the lady who had, as a single divorced mother, valiantly raised four boys and our older sister.

Mom did not know that in addition to her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, we’d invited that night, some 15 couples and families who had been our dear family friends in the ward where we’d been raised. Mom had not seen most of them for many years. We’d hoped, by bringing her dearest friends together, we’d have a “This is your life” moment.

A few of us were gathered on the deck of the home, where we could see the street and the long downward sloping driveway that lead to my brother’s home. As some couples began to arrive, I looked up and saw a gentleman and his wife I’d not seen in more than 35 years. Slowly, with great care, down the driveway they came--Sterling and Donna Bench.

In 1969, Sterling was our Home Teacher. Dutifully, he’d visit each month, with either of his two youngest sons in tow. For me, a boy of 9 years, whose family had been shattered a year earlier by the revelation that his parents were divorcing, I was frequently disinterested in home teachers and similar matters, and usually found the routine visits to be an annoyance.

Soft spoken, Brother Bench appeared older than his actual age. He moved and spoke with such slowness and deliberateness that I struggled to attend to his messages each month. He was a sweet and tender hearted man, and his warm face was blessed with equally dark and soothing brown eyes. But in the fear and loss surrounding my unhappy family, I found no solace or purpose in his visits. When scout, church or school events beckoned, Brother Bench was the first to call and offer to accompany me….to be a surrogate dad. “No thanks”, was my every reply. Although he was persistent, I don’t recall that I ever allowed him to fill that role. I went to my church and scouting activities, but would do so with my brothers or by myself.

For the next eight years, the Bench brothers visited us each month, gently, caringly, and modestly watching over us. “I was hungry and ye gave me to eat; I was naked, and ye clothed me.”

In the ensuing years, I confess to not having thought often enough about him or his family. Then, on that summer evening in 2005, as I looked up that driveway, and saw Sterling Bench, arm in arm with his wife, I was instantly, uncontrollably and without warning, overcome with emotion. I felt the most profound regard and gratitude for that man. It was a feeling of love I’d not experienced outside my own family. It rushed upon me with the most surprising speed and depth. Tears welled in my eyes, and I found myself turning away briefly to contain and gather myself.

There was Sterling Bench, our long lost, nearly forgotten home teacher. I realized in that moment, as I tried to control my tears, that dear Brother Bench had been far more than a simple home teacher. It was clear to me, with the distance that only one’s own life experience can provide, that he’d visited us each month, not out of duty or mandate, but out of love. A love for his God, reflected in his simple willingness to communicate in his soft and deliberate way, His love for me. I realized that all those years before, through all those hard to endure visits, that in his own, quiet way, he’d successfully let me know that I mattered. Me, and my broken family. Four lost boys, a lost sister….and one lost mother. We mattered to Sterling Bench, and we mattered to Him.

I could not wait to greet Brother Bench as he and Donna arrived at the entry to the home. I shook his hand, and wanted to embrace him. I dared not, for fear he’d think it strange, having not seen him for so long a time, but when I looked into his deep and dark and now very tired eyes, that welcoming look was still present, and I was reminded once again, that I mattered.

Today, when faced with duty or service of my own, I remind myself of Sterling Bench, and of his quiet and exemplary love.