Saving Grace

I found the card in our mailbox a few days before Hannah's first birthday. It was a gift card from Baskin-Robbins, wishing her 'Happy Birthday!' and offering her a free small ice cream cone.

We lived in Memphis then, far away from our families. Wes was going to school full-time, and I hadn't worked much since Sam was born three years earlier. Our budget was very tight, and a trip to a ice-cream parlor was a luxury we couldn't indulge in.

The card was good for six months, so I hung it on the refrigerator, thinking maybe we'd get some unexpected bounty before it expired in November. And we did, in a way: just a few weeks later, I learned we would be blessed with a third child. While this was fun news, it didn't seem to make the family ice-cream adventure more likely.

The weather grew colder, and the expiration date grew nearer, so we made a plan to use the card. We would go to the ice-cream parlor, redeem the card, and share the free cone. Then we would stop at the grocery store and buy a quart of cheap ice cream to eat at home.

I suppose we didn't even think about how we looked, a family of four, in shabby coats and second-hand shoes, sitting in a little pink booth passing a child-sized ice cream cone around. Hannah got the first lick, then she handed it to Sam. We each took a small taste when it got to us, and watched with great anticipation as it made the rounds. And, oh, it was good! Wes and I had forgotten ─ and the kids had never known ─ that ice cream could be so good.

It was over too soon, and we let Hannah eat the soggy cone as we wiped Sam's face and prepared to go. But an employee was standing by our booth, looking a little uncomfortable. Wes started to explain that we were just leaving, but she shook her head. "I need to know what flavors you want," she said.

"We're done," Wes said. "We're not getting any more . . ."

The girl stopped him. "You have four large cones coming. It's already paid for. What flavors do you want?"

When this finally sank in, Wes and I were so excited we acted like crazy little kids. We picked Sam and Hannah up and lifted them so they could see their choices. We took some time deciding. This was a big deal, and we wanted to get it right. When we finally sat back down, we happily and messily devoured our cones. We left the shop with full bellies and smiling faces. We wouldn't be stopping at the store on the way home.

Back in the car, I started to cry, quietly at first, and then big messy sobbing, gulpy tears. Part of it, maybe, was that I was embarrassed to know how obviously needy we looked. But the larger part of my emotional display was happiness, gratitude, and love. My load of weariness and worry was lighter that night because I knew that someone cared.

Was this a big thing? Maybe not. I suppose the person who made an impulsive decision to help a small family in an ice-cream shop 20 years ago has forgotten all about it. The employees there have likely forgotten, too.

But I don't think I ever will.

This is the magic of service: what you give is often worth more to the receiver than it would have been to you, the giver. Kind words cost nothing, but can mean so much. And when we serve others with an honest heart, the spirit of service fills our lives and we are blessed, as well.

But as I recall this event now, on Easter weekend, I realize there is more to this story than I thought. The words of that teenage ice-cream seller ring with new meaning.

It's already paid for.

" . . . ye are not your own," Paul told the Corinthians. "For ye are bought with a price."

Christ paid the price of all the agents of disorder in our lives — our spites and our spats, our misdeeds and our mix-ups, our tantrums and our trials, our pitfalls and our pain, our failings and our foolishness, our sadness and our soreness. They've all been paid for.

Elder C. Scott Grow said, "I testify that through His suffering, Jesus Christ already paid the price for your sins. You can be forgiven insofar as you repent. Don’t try to pay the price for your sins. No amount of your own suffering will redeem you; it is only through the Atonement that you receive forgiveness."

I add my witness that this is true. I have felt it in my own life and have seen it the lives of others. Our Lord and Savior came to earth and willingly suffered the pains of all mankind. He loves us and invites us – pleads with us – to come unto Him.

To walk away from this glorious offering would be far more foolish than walking away from free ice cream. It's yours to take. It's been paid for.

And guess what else? You get to choose the flavor.

It's up to you to choose the flavor of your thoughts, your actions, and your life. You can choose the divinely sweet, or you can choose the dark and bitter.

So live your life. Do your best. Remember that the price has already been paid. And you have lots of options. Far more than 31. . .

Happy Easter.

To see last year's Easter posts, click here and here.