The word saint is a translation of a Greek word also rendered
“holy,” the fundamental idea being that of consecration or separation
for a sacred purpose; but since what was set apart for God must be
without blemish, the word came to mean “free from blemish,” whether
physical or moral. In the New Testament the saints are all those who by
baptism have entered into the Christian covenant (see Acts 9:13, 32, 41; Rom. 1:7; 1 Cor. 1:2; Philip. 1:1; 1 Pet. 1:14–15). See also Holiness.
During this pandemic, I've been struggling to know what to do to help. A few ideas have come to my head. Good ideas. Go to a nursing home and put up encouraging signs on the outside of windows. Go to a widow's home and pull some weeds with my kids. Contact a friend who's fighting cancer and let him know I've been thinking about him. I haven't followed through with any of them.
And then there are other ideas I have followed through on. I gave a copy of The Book of Mormon to my neighbor. I texted a friend who just had a baby to see if I could bring her dinner. I got out the paints and tried not to hyperventilate while my kids made masterpieces that leaked all over the kitchen table. I even busted out the sewing machine and made a few face masks to donate to a hospital.
The difficult thing about making the choice to do something is that the consequences of good choices don't always happen the way I think they should. I have a good relationship with my neighbor who accepted the book, but I could tell she felt obligated, so now I'm worried the relationship is tainted. My friend who just had a baby never texted me back, so now I'm worried I'm just annoying her when she's just trying to get some rest. My kids artwork is hanging up, but the fun lasted all of 2 minutes while the paint smudges on their shirts will last much longer. The masks I made were supposed to be easy (the tutorial said 5 minutes was all I'd need) and yet every single one of them turned out to be too tight or too loose to be functional.
I always seem to get stuck in this cave of worry. It's claustrophobic, worrying about whether what I did was
more hindering than helpful. Why can't I just do a good deed and be done
with it? Why can't I be satisfied with my efforts and then put in more
effort elsewhere?
I read a story to my kids the other day from The Friend magazine that was so relatable. It was about a little girl who learned to crochet to help with a ward humanitarian project. Each sister was working on a small square that would be put together with all of the other squares to make crochet quilts. The girl finished her square and brought her little offering to the table, only to discover that the rest of the squares were tightly woven and bright happy colors while her little square had many mistakes and was a dull gray. She decides to hide the square behind her back, when the sister heading up the project asks if she's ready to turn in her square. (This is where the relatable-ness ends for me.) This kind sister then makes an announcement to the rest of the ladies in the room that the group has just received their 1000th square. And the little girl feels much better as the room fills with applause for her little gray square and all the other bright squares that are on the table.
I know this life is supposed to be hard. I know it's going to be tough. I just wish I knew my little gray square was actually a really important part of a big project that was going to help somebody. I'm trying hard to be a Saint, to consecrate my life so I can be tool in God's hands, but I often feel like a hammer facing a bunch of screws. My attempts are clumsy, ill-timed, and painfully awkward.
Then I have days like to today...where I didn't do much of anything. Sure, I fed the kids a couple meals and got caught up on a bit of laundry and vacuuming, but that stopped being satisfying a few years ago. It doesn't feel like an accomplishment any more. Most of the time, I was yelling at the kids to stop fighting. They were bored out of their minds while I was moping around the house, throwing dirty looks when they were being...well, little boys. On days like today, I think, "Sure I could be ambitious and wash the outside windows or clean out the car, but they'll be dirty again in a few days." I could have let the boys have a water fight and they would have been entertained for hours, but I didn't want to have to go outside and tell them to quit leaving the hose running a million times so they don't flood the grass. Plus, I don't feel like fighting them to put on sunscreen today.
At the end of days like today, I wonder which is more exhausting? Sitting at home and working really hard to do nothing? Or getting out to do something? I'm definitely happier when I do something. Sometimes I'm incredibly uncomfortable doing it, but the happiness is there.
So what is a Saint? It's somebody who gets up and keeps trying, trusting that the Lord will make up for my short comings. I pray that he'll accept my offerings and that somehow, my little gray square will make a difference.
