Musings about Blessings and Charity

Having just returned home from living in a rather small twin home, I am still getting over how big everything is, and how much there is of it all. The day I got home, I kept wandering around the house with my hands stuck out to my sides and noting in awe that I could not touch the walls. My room, which is by no stretch of the imagination huge, felt like a palace after the room I had in Texas, where the bed almost met all four walls, leaving only enough room along one wall for a dresser and bedside table.

As Christmas day approached, I was amazed by the number of presents under the tree, all the fancy decorations around the house, and the food. Oh, the food. So. Much. Food. Everywhere you looked. It was crazy.







(Above: My niece, Ashland in her Christmas Eve outfit. There's another five or six pictures of her on my camera; I'm still in take-many-pictures-of-babies mode from my time with the triplets.)


As I have become so much more aware of my blessings, I have also become so much more aware of all the people who do not have as much as I do. I think it is a common thing, around the Holidays, to become more appreciative of one's own blessings and aware of other people's lack. Christmas day, surrounded by my family, piles of torn wrapping paper and stacks of gifts, I made a resolution that I would be more charitable to my fellow men; that I would not hoard my blessings.

How comforting such resolutions are in times of happiness, surrounded by plenty. How terrifying when confronted with reality.

We went to Temple Square the other day. If you have ever been, you have probably experienced the cries of the beggars who stand post at the entrances to the square. You would think it a perfect opportunity for me to make good on my resolution to care more for my fellows. And yet, when a woman, poorly dressed, turned her bright blue eyes upon me and asked if I had any change to spare, her voice shaking with tears, I avoided her gaze and walked past her.

Before you think me entirely heartless or untrue to my word, let me state that that same woman has stood sentinel over that corner of Temple Square for so many years, I cannot even remember the first time I saw her. She is, it is almost entirely certain, not there so much because she is in need as she is to pray upon the giving natures of the people who visit the place. Her tearful voice, her plea for money, her 'act' has not changed in all that time.

But even sure as I am that she and her fellow beggars are not really needy, my heart still constricts in my chest and guilt weighs on my shoulders every time I walk past them. How can I so easily shrug off the misery of another person? Feigned misery it may be, but still, is it not better to be affected by the idea of suffering than to remain unmoved? Is it better to bleed for those who do not deserve it or to become so hardened that even cries of help from those really in need go unheeded?

Our Savior teaches us that we should 'succor the weak, lift up the hands that hang down, strengthen the feeble knees.' (D&C 81:5) How are you supposed to do that when it is so hard to tell the feeble from the fakes? The answer of course, is obvious. Tithing. The money we give the Lord that is in turn given to those truly in need.

But still the woman's voice pulls at my conscience.


Sorry if this post is a bit incoherent. I don't know what I'm really trying to say here. I suppose I should have waited to write on this subject til I had my thoughts completely in order, but I said I'd post once a week and this is what has been on my mind recently.

That and *BOOK UPDATE* I wrote a scene last night with supremely embarrassing parents in it. Twas fun. And also drove me crazy. I was blushing along with my MC.