Go and make disciples of all people

Looking down the boulevard, she waited for the visitors that never came.  She had waited all these years, sitting on her porch, looking down the street, hoping against hope that the person sauntering, the old man tottering, the child scampering--that even one of them would be for her.  She was alone--had been since her mother died.  She hadn't particularly enjoyed caring for the woman.  She was cranky and demanding, but she was a voice that spoke to her, a person to play cards with at night.  Since her death,  she had gone quickly from grief to quiet solitude.  At first, the quiet didn't bother her.  After her mother's grating and demeaning demands, quiet was for a time a welcome friend.  But the quiet became all-consuming, and she began to feel as overwhelmed by it as she had by her overbearing mother.  She took to sitting on her porch, a small woman hunched in a lawn chair.  To the people passing by, she was a shadow.  Many didn't even realize she was there--she was that insignificant.

One day, sitting in her chair, she saw two men in white shirts, black pants, and ties.  They had ridden their bikes to the corner nearest her and locked them against a light post.  She watched as they went from one house to another, knocking, waiting, and then moving on.  The woman knew that it was Saturday, and many people were either working or away.  Not all, though.  Some were inside, but they didn't want to open their door to these clean-cut young Mormon missionaries.  Not her.  They would be welcomed--someone to speak with.

As the boys made their way up her walk to her door, she noticed how very young they were.  She could hardly remember being that young.  Their eyes sparkled, even though they seemed at the same time very weary.  By the time they had gotten to her house, their jaunty step had turned--just slightly--to a more world-weary trudge.  The optimism that had exuded from them had faded somewhat.  As they came to her porch, she had the thought, and it went from unvoiced to voice in a second:  "Are you boys thirsty?  Can I bring you some lemonade?"  They seemed very grateful, and she went into the empty house and quickly found glasses and a tray.  She made them each a glass of lemonade, and then she made them each a sandwich, too.

When she came back with the sandwiches and lemonade on the tray, the boys seemed grateful--and relieved.  She suddenly realized--they probably thought she had used the offer as an excuse to get away from them.  Awkward with the attempt to make conversation after all these years, she said, "Oh, I wasn't trying to get away, boys.  I just thought you probably were hungry, too."  The missionaries smiled at her.  "It's all right, ma'am.  We were going to wait as long as necessary."  The stilted English and beautiful accent were charming.  "Where are you from, my dear?"  "Germany, Ma'am."

The woman told them to feel free to sit on the porch swing and eat.  She would wait, and she promised she would listen.  They had no idea how eager she was to listen--to anything.  It had been so long since anyone had come to her house, these boys seemed like angels to her.  The other missionary smiled his thanks.  He seemed shy, but when he spoke, he seemed to know exactly who she was.

Ma'am, we're here to tell you about our faith.  Do you mind if we speak to you about a man, Jesus Christ, who sees you and loves you and wants you to have an eternal home with him?  If you believe, I can promise you that you will be part of a new family, and you will never be lonely again.

Tears began to flow.  She barely listened to the words as they spoke about this Jesus and his travels in America.  She'd gone to church with her mother, (a woman who delighted in slamming her door in the faces of Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses), but this, to her, wasn't about religion.  This was about never being lonely again.

As the boys finished their talk, she was more than ready.  She prayed a prayer, got a hug, and was given an address for a church nearby.  They promised that a church member would call upon her soon.  As they went away from her house, smiling and optimistic once again, she sat back in her lawn chair, amazed.  They had promised:  she would never be lonely again.

From within their houses, several of her mother's friends--members of her church--had been watching the interaction.  They sniffed to themselves.  'Well!  Who would have thought!'  But nobody went to her to speak about it.  They left her to her new fate and retreated into their womb of hypocrisy.