On Giving and Receiving

When I met my husband Wes, we were both poor college students. (We must have been pretty good at it, because we spent the next eight years being poor college students.) We became a poor married student couple, and eventually a poor college student family of five. We lived simply and frugally, and enjoyed simple activities that cost little or nothing.

The zoo was free on Monday, so that's when we went

The nearby library had a weekly story time

Feeding ducks at the park was a favorite activity

Sam hunting for Easter eggs

Sam and Hannah enjoying Homemade fruit pops

Using cloth diapers helped us save money

And so did home haircuts

Our children were young, and they didn't realize that we were living below the poverty line. Wes and I sometimes missed the little luxuries (eating out, buying new clothes) but we loved watching our children grow and were glad we could follow the counsel of prophets to live within our means and stay out of debt.

Every year as Christmas approached, we would find unexpected gifts and blessings – a Christmas tree mysteriously showed up on the front porch, or a basket of festive food appeared, or we found wrapped presents for our children.

One year, I attended a Christmas get-together with other people who had been called to serve in the Primary in our ward. For one of the activities, we sat in a circle and shared favorite Christmas memories. As people began sharing their thoughts, I noticed that most of the reminiscences involved an act of service – a memorable time they they and their family had been able to help another family. As we moved around the circle, I began to feel a little sad. We hadn't been able to help another family at Christmas. We were always the ones that needed help,

Then one woman said this: “We've helped, and we've received help. And the spirit is the same.”

This idea struck me. I thought about it a lot. For the the first time, I wondered, Is it as blessed to receive as it is to give?

                                   

Eventually, when Wes finished school and got a job, we were delighted to buy our first house. We still lived frugally – our family now included five children, and our house needed some work. But we were able to meet our needs and put some money aside for emergencies.

One winter, we had an unexpected series of difficulties – both of our cars broke down and needed expensive repairs, and our furnace was condemned by the gas company, which meant we we had to buy a new one. All these things happened over the course a of a week.

We were grateful that our emergency savings covered these expenses, but we were left with very little money to spare. As Christmas drew near, Wes and I decided we would have a very simple Christmas, with a few inexpensive gifts for the children, but that we would not buy a gift for each other.

Then our bishop knocked on the door one day and said that he had been given some money to share with a family in need for Christmas. I told him that we were fine, that we were experiencing a temporary setback, and we didn't need the money. He urged me to accept the gift, but again I refused. He asked me think about it, and consider changing my mind.

The next day, I came across this scripture:

Have ye forgotten the commandments of the Lord your God? Yea, have ye forgotten the captivity of our fathers? Have ye forgotten the many times we have been delivered out of the hands of our enemies? 

Or do ye suppose that the Lord will still deliver us, while we sit upon our thrones and do not make use of the means which the Lord has provided for us? (Alma 60:20 – 21)

I wrote a note to the bishop, telling him that we had decided to get off our throne. Christmas was  brighter that year because we did.

I have heard good people say that they are always glad to serve and give, but they find it difficult to receive service that is offered them. This is not an uncommon feeling, I suppose. But I see two problems with this attitude.

First, this is rooted in pride. It's saying that I don't need anyone else – that we can handle anything that comes our way alone. While I am a fan of self-reliance, there are times in every life when we can't do it alone. As King Benjamin reminds us, we are all beggars. We all depend on God to provide us food and clothing and shelter. And God usually works through other people. 

Second, and perhaps more obviously, if no one accepts our service, we will be unable to serve.       

     

I           I           I           I           I           I           I

Some thoughts from others who are wiser and more eloquent that I am: 

“Giving feels fantastic and for there to be a Giver, there must be a Receiver, so allowing yourself to receive is an act of love.” ― Rebecca O’Dwyer

“And there’s also ‘To him that hath shall be given.’ After all, you must have a capacity to receive, or even omnipotence can’t give. Perhaps your own passion temporarily destroys the capacity.”

― C.S. Lewis

“Gracious acceptance is an art - an art which most never bother to cultivate. We think that we have to learn how to give, but we forget about accepting things, which can be much harder than giving.... Accepting another person's gift is allowing him to express his feelings for you.”

― Alexander McCall Smith

“Until we can receive with an open heart, we're never really giving with an open heart. When we attach judgment to receiving help, we knowingly or unknowingly attach judgment to giving help.”

― Brené Brown

   

 ♥       ♥       ♥      ♥       ♥       ♥        ♥        ♥     

Christ, who sets the example in all things, showed us how to receive gifts:

Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, there came unto him a woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head, as he sat at meat.

But when his disciples saw it, they had indignation, saying, To what purpose is this waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor.

When Jesus understood it, he said unto them, Why trouble ye the woman? for she hath wrought a good work upon me.

For ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always. (Matthew 26:6 – 13) 

If we cannot receive gifts at Christmas, how can we receive the greatest gift of all? The Savior's birth and perfect life?

For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift?  Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift. (Doctrine and Covenants 88:33)

If we cannot ask for help when we need it, how can we plead to our Father for His mercy and comfort?

