On Service

I'll walk with you. I'll talk with you.
That's how I'll show my love for you.

Carol Lynn Pearson, "I'll Walk With You"

I.
If there's one thing that's stuck out to me as I've read the scriptures, listened at church, said my prayers, and watched General Conference, it's that I need to be more service-minded. I have felt the need to focus on that. So I've been praying to know who I should serve, and how, and I've been trying to keep my eyes open for opportunities.

To try and prompt inspiration, I've been doing things like reaching out to people in the ward I don't know as well and going through the ward directory and thinking of each sister, one at a time, and her needs. These are the kinds of things I need to be doing for my calling anyway, and I usually have general ideas and impressions about how these girls are doing. But in spite of how strongly I've felt lately that I should be serving, I didn't feel strongly that any of the people I was looking at needed that service from me. So I decided I needed to pray with more faith and spend more time thinking about it. Meanwhile, I felt guilty about spending more time than usual with my family and a few of my close friends. How could I justify doing things that were so selfishly enjoyable when I was supposed to be out serving others?

And then I had an epiphany.

What if Heavenly Father has already put people in my path that I could specifically help? Maybe I was given these friends and family members partly so that, when they needed help, I would already be there, perfectly positioned to serve them. When I thought about it, I realized that I don't really have to look far afield to find opportunities to serve; there are plenty around me. All I have to do is lift where I stand.

II.
I was on a date in the semi-recent past with a guy who expressed similar feelings about needing to serve people. Our conversation was good, if a little overly cerebral; we spent most of the time on philosophical/religious/political topics. As the date progressed, I started wondering what exactly this guy was looking for in a woman, because although I matched him wit for wit, I didn't sense that it moved him at all. I even wondered whether he really saw me, or whether I was just a sounding board for thoughts he'd held inside all day and wanted to get out.

To be honest, it was precisely his comments on service that started me wondering. He told me he felt an urgency in these promptings to serve people and was trying to figure out how to balance that with his very busy work schedule. He spoke as if he could see people off in the distance, hovering morosely around the edges of his social influence, in need of his help, and he was so passionate in this vision that I felt . . . well, next to invisible. He could see right through me—the not bad-looking and very available girl across the table listening to him, sipping soda, making encouraging comments—to these people with needs. I started wondering what I'd have to do to get him to see me. Swoon dramatically? Have some tragedy befall me so I could cry on his shoulder? Change my speech so I appeared younger and more naive and desperately in need of his advice?

As someone without any obvious needs, I felt like not much of a person, and least of all like an attractive woman. This guy isn't a jerk and certainly didn't intend any unkindness, so I wasn't angry at him at the end of the date when we parted ways; just a little discouraged. How ironic was it that the desire to serve could become a barrier, a blindness to less immediate but deeper needs for love and companionship? I didn't need him to date me to rescue me; I just needed him to be there at the table with me, seeing me. But I guess the bottom line is how can you see something you're not looking for?

For the perfectionists out there

A few lines of this poem stuck so firmly in my head that a couple weeks ago I decided to memorize the whole thing. Being Mary Hume is one of my greatest fears in life.

ALMOST PERFECT

"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."
Those were the words of Mary Hume
At her seventh birthday party,
Looking 'round the ribboned room.
"This tablecloth is pink not white—
Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."
Those were the words of grown-up Mary
Talking about her handsome beau,
The one she wasn't gonna marry.
"Squeezes me a bit too tight—
Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."
Those were the words of ol' Miss Hume
Teaching in the seventh grade,
Grading papers in the gloom
Late at night up in her room.
"They never cross their t's just right—
Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

Ninety-eight the day she died
Complainin' 'bout the spotless floor.
People shook their heads and sighed,
"Guess that she'll like heaven more."
Up went her soul on feathered wings,
Out the door, up out of sight.
Another voice from heaven came—
"Almost perfect . . . but not quite."

From A Light in the Attic, by Shel Silverstein, Copyright 1981, HarperCollins Publishers, New York.

