It used to be my favorite number

My week at a glance ...


Morning trips to the high school with sophomore Emma because her senior brother wasn't ready to take her on time: 3

Wallet raids to ply Kyle with cash because, "Mom, I don't think I have enough gas to make it": 3

Consecutive nights of scrambling to feed my family (but no time for myself) before leaving to attend a meeting: 3

Consecutive nights of coming home to a dirty kitchen and the family watching TV: 3

Church meetings I was expected to attend Wednesday simultaneously: 3

Portion of jars of tomatoes that did not seal after hours of canning: one-third

Family members who have met my requests for house-cleaning help with "Why can't you do it? You're here all day": 3 (only two were children -- contemplate that math)

Big-ticket items picking a fight: 3 (fridge, van, computer)

Handheld deliveries of Samuel to his classroom door because he is fearful to enter: 3

Minutes I'm allowed to vent before laughing and soldiering on: you guessed it, 3

Grateful reminders that these are "first world" frustrations: many

Elementary-age children about to burst through the door with news of their day: 3

Hugs I will get seconds from now: 3


Ah, 3 is looking good ...

Never Faileth

Someone called me and said some very hurtful things. I was devastated. So much so, that when Jeff came into the room soon after and saw me practically hyper-ventilating, he thought I had received news of a loved one's death. Now, I know I'm sensitive, but I am also quite capable of donning a tough skin when I need to, of seeing another's rants for what they are: just words. This time, though, my tough skin was hung out of reach and the words penetrated me all the more deeply because they came from someone I thought was a friend.

What the person said is not important anymore; it never was, really. I won't share it. What is important is how I learned to move on.

I knew it was wrong to get back at this person. Still, I thought it was perfectly reasonable for me to withdraw and avoid future interactions. I decided I would be kind IF I encountered this person, but darn-it-all, I wouldn't make social calls. That decided, I prayed for help overcoming my sadness.

I wasn't thinking of the other person as I prayed. Much to my surprise, the Spirit told me I needed to embrace and love that person who had hurt me. I saw a glimpse of her heart, and was filled with the realization that she is a daughter of Heavenly Father. too.

That week I was teaching a church lesson to the 7- and 8-year-olds. Our lesson covered the period when many of the early Latter-day Saints were driven out of their homes in Jackson, Missouri, by angry, resentful townspeople. Scriptures record that Heavenly Father repeatedly told the saints to "bear it patiently." (Doctrine and Covenants 98:23-24.) This counsel put my so-called persecution in pale perspective; surely I could deal with my small plight, too.

Lastly, I had gone to the temple the day before my encounter. I often think of going to the temple for guidance after something happens, and indeed I have gone to the temple since. I learned, however, that regular temple attendance protects me pro-actively. It arms me with power to deflect certain darts. That temple visit had been a particularly sweet one for its confirmation of my worth, and even though the incident still hurt me deeply, I think it could have affected me far, far worse.

I found peace. Still I wondered, why did this happen? What am I supposed to learn?

The incident still fresh on my mind, I was reading Daughters in My Kingdom, a book about the history of the Relief Society women's organization in my church. The words of our prophet Thomas S. Monson hit me with force: (read his whole talk here)

I consider charity -- or "the pure love of Christ" -- to be the opposite of criticism and judging. In speaking of charity, I do not at this moment have in mind the relief of the suffering through the giving of our substance. That, of course, is necessary and proper. Tonight, however, I have in mind the charity that manifests itself when we are tolerant of others and lenient toward their actions, the kind of charity that forgives, the kind of charity that is patient.

I have in mind the charity that impels us to be sympathetic, compassionate, and merciful, not only in times of sickness and affliction and distress but also in times of weakness or error on the part of others.

There is a serious need for the charity that gives attention to those who are unnoticed, hope to those who are discouraged, aid to those who are afflicted. True charity is love in action. There is need for charity everywhere.

Charity is having patience with someone who has let us down. It is resisting the impulse to become offended easily. It is accepting weaknesses and shortcomings.

Without knowing it, or even labeling it as such, I was being schooled in charity. That was what I needed to learn.

Members of my faith often joke about the "Sunday School answers" -- certain words and phrases it's safe to utter when fielding a class question. Phrases like ... drumroll, please ...  prayer, scripture study and temple worship. Yet I can decisively say these are the very practices that helped me overcome my hurt, and to emerge on the other side with a better understanding of how my Heavenly Father would like me to be.

What about the person who called me? That story goes on. It has been hard, but yes, I have reached out. I don't think she knows how much she hurt me, but her apology is not necessary for my forgiveness. I'm willing to let that go. I still don't understand her motives -- nor may I ever -- but I have learned I don't need to understand this to be able to move forward. 

"Charity never faileth," the scriptures teach us. I used to think that showing charity -- by being kind and loving -- was a successful formula for dealing with people. It is. What I'm learning more and more, however, is that charity's greatest triumph is the change we make inside ourselves.