Focus Column
Charity
WHEN I ASKED READERS to send in their insights about charity, I was afraid I might receive “preachy” advice; instead our readers blessed us with insight. Heavenly Father can change our hearts and fill us with love despite the demanding depths of forgiveness or the daily challenge of patience. Our readers explain how—when we are open and seeking—He is working in our lives and in our hearts in amazing and beautiful ways.
—Kylie Turley, Focus Editor
When my parents divorced after forty years of marriage, I hoped my heart could be healed, but I honestly wasn't sure if it could. I was angry, bitter, hurt, and hardened in a way that I'd never experienced before. My heart ached for my mom and my eight brothers and sisters, and I truly wondered how I could ever forgive my dad for his actions—particularly when he offered no apologies. Ê
Even though I wasn't feeling the comfort I needed at the time, I desired to believe, and I tried to trust what Jesus constantly promises in the scriptures: that He can literally provide healing power. Over time, I saw that I needed to repent of my hard feelings. I looked for help in good books and found wisdom and revelation in lessons at church, in conversations with friends, and in classroom discussions at school. Prayer, fasting, and service provided me with connections to the Savior that little by little softened my heart. Over time, the Lord lovingly helped me to change, to repent, and to eventually extend forgiveness to my dad, who passed away just a few weeks later.
It is amazing to me now that, while I can clearly visualize memories of my disappointments in life—particularly in connection with my dad—the hurt that once festered like a boiling pot is gone. There is no pain inside of me; the pain that I felt so intensely has been replaced with a new kind of love, a compassion that was once truly beyond me. But now, because of the Savior's healing, mending, atoning power, I find in myself a love which permeates and blesses every aspect of my life. For me, this repair of what was broken in my heart is a miracle of great proportions.
—Name Withheld
As a mother of seven children, ages twelve and under, I know more about what I lack in charity than what I have gained. But I appreciate the charity my own children show toward me, especially when I fail to be very patient or long-suffering. Today, when I was tired at church after nursing and wrestling with the baby during sacrament meeting, my twelve-year-old daughter offered in a gentle voice to carry the baby for me. She also hugged me and said, “I love you, Mom.” My ten-year-old son, when he heard me answering another child with a biting edge in my voice, replied in sincerity and kindness, “I love you, Mom.” Their mature, Christlike responses to me—something they do on a regular basis—caught me off guard and helped me to tone down my intended impatience. I marvel, since I didn’t model charity for them today. Their sincere forgiveness and acceptance of me and my tired behavior reminds me of Elder Marvin J. Ashton’s quote on charity: “Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended . . . Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other” (“The Tongue Can Be a Sharp Sword,” Ensign, May 1992, 18-19). My children’s charity makes me want to find more of it in myself.
—Elizabeth Livingston
Two years ago, when I first moved to my home, I began storing my off-season clothes and sports equipment in my unfinished basement. Among the items were many crates filled with clothes and shoes I no longer used at all. For some strange reason, I put them down there and kept them. I am usually meticulous about organizing and cleaning, but—for two long years—I found that I just couldn’t bring myself to take the load to Deseret Industries or have that much-needed garage sale.
I thought of those clothes after my neighbor’s house burned down a few months ago. The fire destroyed her home and nearly everything in it. The home was ruined—it has to be gutted and will take months to rebuild. I felt terrible and offered to help, but a month went by quickly before I could do anything. I watched out my window as huge dumpsters were placed outside the home to fill with ruined material. I wished I could go help sort through the mess, but my two little children would be no help in the ash. I felt bad but continued with my life.
My husband urged me to offer the clothes to our neighbor, but still I didn’t do it. One day, it was suddenly the time. I picked up the phone and called the Relief Society president and told her I had crates full of clothes and would like my neighbor to have them. I expressed my feelings of not wanting to be known—not for some wonderful reason but because I was embarrassed that I had so many unused clothes, some with tags still on them. The Relief Society president came and gathered the items, and I thought that would be the end. She returned the crates and said my neighbor was grateful.
A month later I found myself sitting in an enrichment meeting hearing my neighbor express her thanks. She was crying because all the ward members had done so much for her. Then she said she had to share a neat experience. She told of the day that the crew had finally made it to the upstairs bedrooms. She sat in her closet trying to see what she could salvage. The insurance people stood there and said that nothing could be saved; the smoke damage had ruined her entire wardrobe. She cried as she filled the garbage sacks with her favorite outfits, her Swede shirt, and her leather shoes. That afternoon, after having such a hard time parting with her entire closet, she received the call that someone had donated clothes to her. She wished she knew who it was because the clothes could not have come at a better time. The clothes were even her size and in such good condition, some with tags still on.
It took everything I had to sit there and not cry. I knew that something amazing had happened. I had saved clothes for over two years despite my cleanly nature for absolutely no reason that I could think of. On a random day, I was impressed to make a phone call that had been on my mind for a month. We don’t understand things sometimes, but I now know that the Lord will use us for good if we will listen. The help I was able to give this neighbor was years in the making, and didn’t make sense to me at any time along the way, but it is now a powerful experience that I treasure.
—Name withheld
One of my favorite “true to life” stories is one that author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia told about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four-year-old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just at there. When his mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, “Nothing . . . I just helped him cry.” Have you ever “been there” to help someone cry? Or to laugh? Or to celebrate? Because if you have, then I believe that you have exhibited a little bit of that pure kind of love or charity.
—Carol Goldsberry
