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!

Laundry Quandry

Several weeks ago I wrote about the blessing of finding our house, and how much we have enjoyed watching our family grow here.

But I left out this little bit of truth: When I saw the house for the first time, I was disappointed that the laundry was in the basement. I had hoped for main floor laundry. But that was a small thing, and I could deal with it.

And I did deal with it for several years. But then surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from my head left me essentially bedridden. I gradually began to feel better, learned to walk again, and began to do some work around the house.

But I couldn't get the laundry done. I was not strong enough to carry baskets of clothes and towels and sheets up and down the stairs. I made it work for a while by waiting until my kids were home from school and asking them to carry the laundry up and down. But I couldn't keep up.

Wes and I had occasionally talked about adding on to make a laundry room upstairs. But it would be very expensive, and we had never felt we could make it a priority. It seemed to me the time had come to make it a priority.

I talked to Wes about it. He immediately understood my dilemma and was ready to solve it: "Why didn't you say something earlier? I'll be glad to take over the laundry." 

I looked at him smiling down at me, and I thought, "You dear, sweet, ignorant man. Do you have any idea what you are getting into?"

So my husband became the laundry guy. And to his credit, he did a very good job. He didn't do it the same way I did. I usually did a big load every day or two and did the folding and putting away as soon as the stuff was out of the dryer. Wes saved everything up for Saturday, then had a laundry extravaganza which involved him sitting on the couch in the basement, watching a movie while he sorted and folded a pile of clean clothes taller than me. But it was getting done, and that was what mattered.

As I grew stronger, we shared the laundry duties. I still didn't love our dark, dusty, often-smelly laundry room, but I was content. (ish)

Then one day, Wes said, "I might have bought a washer and dryer this morning."

"You might have?" I didn't understand. How could he not know for sure? It was like me saying, "I might have had a baby yesterday, I don't know, I guess we'll wait and see . . ."

He explained that he had seen an incredible deal online, but that a lot of comments on the site expressed suspicion that the deal was too good to be true. He decided to take a chance, anyway, but when he submitted the payment information, there was no indication that it was accepted.

It looked like it wasn't going to happen, and we didn't think much about it. Then one day about a month later, I picked up the ringing phone and heard a computerized voice say, "Your washer and dryer will be delivered tomorrow."

This was good news; exciting news. But it was not particularly convenient news. Christmas was ten days away. Our oldest son, Sam, was coming home from his mission in five days. And we had no place to put a couple of large appliances.

We cleared a space in our bathroom and hoped it would be big enough (it is an unusually large bathroom, but still . . .). We told the delivery men to put them in the bathroom and we were very glad to see that they fit.

But it was a tight fit. We had to hold our breath and suck in our stomachs to squeeze past the big boxes to get to the toilet. After a few days, our ten-year-old son — who, for obvious reasons, had no real interest in a new washer and dryer — asked what we were going to do with the boxes. We didn't have any ideas. But he did.

We cut the boxes at the bottom so that we could lift them off and for the first time, I got a peek at our new laundry appliances. They were gorgeous — gleaming white with high-tech buttons and dials. In our nearly 25 years of marriage, we had never owned a new washer or dryer. This was a big deal for us.

Getting the boxes off gave us a little more room to move around the bathroom, and our son Adam made a lovely two-room cardboard playhouse in the basement. Our son came home from Argentina, Christmas came and went, the kids all went back to school and Wes went back to work. And the washer and dryer were still in the middle of the bathroom.

I called a plumber who came over and gave me some ideas about where we might install these beauties, but his prognosis was discouraging. There seemed to be no reasonable place they could go, and his price estimates were far higher than we could afford.

So our new washer and dryer stayed in the middle of the bathroom, unused and unusable, for eight months.


In August, I became very sick. I was admitted to the hospital and stayed there for almost a month. My parents, who live three hours away, came to check on me and my kids, and ended up parking their RV in the hospital parking lot. My sister Amber drove up, and stayed by my side at the hospital, occasionally leaving to help with my children or my house.   

My mom is an incredibly good cook, and she prepared amazing meals for me in her small trailer kitchen. My dad brought them to my hospital room, where I ate them happily. (My mother's cooking is a huge step up from hospital food.)

My father is remarkably talented at fixing things. Building and installing just come naturally to him. But he will tell you himself that he's not much of a plumber.

Still, when he saw the washer and dryer sitting rather ridiculously in the middle of the bathroom, his handyman instincts kicked right in. When I finally came home from the hospital and looked in the bathroom, this is what I saw:

I could hardly believe it. My father and my sister Amber had installed the washer and dryer while I was gone. He wouldn't accept any money for the work, but my husband reimbursed him for the parts.

Hurray!

Doing laundry was no longer a chore. It has actually been kind of fun. And we still have the laundry room downstairs, and our kids do their laundry there.

I don't know if this story will mean much to anyone besides me. But when things like this happen, I feel so blessed and grateful. These little tender mercies serve to remind me that life is good. 

☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺  ♥  ☺   

FAQ:

1.    So, how much did they cost?

$129 dollars each. Free delivery. Wes paid a little more for the dryer because he wanted a gas dryer.

2.    Come on, you can tell us — did your husband really do a good job when he was in charge of the laundry?

He really did. But he thinks about things a little differently than perhaps a woman would. One night, after dinner, I asked him do a load because I needed some things washed for the next day. My dear husband said, "I can't. I have to go Home Teaching in an hour."

Huh?


3.   Is your laundry area always that clean, or did you clean it up for the picture?

Yes. The answer is Yes.

 

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.

Outage Outing

Yesterday afternoon Adam came to me and said, "I think the power's out." I hadn't noticed, but I flipped some switches and he was right: no electricity.

