A Burning in the Bosom

This month, Wayfare is delighted to present the three winners of our first ever ten-minute play competition. Congratulations to our second place winner, "A Burning in the Bosom," by Melissa Leilani Larson.

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An organ plays the accompaniment to “I Believe in Christ.” The music continues throughout. Charity enters in a rush. Her arms are full of stuff: scriptures, manuals, crayons, a bag of Goldfish (crackers, that is). She starts the perilous journey to the center of a nearly full pew, stepping over—and occasionally on—its occupants as she goes. We hear her thoughts via voiceover (V.O.) as she thinks them.

CHARITY: Sorry, sorry, sorry . . . Excuse me . . .

(Finally she is able to sit. Arranges her stuff.)

CHARITY (V. O.): Late, why am I always so late . . . ? The real question is—why is everyone else so early? 

(She searches for a hymnal, finally finding it under her seat. Flips to #134. Sighs.) 

Oh, wow. It’s like the longest hymn ev-er. . . . I mean, “The Spirit of God” isn’t exactly short. And then if you count all the verses of the Kolob one, and “A Poor Wayfaring Man of—” Good grief.

Oh, gosh, I’m yawning already. Thank goodness we’re not singing the nation—why is the national anthem even in the hymn book? I thought there were more members outside the U.S. than inside. I’m getting old. We didn’t have “Scripture Power” when I was in Primary. Ugh, I stayed up too late last night. People say the Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight. Do ghosts go to bed? China is like seventeen hours ahead of us. Is the Holy Ghost affected by time zones? I’d like to visit China. Three cheers for lettuce wraps. I think I’m hungry.

(She starts to open the baggie of Goldfish but hesitates.)

Don’t do it. The Sunbeams will hurt you if they don’t get their snack. So impossible for them to sit still like normal adults. Ugh, what children. Why did I wear these shoes? Have to call Dad about the car.

Wow, Bruce R. McConkie wrote this? How did I not know that? Impressive. Though I guess you need to be impressive to be a G.A. in the first place. President Monson is a pretty impressive person. Plus, he’s tall. Bonus points for being very tall.

This hymn, if you think about it, it’s a testimony. Elder McConkie saying “I believe in Christ, and no one can take that away from me.” But me singing it, it feels like I’m borrowing what he believes. I guess if you’re going to borrow a testimony, get the best one you can. When exactly are you old enough to have your own testimony? Does it come in the mail with your driver’s license? What about all the little kids who march up to the podium and bear their strong, if occasionally misspoken, witnesses?

I should be in that place already. It’s embarrassing to admit that I’m not. No one goes around declaring they don’t have a testimony. I know the words: I believe in Christ. But apparently there needs to be a feeling to seal the deal. “Read the Book of Mormon, pray about it, and feel that it’s true.” But when I finished the Book of Mormon the first time, I didn’t really feel anything except—not smart enough. And I ponder! I ponder with the best of them. Doesn’t help that I usually haven’t got a clue about what the scriptures mean. Let’s be real, they aren’t always easy to get through. Maybe I’m not in tune with the Spirit. Ha, that was a pun, “not in tune,” we’re singing a hymn, that’s pretty good.

(She smiles to herself, but then the smile fades.)

It’s hard to know when I’m in tune with the Spirit. People talk about it like it’s an easy thing to do. Well, it’s not. You’re trying to do things the right way. Live a solid life, make good choices, have Goldfish for the Sunbeams. Shouldn’t there be some kind of affirmation? Some kind of—what’s the phrase? “A burning in the bosom.” What does that even mean? Warm fuzzies but worse. Warm fuzzies to the third degree. Truth be told, I think that’s kind of a personal thing to ask somebody, “Do you feel a burning?” If you say “yes,” that seems embarrassing. Do you get a cream for that, or do you just suffer through it because it’s a good burning? Like saints in the dark ages who wore hair shirts and beat themselves up to prove how faithful they were. I do a pretty good job of beating myself up, actually. Maybe if I had more of a bosom. Maybe?

(She looks down at her chest self-consciously.)

Maybe not. Anyway, how does an ordinary person feel the Spirit? Like really. I’ve had the chills before. Chicken skin. And peanut butter gives me hives. But today, now, I’m sitting here not feeling anything.

(She concentrates, hard, perhaps trying to hear some distant voice.)

. . . Nope. I don’t get it. I don’t believe anything less than anybody else. Maybe I suck at fasting, but I believe in Christ. I do! And Joseph Smith was a prophet, a really tall, good-looking prophet. Sometimes I think the whole chills-up-the-spine or burning-in-the-bosom or hands-trembling thing is just—inconvenient. And a little showy, to be honest. Maybe people just make them up, the symptoms of a spiritual experience. Spiritual hypochondriacs. Whatever.

I can sound so cynical sometimes, I know.  “Sin is the root of cynicism . . .” But being cynical is just so—fun. Dear Bishop Harkness, I need to repent of being cynical all the time.

Something must be wrong with me. I mean, people always talk about physical manifestations that the Spirit is present, and I’ve never had that happen. Oh, the irony, that you need to have a physical sign of a spiritual happening. Is it something you pray for, or does that count as asking for a sign? No sign-seeking going on here! I should make a sign that says I’m not into signs.

Is something else in the way? There’s probably some tiny little misstep you’ve forgotten about. Like running that red light or not going visiting teaching or skimming through the Book of Numbers or telling Mark Phineas that I had a study group the night he wanted to go line dancing. And I did laugh a lot during the South Park movie.

(She grimaces.)

Yeah, that was a bad choice. But I should get some burning points, at least. I mean, come on! The Spirit is fair and impartial, right? And I’m a good person, right? Right?

(An uncomfortable silence.)

Yeah, well, a person should get credit for trying, I think. Anyway. I want to be a good person. I’m trying to be a good person. I’m trying to stay on topic, Heavenly Father. I’m trying to keep my life on topic. I know that if I just try, that’s got to count for something, right? I’ll just keep—

(She stops herself. Her mouth opens as if she means to say something else, but she just sits for a moment in shock. Slowly, she raises a hand to her chest, beneath her throat. She takes a breath then lets it go. Perhaps there are tears, perhaps not. A tentative smile, and then Charity speaks aloud.)

CHARITY: . . . Oh. OK, then. OK.

(Slow fade to black. End of play.)

*Please contact the playwright for permission before producing this play.

Melissa Leilani Larson is a mixed-race Filipino American writer based in Salt Lake City. Her work has been produced nationwide. Plays include Relative Space; A Form of Flattery; Sweetheart, Come; Gin Mummy; Pride and Prejudice; Bitter Lemon; Mestiza, or Mixed; Persuasion; The Post Office; Little Happy Secrets; Pilot Program; and Martyrs’ Crossing. Film: Jane and Emma and Freetown. Mel was a contributing writer on Saints. In 2019 she was honored with the AML Smith-Pettit Foundation Award for Outstanding Contribution to Mormon Letters. She’s a member of Plan-B Theatre’s Lab, Honor Roll!, and the Dramatists Guild. MFA, Iowa Playwrights Workshop. 

Art by Brittany Tuckfield.