"Stories on the Sabbath"

                                                    Missionaries and Shovels

     The neighborhood was quiet and moisture from the recently fallen rain was in the air.  Vehicles of different kinds came and went unnoticed.  However, as one of the cars came to a stop and I saw its passengers, I was surprised and felt a strange discomfort.  What were two young white men doing in an all-black neighborhood?
     In 1979, when my father was killed, I started having doubts about my church.  I came from a close-knit family, and every Sunday after dinner we would sit comfortably and have family discussions.  We had been taught about God, but I was not satisfied with my life.  I started praying to Heavenly Father and asking Him to lead me to a church that would help me learn and grow.  I wanted to feel like I was getting something out of it.  
     One day in November of 1982, the missionaries knocked on my door.  I was living in Los Angeles, California, at the time.  I opened the door to find two very nice looking young men who were white.  I felt their spirit immediately.  They wanted to talk with me, but because of family interruptions I didn't have time. They came by  to visit me on several other occasions, but we had continual time conflicts.  This went on for about three weeks.
      During the fourth week it rained, and half of the ceiling in my living room had fallen in.  I had pushed my furniture to one side of the room because of the soaking-wet insulation that was all over.  When I opened the door to the missionaries, they glanced in and asked, "What happened to your house?"  After I told them, they asked, "What can we do?" 

I looked at them like they were crazy and said, "What do you mean, what can you do?"  They asked me if I had any shovels.  Still in shock, I went out to the garage and brought back two.  They took off their suit jackets, rolled up the sleeves of their nice white shirts, and dug in.  I was amazed that these young men who were strangers would care enough to help out when they saw a need.  They quickly put the shovels to work, moving all of the wet debris from my living room to the garbage in the backyard.
      I asked them who they were, and they said they were "missionaries."  I wondered out loud, "What kind of missionaries would come off the street and do what you just did for me?"   They responded, "We're missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or we're sometimes called 'Mormons'."  My next question was, "Well, what are you doing in a black neighborhood then?  I've always heard that Mormons don't like blacks."  They told me that was just one of the many falsehoods spread about their church.

     I love to read, so when they gave me a Book of Mormon I immediately opened it and began reading.  With the first scripture I read, something grabbed me inside and I couldn't turn the book loose.  I read it from cover to cover in one week.  My heart was touched, and a short while later I joined the Church.  In looking back, I realize what turned my heart toward the Church; it was the service the missionaries rendered to me that cold, rainy morning.  My heart was softened and my mind opened so I could receive the gospel.
     As time went on, the members of the ward were warm and loving.  I couldn't have asked to be in a better place;  I felt an immediate acceptance.  At my baptism a little white lady, about my height, came burrowing through the crowd all the way from the back of the room.  She ran up and grabbed me and held on so tight.  Her name was Edna too, and  she said to me, "Edna, I feel like I have known you all of my life."  That meant more to me than words can express.  I felt then like I belonged, that we were all God's children no matter what our color.  The two of us have been best friends ever since. 

After I had been in the Church only two months, I underwent major surgery and was in the hospital for two weeks.  I still had two of my daughters at home.  When I was released from the hospital, some of the Relief Society sisters came over and helped me.  I just couldn't believe the things they did.  What amazed me most was that all of them were white sisters.  I just sat and cried.  I had never had anyone do such kind things for me.  I have never forgotten how loved and cared for that special service made me feel, and I am always looking for ways to pay it back through serving someone else.

           --Edna Ellison, Young Women's secretary
          "By Small and Simple Things"
            by Michele Romney Garvin