Spinning My Wheels

If it had been a woman who called me—the Relief Society president, for example—I think I would have said no.

But it was not a woman. It was a very nice man who had recently returned to the church after a long period of inactivity, and he was serving as the Elder's Quorum president. So I said, yes, I would take dinner to a neighbor that night, because, he told me, she was pregnant and she was having a hard time.

I guess the fact that I, too, was pregnant and was having a hard time was not something this man had considered. I dragged my tired, swollen body to the kitchen and went to work. Three hours later, I took a large pan of lasagna, a batch of homemade breadsticks, and a salad to my neighbor, grumbling all the way. Then I drove home, fell into bed, and told my kids to eat whatever they could find.

Some years later:

I took a trip with some friends to a town where we knew there was a great thrift shop. After scoring some great deals in the basement, we went upstairs, where the “nicer” (aka more expensive) items were on display. I looked around for a few minutes, but I didn't see anything I wanted there, so I sat in the lobby and waited for my friends.

A man came in smiling and cheerfully greeted me in a voice that carried a strong Spanish accent.

Halfway through the lobby, he stopped. His eyes were fixed on a woman's winter coat, a very nice coat in good condition. I heard him ask the woman at the desk what size the coat was, and how much it cost. He seemed delighted about the size—perfect for his wife—and although the price was more money than he had, he didn't let that get him down for long. He asked if could pay half of the thirty dollar price tag that day, and come back on Friday with the rest. The sales clerk agreed, and the man beamed as he left the store.

Suddenly I had the idea to pay the rest of the coat. How nice it would be, I thought, for the man to come back to the store after cashing his paycheck on Friday and find that he didn't owe a penny. This was certainly a case where the fifteen dollars I gave would be multiplied for his happiness. And I would tell the woman at the desk that if the man asked who had paid his bill, she should say, “just someone who who is trying to be more like Jesus.”

I was very happy about my plan, but there was one small hitch: I had no cash with me at the moment. But had some in my big bag, which I had left locked in my friend's car.

I found my friend and asked her if she could help me get my money from the car. She asked me what I had found to buy, and I somewhat hesitantly told her why I wanted the money. I was surprised when she responded with some scorn. “What? He doesn't need your money. He'll be fine. And we need to leave soon, anyway.” The other friend that had come with us agreed, and they moved to the checkout station to pay for their things.

I was surprised. These were warm-hearted, kind, generous women, and I didn't understand why they reacted so negatively. I didn't see that had a choice, though, so I reluctantly followed my friends out of the store.

We were about halfway to the car when I happened to put my hand in my pocket. I felt something, and was stunned when I pulled out two bills—a five and a ten. 

As I looked back toward the thrift store, I heard my friend saying, “Come on, Marnie! I'm supposed to meet a guy in ten minutes to buy some skis!”

I put the money back in my pocket and got in the car.

If, perhaps, there is some Grand Council keeping score, I don't believe either of these events will get me any points. In the first one, I did the charitable act, but I did it grudgingly, without love. In the second one, I had charity in my heart, but I didn't have the courage to act.

iii

When I was a teenager, a teacher taught our class about the doctrine found in James 2:26: “For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.”

The teacher explained that faith without works—and I'll include works without faith—is like rowing a boat using one oar. You'll be moving, but you won't get anywhere. That's just how I felt after these events. I'd been moving, but really I was just spinning my wheels, and I didn't—and still don't—feel good about the way I handled these two situations.

☸       ☸       ☸       ☸       ☸       ☸       ☸

I wrote this several years ago, but looking at it now, I see a lesson I hadn't found before—a message about ministering.

The work of ministering is to do the work of the Lord on the earth—to represent Him among the people. Ministering is motivated by Christlike love. It requires both a compassionate heart and willing action.

And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind? And behold, even at this time, ye have been calling on his name, and begging for a remission of your sins. (Mosiah 2:16-17)

Jesus Christ served others throughout His mortal life. He did so by teaching, healing, praying, and being compassionate. He loved those He served. He wanted them to be happy. During His life, He challenged people to follow Him (see Luke 9:23). 

Christ encouraged all who would listen to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and provide all kinds of service to one another. 

❤     ❤     ❤     ❤     ❤     ❤    ❤

Can we—imperfect, sometimes fearful, occasionally self-absorbed, maybe judgmental mortals really find a way to minister like our Lord and Savior did?

Maybe.

We can't feed 4,000 hungry people—but we can take a loaf of bread to a busy friend, or make a generous donation to a local food pantry.

We can't heal the blind—but we can drive a neighbor to a doctor's appointment.

We can't care for all the suffering children in the world—but we can take a restless toddler on our lap during a church meeting.

We can't change the fact that there are poor people in the world—the Savior himself said, "For ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will ye may do them good . . .  but we can be generous in our fast offerings and support organizations that serve the needy.

We cannot cleanse the earth of its physical and spiritual pollution—but we can mop a floor or wash a window for someone who is overwhelmed for a season. And we can stand as witnesses to the truth to those who seem to need a little firmer foundation.

We can't turn back time to restore youth. But we can visit and minister to those who've had a little more time on this planet than we have.

I was struck by the of this wisdom and truth of this statement from Sister Bonnie Parkin: 

"Most ministering opportunities are spontaneous, not planned in advance. Much of the Savior’s ministering seemed almost incidental, happening while He was on His way to somewhere else—while He was doing something else."

To minister this way requires that we have an eye turned outward, a heart open to compassion and the courage and faith to act. When we do this our opportunities to serve increase, and our love for those we minister to—and our love for Savior—blossoms and grows.  

So, let's open our eyes, open our hearts, and open our arms. I think we just might find ourselves part of some ministering miracles.



Sources:

https://www.mormon.org/blog/christianity-is-about-serving-others

Bonnie D. Parkin. "Personal Ministry: Sacred and Precious" BYU Devotional, Feb. 13, 2007