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)

Rest for the weary, water for those who thirst, healing for those who ache, comfort for those who grieve – and eternal live for those who consistently come to Him with a broken heart. He paid a very heavy price so that He could offer us these precious things – gifts of immeasurable, even infinite value.

And His hands are stretched out still!

How silently, how silently

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming;

But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him, still

The dear Christ enters in.

Remember Christ our Savior
Was born on Christmas Day
To Save us all from Satan''s Grasp
When we have gone astray.
Oh! Tidings of Comfort and Joy! 

Press forward, feasting on the word of Christ.

Receive his name, rejoicing in his might.

Come unto God; find everlasting light

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

For unto us a child is given . . . Let earth receive her King!

Hallelujah!

Merry Christmas to all!

More Used

Most people who know me know that I like used things. I buy used furniture, used pots and pans, and used clothing. There are a number of sensible reasons for this, but part of my liking for these things is something less tangible – a feeling of comfortable safety with something that has been much-used and maybe much-loved.

This morning I was struck when a phrase from the beautiful song, “More Holiness Give Me,” popped into my head. The hymn is essentially a plea from a humble seeker, asking God to “make me better.” The line that moved me was this one:

More used would I be . . .                         

Maybe one reason this caught my attention is that in the world we live in, “being used” is not often considered a positive thing.We protest "You're just using me!" So asking to be “more used” seems odd.

But used does not have to mean exploited or manipulated. Some synonyms for the word "use" are happy, positive words – worth, advantage, and benefit, for example.

When God uses people, He uses them for good. And He uses all kinds of people:

              But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world

                           to confound the wise;

                    and God hath chosen the weak things of the world

                            to confound the things which are mighty . . .

                                                 (1 Corinthians 1:27)

  O        O       O      O       O

A few years ago, my sister Erin traveled to Africa to participate in humanitarian service work. Some of her time there she spent working with a woman in Zambia who, in addition to her own children, took care of about twenty-five orphans, in her remote, run-down home.

As Erin tells it: I spent a few days there helping fix up her house, and she was always busy. One day after she made dinner, I noticed she had slipped her shoes off. When I saw this shoe it I was hit with the idea of wearing your life out with service, and being someone who God can use as he needs to, even though the work may be hard.

Our choice to offer ourselves up to be "more used" is a gesture that requires courage, humility, and faith. 

            Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God
                    ye are called to the work . . .
                                         (D&C 4:3)

If you have the courage to ask to be more used, you'd better get ready.

         And Joshua said unto the people,

                Sanctify yourselves:
                   for tomorrow

            the Lord will do wonders among you.

                             (Joshua 3:5)

. . . Wherever and whenever you read the word of God, with humble and real intent to remember the Savior, you will increase your desire to take His name upon you in your daily life. That desire will change the way you serve in the Lord’s Church. You will pray to Heavenly Father for help in magnifying even what appears to you to be a small calling. The help you will ask for is the ability to forget yourself and focus more on what the Savior wants for those you are called to serve.

(President Henry B. Eyring, October 2017 Ensign)

This is true for parents, for missionaries, for neighbors, for Stake Presidents, and for Visiting Teachers. It can be true for all of us.

\ \ \ \ \ \

The Savior, our great exemplar, set the standard from the beginning. It is He that we emulate when we ask the Lord to use us as He will.

                      Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying:
                               Whom shall I send,
                          and who will go for us?
                                       Then I said: Here am I; send me. 
                                                               (2 Nephi 16:8) 

He stepped forth and offered Himself to be used. And He was used. He was misused. He was abused. He was, indeed, worn out in His service.

But He was made new again. And because of Him, we will be, too.

     

   More fit for the kingdom,

                        More used would I be,

More blessed and holy—

     More, Savior, like thee.

(https://www.lds.org/music/text/hymns/more-holiness-give-me?lang=eng&_r=1)

Slow of Speech

More than three thousand years ago, God gave Moses an assignment.

Come now therefore, and I will send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou mayest bring forth my people the children of Israel out of Egypt.

But Moses wasn't so sure. He had some serious doubts and questions.

“Who am I, that I should go unto Pharaoh, and that I should bring forth the children of Israel out of Egypt?  . . . what shall I say unto them? . . . O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.” 

I think I know a little of what he's feeling. I really dislike the sound of my own voice. It's a little nasally, kind of sloppy, and I have a lisp that seven years of speech therapy could not erase. Sometimes I worry that I'll use the wrong word, or pronounce a word wrong, or just say something really stupid and make a fool of myself.

               But what if that doesn't really matter?

✯    ✯    ✯    ✯    ✯    ✯    ✯

When Wes and I moved to Memphis in 1989, we lived in a fairly poor part of the city. Memphis was a city with a lot of social, racial, and economic inequality, and we felt the presence of that inequity more than we had expected to.

The building where our ward met was several miles away from our home, and no active church members lived near us. After we had lived there about two years, we were given an assignment – to pick up a woman who had recently joined the church, and give her a ride to the meetings every Sunday. Although she did not live very close to us, her home was on our way to the building.

