This is not a normal post. Hunting for Hope is lovely, a balm of Gilead, though.
For the last seven weeks, my ward has been bringing dinner to a woman in our ward. Every night. Two more weeks to go. She crushed a joint in her foot, is on a walker, and needs extra help right now. Since I'm the compassionate service leader I've had the chance to talk with her often, coordinate meals, and bring meals when things fall through. On top of this, we've had other emergencies, surgeries, crises. On average, my Relief Society has brought in three meals a night to someone in the last two weeks, given rides, babysat, and zillions of other unseen, unreported, loving acts. I cringe a little every time I need to call another person to ask for more service--but no one hesitates. They say, "I'll make it work" and "Thank you for this opportunity" and I'm humbled wondering if I have such faith and gratitude and cheerfulness. Too often I feel overwhelmed by lists and urgencies, but they show me that love and compassion is just part of living. They teach me what it is to be followers of Christ, to be family, to shelter together even when there is so much smoke in the cave you can't see each other, even when our own problems reek, even when we just need a little air--we're family.