It's been a while since we've had a power outage that lasted more than a few minutes. In fact, if I'm remembering correctly, the last one was over three years ago. It was in the late fall, and when the lights went out in the early afternoon I assumed they'd be back on before dark. But as darkness started to move in quickly, I realized we needed to prepare for the possibility of a cold, dark night.

I gave my children a few assignments: "Gather blankets from downstairs; we'll all sleep upstairs tonight. Someone help me put together some food we can eat while we can still see. Ben, go get my basket of candles and bring them in here."

Ben was thirteen, and incredulous at my request. "Mom," he said. "The power is out. It's starting to get dark. This is no time to worry about how the house smells."

Okay, it's possible I have too many scented candles.


But I digress. Back to yesterday . . .

It was a very hot and humid day, and without our swamp cooler and fans the house quickly became suffocating. I stepped outside to find that it was even less bearable there. All the drivers in the family were gone. We had no television or computers to distract us, and our phone wasn't working. The sun was setting, and it was getting hard even to read. My plans to do some laundry, make dinner, and write a little were shot.

I finally found a cell phone and asked my daughter to text her dad at work. Power's out, she wrote. Call this phone. I realized that with my hearing loss, I probably wouldn't hear the phone if he called it, so I sat down on the couch, tucked the cell phone just under my leg, and tried to wait patiently.

And then the couch started shaking.

I was near panic. What's going on here? I thought. The power's off and now we're having an earthquake!"

I'm sure that some of you have guessed that the phone I was sitting on was set to vibrate. When I finally figured that out, I had the privilege of spending several fumbling seconds trying to figure out how to answer the phone. But eventually I hit some random button and the phone stopped shaking. Hurray! I could make human contact!

I told my dear Wes how miserable we were. "Okay," he said, "I'll come home and rescue you."

And he did. Fifteen minutes later we were sitting in an air-conditioned van on our way to a pizza restaurant. Peace and comfort had been restored.

At the pizzeria, we made the uncharacteristic choice to splurge a bit. (Since eating out with our family is an uncharacteristic splurge in itself, it didn't seem quite so weird to continue the madness.)

We ordered a something that this restaurant offers mostly as a novelty: the 36-inch pizza.

It's a lot of pizza. It completely covered the table, so we put our plates on our laps. And there's a contest connected to this monstrosity: if two people can finish it off in an hour, they win a prize. (And the prize is: lots more pizza! And maybe barf bags, I don't know . . .) We didn't eat it all, but we put quite a big dent in it. And we laughed and talked and shared.

It was still hot outside when we left the restaurant, and we didn't know if our power was back on, so we went to the library to check out some books and movies and to enjoy their air conditioning, When the library closed at nine, we decided to go home.

The road was dark. No street lights, no house lights, no porch lights. We saw our neighbors sitting outside, waving paper fans across their faces. Clearly, the electricity was still off.

We pulled into our dark garage and began to feel our way into the house. Adam got there first and opened the door. Then, just as he stepped inside, the kitchen lit up. It was like magic.

And now we can return to our distraction-filled, speedily-moving electronic lives, with perhaps a little more appreciation for the electricity that makes it possible.

As we got ready for bed, I mentioned to Wes that I was getting frustrated with my computer, which we bought used last year. I haven't wanted to complain about it, because, while we always have enough money to get along, we don't usually have of lot left over for luxuries. But, I told him, the computer is becoming increasingly unstable and unreliable, and I haven't felt like I can get anything done on it.

We realized as we talked that we had just spent twice as much money on pizza as we spent to buy the computer. (It was a twenty-five dollar computer.)

"That's okay," I said."We weren't really buying pizza."

He nodded and we smiled. Nothing more needed to be said. We both knew that we were buying memories.

And here I sit, typing up the whole story on my sad little computer, which has been on for two hours now and is still running happily.  So I can still find reasons to believe in little miracles.

And hey, if anyone out there wants leftover pizza, there's some in my refrigerator.

Just off the Top of My Head . . .

I'll be starting this post with a trip though time! 

Get ready for:

"A Brief History of My Hair"

This is me: Baby with a fauxhawk.

This appears to be from my Cindy Brady period.

Well, you see, it was the 70s, and ... 

Ladies and Gentlemen, we're going to be entering the 1980s here, you're going to want to buckle up . . .

 (I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I thought I could be Farrah. Or maybe one of the other Charlie's Angels.)

There's really no excuse for this mullet. Sorry.

Welcome to the 90s! You'll need a blow dryer, a round brush, and a lot of hairspray . . . 


This picture was taken the day before I started chemotherapy.

This picture was taken about a month after I started chemotherapy.

I'll let this picture speak for itself.        

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    

Because I have had little or no hair for much of the past decade, I have a lot of hats. I mean, really, a whole lot of hats. Most of them were given to me by really great people. A few of them I have bought for myself.

And because I am not an especially neat and organized person (yes, yes, gasps of surprise), I have had hats all over the house. I rarely could find the one I wanted, and when I did it was dusty. Or crinkled. Or had visible food stains.

So I decided to do something about it. I bought a cheap piece of "wood" (Medium Density Fiberboard) from the hardware store, but when I saw the price of knobs, I backed off. The project was officially on the back burner.

But just a few days later – thrift store to the rescue! I got a big bin of knobs – brand new, super cheap – and split it with my friend Arrin.

 The knobs were nice, but I decided to paint them to match my bathroom better. One 97-cent can of satin black spray paint later, and I was on the job.



My son Adam drilled the holes (under supervision) and the whole thing turned out great.

It holds 19 hats and they are easy to get to.

Now, what should I do with the other 67 hats?