I don't remember her name, so I will call her Sister Pether. She was an older woman who lived in a small apartment near the freeway exit. She was always there, dressed and ready for church, when we pulled into the parking lot. She was cheerful and talkative, and she chatted with us as we drove. But we didn't know what she was saying. Under the best of circumstances we might have been able to decipher her strong deep-southern black accent, but these were not the best of circumstances. Sister Pether was a poorly-educated woman with no teeth. We understood almost nothing she said.

We were glad to give her a ride, and she was clearly delighted by our fat, smiley baby, Sam. I silently wondered what she knew about the gospel, how she had come to join, and whether she might not be coming to church for the right reasons.

One evening the sister missionaries came to our house for dinner, and they told us something that had happened in Relief Society on a recent Sunday. The teacher had called on Sister Pether to read a scripture. (I don't know if the teacher was unaware of this woman's illiteracy and her speech impediment, or if she knew and bravely followed a spiritual prompting.) I expected that would have made for an uncomfortable moment, but that's not what happened. The woman sitting next to Sister Pether opened her scriptures to the assigned verses and quietly read the first word, which Sister Pether repeated. Word by word, they read the word of God, while every woman in the room struggled to control her tears.

I still don't know much of Sister Pether's history or her gospel knowledge. I don't know how her story ends. I don't need to. God knows her heart, and He will be her judge, and He will be her helper.

And with righteousness shall the Lord God judge the poor, and reprove with equity for the meek of the earth. (2 Nephi 30:9)

O let not the oppressed return ashamed: let the poor and needy praise thy name. (Psalms 74:21)

For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth; the poor also, and him that hath no helper. (Psalms 72:11 – 13)

            ✯     ✯     ✯     ✯     ✯     ✯     ✯

And Moses said unto the LORD, O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither heretofore, nor since thou hast spoken unto thy servant: but I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.

And the LORD said unto him, Who hath made man's mouth? or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the LORD? Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say . . . Certainly I will be with thee.

Maybe how we speak, and how we feel about our ability to speak, is not that important. Moses and Sister Pether both did the thing God called them to do. For Moses, it was freeing the Israelites, miraculously parting the Red Sea, and giving them God's commandments. For Sister Pether, it was getting dressed and ready for church every Sunday morning and doing what she was asked to do, despite her worldly weaknesses.

I frequently come across things that seem hard to deal with and that I wish I didn’t have to do. Maybe that's true for you, as well.

I hope these stories will help us remember that when we accept an assignment from God, big or small, He will be with us. We all have something to share; something to do that no one else can do.

The counsel that Bryant S. Hinckley gave his struggling missionary son Gordon is good advice for all of us:

Forget Yourself and Go to Work!

Forward, March!

 
I wrote this some years ago. But after this winter, when our yard has looked like this:
                                        

 

I'm feeling like I did the day I wrote it,

 and I thought I share it.

(I confess that it's a bit over-dramatic.)

٭  ٭  ٭  ٭  ٭

Of course I know that the snow will melt, eventually, and probably soon, without any help from me. But I am hungry for spring, and unwilling to remain a passive bystander to the natural process. I am impatient for the moment when I can look out over my snow-free yard and say, “This is spring.”

So I am partnering with the sun, helping it to melt the last stubborn lumps of white by spreading the snow in a thin layer. A note of irony greets me at the edge of the lawn: My husband labored many hours, moving this very snow from the driveway into piles in the yard, and now I am putting it back where he found it, hoping that my warm-hearted confederate in this business will banish it from the concrete within hours.

I wonder if the neighbors are thinking I am foolish. They cannot be expected to understand that this is no vain exercise, but rather a pivotal battle in the annually recurring conflict between winter and me. As I work, my task takes on heroic, almost epic proportions. I am a warrior, a nearly vanquished soldier returned for one last duel. Months ago I retired to my stronghold, conceding my enemy’s superiority, occasionally emerging, dressed in battle clothes and armed with a shovel, to stage a weak resistance. But mostly I have waited, confident that in time, my opponent would weaken. And then, I knew, the reserves would come.

So now, with a mighty battle cry in my heart, I have entered the fray in earnest. I work barefoot, daring the small frozen chunks that jump up as I comb them with the rake to strike my feet, and they do. Let them come. They fight valiantly at the end of their life, but they cannot hurt me now.


I hear water dripping off the roof; the sound of approaching victory. I glimpse a spot of red on the end of my rake and stoop to investigate. I have scraped up a ladybug, and it is now dead. The ladybug was not my enemy, and though I am saddened by this unexpected civilian casualty, my work continues. How many ladybugs has the snow itself killed, I wonder?

Many of my friends have learned to accept the enemy; some even embrace it, buying snowmobiles and ski passes. But I stand firm. I pretend not to know that my opponent is only retreating for a season, to gather strength in its own barracks before it returns full-force. I will not acknowledge this. I will not show weakness. I will put a plant on the porch, I will pack a picnic lunch, I will hang the hammock in the backyard.