"Stories on the Sabbath"

Today I read a scripture in 2 Nephi 26:15 and two lines jumped out at me.  “…yet the words of the righteous shall be written and the prayers of the faithful shall be heard…”  Actually the first thing that caught my eye was the part about how the prayers of the faithful shall be heard.  I thought all of our family and dear friends, many who are reading this blog.  My husband and I can’t thank you enough for your prayers.  We literally FEEL them and because of them we are doing so much better!  Thank you.

Some of you may or may not know that I have written two books on Service. I wrote “By Small and Simple Things” in 1996 and “Out of Small Things” in 1999.  These books are a collection of short stories from real (righteous) people that I interviewed and then wrote their stories.  And so the words from the scripture, “…yet the words of the righteous shall be written…” prompted me to share these stories from the righteous. Since the books are both out of print, I feel inspired to start sharing one story from my book each Sunday.  In Utah they have a radio station that plays “Sounds of the Sabbath” on Sunday.  So why not have “Stories on the Sabbath” become a weekly tradition too!.  I hope you enjoy it.  Happy Reading!

This first story I'm going to share is in "By Small and Simple Things."  It is about our family when all of our children were younger.

                                                 "A Yellow Umbrella"

"How embarrassing!  Why did that car have to park right next to ours?" I mumbled under my breath.  It was summer and my husband and I, along with our five children had decided to go camping at Zion National Park.  We lived in Las Vegas, Nevada and  at that time there wasn't a temple there, so we decided to stop at the St. George Temple on the way to the park and do a session.   My husband would go through the first session and I would stay outside with the children, then I'd attend a session.

It was early in the morning, and we had parked at the back of the temple parking lot to avoid attracting attention.  Craig went in to do a session and I unloaded the family, then  got the bowls, cereal, and milk out and we started eating.  I was embarrassed that we couldn't afford to eat in a restaurant, so I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.  It was quite the scene with all of my little ones sitting on the curb, eating cereal out of plastic bowls.

Without warning, a car pulled up right next to us.  "Oh, great," I thought.  "Of all the places that car could have chosen in this big parking lot, it had to park right next to us."  The door slowly opened, and out stepped a humble looking, elderly gentleman.  He started getting his suitcase out in preparation to go into the temple.  I politely smiled when he looked our way; he energetically smiled back, and soon we were involved in a conversation.  He glanced down at my children, then leaned over to one of them and sweetly said, "Mmmm, those cheerios sure look good!"

During the course of our conversation, I learned that this man was "homeless."  He didn't have a home, so he lived in his car.  I was shocked!  The image I had of a homeless man was nothing like what this gentleman represented.  Many times as I drove the streets in Las Vegas I saw homeless men lying on the street.  They were often called "bums," but he did not fit that mold at all.  He was very polite and related well to my children.  The more I thought about him, the more amazed I was that a homeless man would be going to the temple.  How wonderful!

Then, as if a bell went off in my head, I thought, "If he said those cheerios look good, then they probably do."  I quickly said, "Please, will you join us?"  He hesitantly replied, "Oh no, no, I couldn't."   "Please," I insisted.  "Step into our dining room,"  I said motioning to the curb.  We both laughed and he relented, admitting that his only food the day before had been two cookies and a glass of milk.  "Yes, I probably could use a meal," he thankfully observed.  As I poured him some cereal, he pulled up his suitcase and turned it sideways to create a chair.  He sat next to the children and talked to them, bringing a warm, strong spirit to our conversation.  My children were infatuated with this good brother and enjoyed the experiences he shared.  It was so special to feel his spirit and be able to touch his life.

As he finished eating, I went to my van and started gathering some of our food to give him.  When he realized what I was doing he declined, but I put it on the top of his car anyway.  I told him that we wanted him to have this food.  He then excused himself for a moment.  I wondered what he was doing, because I could see him digging around in his trunk.  When he returned, he was carrying something in his hand.  He walked over and bent down to the children's level, bringing a yellow umbrella from behind his back.  Speaking to the children, he said, "I want you to have this umbrella because of the kindness you have shown me."  He then turned to me and said, "The Lord has sent me here today--for breakfast, and for much more."  Then he added, "I'd love to give you a hug, if I dared."  I immediately said, "Oh, I would love a hug!"  We embraced, and he started to cry.  I cried, too.   He said, "You just don't know what it means to have someone show they care!"

As I watched him walk toward the temple, I continued to wipe my misty eyes.  I reached down and picked up the yellow umbrella that had been so unselfishly given.  As I popped it open, I could almost hear him say, "Every time you see an umbrella, I want you to remember me, and the impact your service had on my life." 

It has been many years since that day, and my children are now much older.  But whenever it begins to rain, I look at every umbrella and hold to that memory once again.  As raindrops fall from the umbrella's edges, I am reminded of the sacred concept of service.  The taut, silken fabric of the umbrella provides physical protection from the elements for its owner. 

 Likewise when service is rendered, it provides emotional and spiritual protection to the receiver as well as the giver.  I will forever remember the vital lesson in love taught by a homeless brother's yellow umbrella.    

                                              --Michele R. Garvin, mother of five