I mentioned in a previous post that I’ve long had a heart for black people. I’ve occasionally joked that I was born into the wrong race. I like to think it’s because I’ve got too much soul for a white boy. Some would argue.

While I was on my mission, it was my dream to teach and baptize a black family into the Church. But, alas, the few black people who reside in New Hampshire and Maine all somehow alluded my proselytizing efforts. There was one woman, however, a large black woman named Erma with a thick southern accent who had moved to New England from Georgia, and who investigated the Church for some time, though it was the other Elders in our ward who had the privilege of teaching her. Erma couldn’t get baptized at the time because she was on probation, but we had a single adult Family Home Evening in the ward that she would consistently attend. One night, sitting next to Erma during the opening hymn, listening to her thick and soulful southern singing voice, I leaned over and said, “Erma, you’ve got a great voice!” She looked over at me with a wry smirk as though she wondered where I’d been all my life and said, “Honey… ALL black peoples can sing.”

READ MORE »

•