"Stories on the Sabbath"

I've received several emails asking how "Stories on the Sabbath" came about.  In 1996 I compiled the book, “By Small and Simple Things” and in 1999 another book called “Out of Small Things”.  These books are a collection of short stories of Christlike Service from people that I interviewed.  Since the books are both out of print, (once in a while you can find the books on Amazon.com) I wanted to start sharing a story each Sunday from my books.  In Utah they have a radio station that plays “Sounds of the Sabbath” on Sunday.  So I decided to have “Stories on the Sabbath” become a weekly tradition too!.                                                                   

                                                                     "Listen"

"Don't go near that house!  He's the meanest man on the block!"  These could have been the words passed down through the years.  When Rob and I moved into Grandpa's house, we felt his silent presence through the response we received from the neighbors.  This was our first house, and we were in the process of buying it from Rob's grandfather.  After we moved in and began feeling some of the repercussions of the past, I had many second thoughts.  I had looked forward so much to being neighborly and becoming friends with all of my neighbors, but this didn't seem possible.  The people living around us were now old and didn't want to be bothered, especially by someone related to "him."

Grandpa Beardshall had been a very stern and forthright individual.  Through the years, he had said and done many things that had offended the neighbors.  Once he cut down all of his next-door neighbor's hedges, which grew between the two yards.  The reason for this, he later explained, was because "I couldn't see the cars coming down the street."  Another time he asked this same couple why they weren't going to church like they knew they should.  They were not LDS and were very offended.  Needless to say, the best of feelings did not await us when we arrived.  It took a child to soften their hearts.

When Spencer, our oldest child, turned two, he started playing outside quite a bit.  Dick and Gladys, our next-door neighbors (the same people who had put up with Grandpa all those years), still had chips on their shoulders.  They had only one son who had married, but he didn't have children.  We later learned that they loved children and longed for grandchildren.  As my little boy began playing outside more and more, I could see them watching him.  Inwardly I hoped that we could become friends, but I didn't know how to approach them. 

Then one day as Dick and Gladys were sitting on their lawn chairs, Spencer knocked a ball into their yard.  As he ran over to get it, I froze.  How would they feel about having one of Grandpa Bearshall's great-grandsons on their property?  My fears were short-lived as I saw Dick reach down and hand the ball to Spencer.  Gladys took him by the hand and walked him over to our house.  It seemed like the years of bitterness had begun to melt away.  It soon became a daily routine for Spencer to go over to Dick and Gladys' house for some "Sprite."  And Gladys would read to him and play with him. 

To help our friendship grow, I tried to continually be aware of anything I could do for them.  I had learned that Gladys was a staunch University of Utah fan.  She rooted for the Utah Ute’s and never missed a game.  On the other hand, Rob and I had attended BYU and were died-in-the-wool "Cougars."  Our rivalry became a source of friendship, and we had a good time rooting for our separate teams.    

One Saturday, BYU was playing the U of U in basketball.  As luck would have it, BYU won.  I wanted to do something to commemorate our victory, but the day was turning out to be a very hectic one.  While talking to my mother on the phone, I told her of the fun, ongoing rivalry we had with our neighbors.  I had really wanted to make a blue-and-white cake and take it over to Gladys, but I didn't feel like I had the time.  Like many other young mothers, my intentions were good, but there were so many things that fell in the way of actually accomplishing them.  As I expressed this to my mother, she told me not to worry about the cake; it would cause too much stress on my family.  "Just call Gladys instead," she counseled.  But as I hung up the phone, I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that I ought to do something more than call.

I recognized that feeling; I had experienced it many times.  But still I questioned:  Why would the Holy Ghost care if BYU won? Why did he so badly want me to acknowledge that fact with Gladys today?  Couldn't the cake wait for a time that was more convenient for me?  Besides, I didn't know if Gladys and Dick could even eat the cake with their health problems.  I had just about talked myself out of it when the gnawing feeling came back:  "Do it anyway!"

Later that evening I took over a blue-and-white cake.  I left it on the doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran.  I hadn't been home for more than five minutes when the phone rang.  I heard Gladys's strange-sounding voice on the other end.  Oh no, I thought.  Was she angry that U of U lost, and didn't appreciate my kind of humor?  Meekly I responded to her salutation.  Then her next words took me totally by surprise:  "I wanted to thank you so much.  This has got to be the most darling birthday cake I have ever had!"  She must have wondered if I dropped the phone.  I was dumbfounded!  How grateful I was for the continual prompting I had received earlier that day.  I learned a lesson that I have never forgotten.  If we are prompted to serve someone and we don't understand why, we need to be wise enough to obey anyway.

Because of this one act of service our friendship blossomed, and through the years we became really close.  After her husband died, we included her in all our family activities.  Our children grew to love her and considered her another grandmother.  Our lives were enriched because of our association.  Her health went downhill soon after we moved to Las Vegas, and she died shortly thereafter.  What a blessing it was to have known, loved, and served her.  We are better people because of it.

                                                          

                                                                           --Elaine Beardshall,  (By Small & Simple Things)