By Stacy Johnson
My friend brought me dinner the other day. It was really for no reason, but that she wanted me to know that she cared about me. It caused me to ponder the first time dinner was brought to me and my husband after the birth of our first baby.
We lived in a small apartment in a neglected part of Mesa. We had been in the ward for about a year at that point, and were “stuck” in the primary that whole time. I didn’t know anyone but the children in our primary class. I couldn’t seem to connect with all the older women in the ward. It was one of those newlywed or nearly dead wards if you know what I mean. I did my best to attend homemaking every month, I did my visiting teaching, and I knew some of the other young mothers in my apartment complex, but other than that, I felt oblivious.
The day I got home from the hospital, a phone call came from an older sister who said she was asked to bring me dinner that evening. I was so excited because I remember the fabulous meals brought to my own mother at the birth of each of her children. I awaited her arrival with great anticipation that I could finally connect with one of the older sisters in the ward.
At her knock, I gently picked up the baby (to show him off) and went to the door. The first thing from her mouth as she stormed through the door and straight to my dining room was something like this, “I didn’t know I would have to climb stairs and park so far away or I would have sent this dinner with someone else!” She never once looked at my sweet baby or congratulated me, she set the bag with dinner on the table and stormed out the door. I never even caught her name. I sat down and cried, feeling so embarrassed. I called the RS President and informed her that we had my mom coming to help us and wouldn’t need anymore meals.
It is amazing how one person can make such an effect on a person. I didn’t accept meals from anyone for the next four years. It wasn’t until the birth of my third child, while living in another state, that a friend brought me dinner without asking. She had known of my issue with that first meal and had simply been the friend that I needed to help me see that it was an isolated incident. Amazing how I couldn’t see it for so long. Time brings a wonderful perspective to my life. I have since served as RS President in my ward and have seen the zillion acts of service on behalf of the sisters of our ward, all because of love and concern. I have been the recipient of more heart felt service than I could possibly remember. Perspective.