Steak and Spam Service
by Linda Bentley Johnson
When I hear the phrase "community service," I feel an immediate clutch in my stomach, probably because it has long been on my "things- to-do-later-but-feel-guilty-about-now" list. It's hard to think about feeding the homeless when the thought of feeding the hungry in my own house overwhelms me. It seems like a group of Latter-day Saint women is the last crowd who needs to hear about how to give more of ourselves to more good causes when some of us are struggling to maintain a self at all. Even so, I'm grateful I was born to parents who live lives of service and generosity and married into a family that also offers wonderful examples of how serving others makes life rich and happy.
For the past twenty-three summers, I have been swimming in a glacial lake in northwest Montana. On each visit, I face the same moment of truth: jumping off the dock into the clear, frigid water. My skin is warm and comfortable from the heat of the sun. I know I will like the water once I'm in and have been swimming around for a while. Yet, I find myself hanging back, maybe dipping in a toe or dangling my feet off the end of the dock. It is hard to take the plunge.
Venturing into the world of community service felt something like that. I was a little uncomfortable, and the fear of drowning in yet another worthwhile demand held me back. Nevertheless, I wanted to test the waters because in a church setting, I sometimes felt lacking. On two different occasions, women I visit taught expressed suicidal thoughts to me, and I did not know how to respond. I wanted to learn more about the resources available in our community for those who needed housing, counseling, or services for the elderly and disabled. All my life I had been praying for God to bless the poor, but now it seemed that, in words I recalled being a catch phrase for the anti-slavery Underground Railroad, "It is always good to pray with your mouth, but sometimes you have to pray with your feet." Eventually I was ready to get my feet wet, especially since I felt I had a steamroller behind me ready to push me off the dock.
The rest of the article...
When I hear the phrase "community service," I feel an immediate clutch in my stomach, probably because it has long been on my "things- to-do-later-but-feel-guilty-about-now" list. It's hard to think about feeding the homeless when the thought of feeding the hungry in my own house overwhelms me. It seems like a group of Latter-day Saint women is the last crowd who needs to hear about how to give more of ourselves to more good causes when some of us are struggling to maintain a self at all. Even so, I'm grateful I was born to parents who live lives of service and generosity and married into a family that also offers wonderful examples of how serving others makes life rich and happy.
For the past twenty-three summers, I have been swimming in a glacial lake in northwest Montana. On each visit, I face the same moment of truth: jumping off the dock into the clear, frigid water. My skin is warm and comfortable from the heat of the sun. I know I will like the water once I'm in and have been swimming around for a while. Yet, I find myself hanging back, maybe dipping in a toe or dangling my feet off the end of the dock. It is hard to take the plunge.
Venturing into the world of community service felt something like that. I was a little uncomfortable, and the fear of drowning in yet another worthwhile demand held me back. Nevertheless, I wanted to test the waters because in a church setting, I sometimes felt lacking. On two different occasions, women I visit taught expressed suicidal thoughts to me, and I did not know how to respond. I wanted to learn more about the resources available in our community for those who needed housing, counseling, or services for the elderly and disabled. All my life I had been praying for God to bless the poor, but now it seemed that, in words I recalled being a catch phrase for the anti-slavery Underground Railroad, "It is always good to pray with your mouth, but sometimes you have to pray with your feet." Eventually I was ready to get my feet wet, especially since I felt I had a steamroller behind me ready to push me off the dock.
The rest of the article...