Sharing Goodness and Ripples

This past week,
a dear friend came to visit me.
I hadn't seen her in twenty-one years.
That's a long time not to see a friend
and still choke-up when you think of them.

Our friendship began when we were both
juniors in high school,
August 1977--
our families had moved to Charlotte, North Carolina
that previous summer.
Her family came from Gainesville, Georgia
and mine moved from Rock Hill, South Carolina.



My family was there in Charlotte for just one school year
before moving to Denver, Colorado the next summer.
But the friendship that formed between Vicki and I,
has only grown since the very beginning.
Because what she exchanged with me,
changed my life.
Gave me purpose
and hope.
Her family opened their home to me,
I spent many nights around their dinner table,
in their basement playing games,
writing letters to their missionary brother
in Mexico--
a brother I'd never met,
but because they asked, I wrote to him
along with the rest of them.
Her family was not perfect,
they had squabbles and fussed at each other--
but I knew they loved each other,
I could feel the love in that home.
It was such a stark contrast from my parent's home;
I wanted whatever it was that this family had
for myself.

It was their Faith that made them different.
And Vicki shared it with me.
I started asking questions,
then
she asked if I'd want to meet with the "elders"--
I was thinking of old men--
hardly the 19-21 year old young men
that came to the house.
And I listened to their message.
Being raised a Southern Baptist,
I had questions...
tons and tons of questions!
I kept a notebook and wrote all of my questions
down,
so when we met again,
I could write their answers down too.

In just a few months' time,
I had my answers
and felt it was right for me
to join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
I told my parents--
my father, an inactive Holy-rollin-Pentecostal
who'd graduated in theology from International Bible College
in San Antonio, Texas
and
my mother, an Baptist only by name.
Their resounding reply was
absolutely, positively,
Not.
And then, they moved me to Denver to
"get away from the Mormons".
They didn't realize that once you cross the
Mississippi
the population of LDS increases exponentially.

It was hard to leave my new friend, Vicki and her family.
They'd been so good to me.
This was long before the days of email
and personal computers
texting
and unlimited long distance.
We wrote to each other
using good old-fashioned paper, envelopes and stamps.

My spiritual journey continued in Denver.
And finally,
after much tribulation,
and prayer and fasting,
my father granted his permission for me to
be baptized into the LDS faith.

There was still much opposition
I faced--
eventually moving out of my parent's home
and into members' homes
while I was still in high school.
But that was eons ago,
and the sting of those events
has faded.
I made my own choices as adulthood
came
and have lived my life on my own terms.

My family knows about Vicki
and her family.
My close friends have heard her name a time or two. Or six.
Whenever I have been asked to speak at a Missionary Fireside,
her name is part of my conversion.
It started with her.
She was just 15 years old,
and it started with her heart
planting the seed in mine.

As we stood on the grounds of the
Denver Temple
yesterday--
she'd never been there before--
I was taking pictures of her
and then she took pictures of me
holding my grandson, The Golden Child,
we both were overcome  with whatever those feelings are
that make tears erupt
and words so useless
and just hugged each other
long and deeply.

What could I say or do or give to her
that would even come close to matching what
she's given to me?
She showed me the path to the Temple
where I have been blessed to be sealed to my family
for Time and All Eternity.
How does one repay that kindness?

Vicki, ever the true southern woman answered,
It's like havin' the best lemonade you've ever tasted,
and wantin' to share it with everyone.  You just can't keep it
to yourself!"
I spent two and half days with her--
driving up and down the Front Range of the Rockies--
a constant conversation
fueling the car
turning miles into more memories--
laughing until our sides ached
with little moments of teary eyes
like good friends share.

She came over and met my family--
the kids knew this was important to me
and each greeted Vicki with respect
and my sweet Dani said as they parted,
"thanks for sharing the Gospel with my mom."
Dani has served a mission
and so has David Scott--
their lives have been blessed
and so have the lives of those they served and taught
in Montreal and New Jersey where they each served.
One good man whom I had the privilege of witnessing
David Scott baptize in Ontario,
in October 2006
is now the Branch President there.
Ripple.
Ripple.
Ripple.

Vicki left today.
I don't know when I'll
see her again.
But she left part of her heart
with me
and I am bent on keeping it.
That is the least
and the best
that I can do.

"The Lord does hear our prayers.

But it is usually through another person

that He answers them."

~Spencer W. Kimball.