A Drop of Oil
The experience I am about to share, I do not share out of pride or bragging, but in an effort to document the feeling I received afterward; the whisper from the Spirit that what I felt was the very preparedness I'm striving for when the bridegroom comes.
A couple of Sundays ago, my Relief Society President approached me at church and gave me my visiting teaching list. Admittedly, I wasn't in the best place when she handed it to me. I'd just spent the past hour and a half wrestling my youngest in Sacrament meeting, leaving me irritated and on edge.
It got worse when I glances at my list.
Six.
Six people on my list.
SIX!?!?
I begrudgingly thanked her and rushed off before my face revealed my feelings.
I steamed over it through the rest of church, until later that day my companion text me and said she didn't think it would be as tough as it looked.
She was right.
It sure feels great to get my visiting teaching done. Not for the numbers, but to actually be in the home of our sisters and see them, feel them and strive to identify their needs.
The lesson, however, came a few days after we'd visited #5.
I was recently invited to organize this year's ward Christmas party. We are a newly organized ward so none of the organizations were assigned to this particular event. In preparation for it, I was invited to the most recent Ward Council, in an effort to employ the help of each organization in the ward. We spent thirty minutes or so working through the food, decorations, set up/take down and entertainment.
As my time was coming to a close, I asked if anyone had any further suggestions or questions. In response, the ward mission leader raised his hand and said:
I'd recently spent hours in this sister's home and was able to communicate and express how she is doing, what she has gone through, what she is feeling, why she is struggling with activity, and what her needs are.
It was a bit whirlwind'ish at the time, but later when things calmed down, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and peace.
I felt grateful that I'd actually gotten my VTing done. That's I'd fought through the fear of walking over to this sister's house to knock on her door, and grateful that I'd taken the time to listen to her; really listen to her.
I felt peace because I'd been prepared. When the ward mission leader asked me about the family, I was sitting before the bishopric and the president of every organization. How embarrassing would it have been if I'd had to respond:
And it's not like I did something over-the-top, huge and grandiose.
I just did what the Lord asked me to.
I just did my visiting teaching.
A couple of Sundays ago, my Relief Society President approached me at church and gave me my visiting teaching list. Admittedly, I wasn't in the best place when she handed it to me. I'd just spent the past hour and a half wrestling my youngest in Sacrament meeting, leaving me irritated and on edge.
It got worse when I glances at my list.
Six.
Six people on my list.
SIX!?!?
I begrudgingly thanked her and rushed off before my face revealed my feelings.
I steamed over it through the rest of church, until later that day my companion text me and said she didn't think it would be as tough as it looked.
She was right.
- Two of the sisters live together, and welcome visiting teachers.
- One is my companions mother, who is on a mission.
- One is my son's primary teacher, and also super easy to visit.
- One isn't active - and we aren't sure how to handle her - but we are making contact.
- One is on the the edge of inactivity, but I've already spent a number of hours in her home and text her all the time.
It sure feels great to get my visiting teaching done. Not for the numbers, but to actually be in the home of our sisters and see them, feel them and strive to identify their needs.
The lesson, however, came a few days after we'd visited #5.
I was recently invited to organize this year's ward Christmas party. We are a newly organized ward so none of the organizations were assigned to this particular event. In preparation for it, I was invited to the most recent Ward Council, in an effort to employ the help of each organization in the ward. We spent thirty minutes or so working through the food, decorations, set up/take down and entertainment.
As my time was coming to a close, I asked if anyone had any further suggestions or questions. In response, the ward mission leader raised his hand and said:
"Tell me about the #5's" (he said their last name)I was a bit surprised with the gear shift, and fumbled a bit over my thoughts and words. But then it just spilled out of me.
I'd recently spent hours in this sister's home and was able to communicate and express how she is doing, what she has gone through, what she is feeling, why she is struggling with activity, and what her needs are.
It was a bit whirlwind'ish at the time, but later when things calmed down, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and peace.
I felt grateful that I'd actually gotten my VTing done. That's I'd fought through the fear of walking over to this sister's house to knock on her door, and grateful that I'd taken the time to listen to her; really listen to her.
I felt peace because I'd been prepared. When the ward mission leader asked me about the family, I was sitting before the bishopric and the president of every organization. How embarrassing would it have been if I'd had to respond:
"I don't know, I haven't visited her."In that moment, I knew I'd tasted a bit of what it means to fill my lamp with oil; that I'd experienced a bit of what it feels like to be prepared at the last day.
And it's not like I did something over-the-top, huge and grandiose.
I just did what the Lord asked me to.
I just did my visiting teaching.
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing. I wish my Visiting teachers would come see me. As it is one of the women I visit teach has given me service in return. It's wonderful the work God can do through us. You aren't just adding oil, Sidreis, you are being His hands. :)
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful post Sidreis. You are really making a difference in your ward already!��
ReplyDelete