I'm in love with a store named Joe

I expect everyone
of my crowd to make fun
of my proud protestations of faith and romance.
And they'll say I'm naive
as a babe to believe
every fable I hear from a person in pants.
Fearlessly, I'll face them and argue their doubts away.
Loudly, I'll sing about flowers in spring.
Flatly, I'll stand on my little flat feet and say,
Love is a grand and a beautiful thing.

Rodgers and Hammerstein, "A Wonderful Guy"

So I went to Trader Joe's for the very first time yesterday evening. I've known about Trader Joe's for a long time, but to be honest I've avoided going there. This is because I suspected it was exactly the kind of place where I could spend way too much money. And if I went once and loved it, I'd have to go again, and again, and again, until gradually it became a habit and part of my budget became devoted to rare and unusual Trader Joe's goodies. Was I ready for that kind of commitment?

Well, I made the leap and I'm never looking back. As soon as I stepped into the store a huge grin spread across my face, and I actually had to stand there for a minute, taking it all in and trying to decide where I wanted to go first. Trader Joe's said to me, "Hello, Sarah. We've been scouring the world for just the kinds of foods you might like—a little quirky, fresh and healthy, but above all, delicious—and put it all in just the kind of store you might like—a store with employees who seem to love their job, cashiers who'll actually talk to you, and hometown grocery touches like handwritten price signs. Our packaging is well-designed and our ads are witty, with a neo-Victorian style similar to this web comic you love. Everyone here likes what you like. Come on in. Welcome home."

I wonder what the store clerks thought of me, wandering slowly down the aisles, sometimes twice to look at everything, smiling dreamily. Crusty, nutty bread! Nuts in the cereal! Plantain chips! Soyaki sauce! Thai and Indian frozen dinners! Fresh pasta and polenta! Miso! Pesto! "Hold back, now," I told myself as I cautiously filled my basket. "Remember the money." But to be honest, I was pleasantly surprised by the prices there, and it's more of a grocery store than the glorified snack emporium I was expecting, so I can make it part of my grocery budget and grocery shopping instead of a supplemental frivolity. And I'll save money when I buy things I'm excited to eat instead of things I think I should eat but let rot in the fridge. Why should I settle for a mealy salisbury steak dinner when I can get paneer tikka masala?

So Trader Joe found the way to my heart. I'm in love.

If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?

I would be a cat. I would blink lazily at you, refusing to play your little game.

I know a few people who just love these kinds of questions. They think asking a bunch of them and having everyone in a group answer is a fantastic way of getting to know people. I disagree. I think it's a fantastic way of starting a chest-beating impressiveness contest. When I'm talking to someone who genuinely wants to get to know me, I shouldn't be thinking about how much higher my score would be if I said "puma" than "platypus."

It's not that the questions are inherently bad, it's just that they're meant to lead into a conversation, not comprise one. I've seen them misused time and time again. A real conversation means you listen to the person's response and then ask them questions based on that response. Why would you be a puma? Did you have a puma growing up? What was its name? How much does puma chow cost? Instead, too many people just wait for the other person to field the question right back at them, and then that conversation is over. Some people are so accustomed to these short, ping-pong-like conversational matches that while the other person is responding to their question, they're thinking of what spiffy, random question to ask next. This puts the value on the question instead of the response, which means no actual communication is taking place.

I think ultimately the cause of this is, as mentioned earlier, our desire to be impressive to the people we're talking to (which is compounded tenfold in a dating situation). But being stuck in your own head thinking, "Hm, should I say this or this? Which would make me more attractive to my date?" is not impressive. Everyone does that. What's impressive is someone who looks at you while you're talking, doesn't interrupt, reacts to what you say, and asks you questions that bid you to continue, elaborate, explain further. Someone who makes you feel like you are fascinating without reducing you to an animal or five words that best describe you or what color your toothbrush is.

Basically, someone who is actually interested in getting to know you.