The Grandest of Not-so-Grand Gestures

I've been working feverishly on a Stars and Stripes quilt for the 4th of July. Nothing like waiting till the last minute, eh? That's a story not fit for telling. I'm holed up in my beautiful English-speaking sweat shop and just cranking out the last of this project, glutting myself with podcasts and audiobooks.

This morning, I listened to an Inklings podcast about being good to each other and living in an attitude of perpetual belonging, perennially sending the inviting message that beckons, "Welcome! We've been waiting for you! There's a place set for you right here; we were hoping you'd come - it wouldn't have been the same without you."

I found myself hoping I'm developing that vibe, and suddenly, a tidal wave of memories came, and here I am at my computer, weeping - when I should be starring and striping. I need to tell you about some of the loveliest times when someone gave me that vibe, and how it's forever changed my heart in wanting to always, always, always give that vibe to others.

None of these are very grand gestures. The person offering them might read me rhapsodizing over them with nonchalance, like what they had done was not so grand at all. But grand they were, because each of them were mini lifelines, giving me the strength to keep going.

I have to apologize in advance - these all happened during my Liberty Jail Winter - and they are only a small representation of the ordinary/extraordinary ministering that was given to me then. A lifetime of such acts - but I mention these from that singular life event:

Not-so-grand gesture Number One and Two:

When I couldn't move my legs, I'm pretty sure I was the UNfunnest of all the patients. Dale insisted the nurses would tell him they argued over who got to have me on their rotations, but I had a hard time believing that when I was buzzing the nurses constantly all through the night. Between the panic attacks that would awaken me when I'd forgotten I was relatively safe in a hospital, and NOT in an unknown prison where no one knew where I was (gotta love those ventilator sedatives!) and the inability to rearrange my body, it always felt like I'd been awake most of the night every morning when I "woke up."

One of my favorite nurses came in one night after I'd awakened in that blind panic, and just stroked my hair and talked to me until I fell asleep again. I weep afresh remembering how safe I felt, when moments before I was certain I was hidden away and no one who loved me knew where I was but God Himself.

Another night, there was this darling young man who was the aide for the night shift; I can't even remember how many times I had buzzed - apologetically - again - asking if someone could come in and rearrange my legs because I couldn't move them myself. On about the third or fourth rearranging, he said, "I'm a massage therapist - would it be all right if I just massaged your legs and feet so you can relax?"

Who every says no to massage?

As he worked, we got to talking (imagine!) and he learned I was writing a book. He said he was a writer, and we talked about writing. And in that way only explained as God doing His work in us, the two of us became deeply connected over higher things than this world, and felt like good friends when I was able to fall back asleep - comfortable at last.

"I'd really like to give you a hug - may I?" he asked before he left.

How can you know these will be lifelines?

Not-so-grand gesture Number Three:

When I finally got to the skilled nursing facility to learn how to do everything over again, my regular day aide was Olympia - the most adorable Hispanic woman who, from nearly day one, confidently told me I would walk out of that place on my own one day. Who knew it would take seven weeks??

When I could finally start eating again and the feeding tube came out, Olympia really paid attention to my food. Because my room was at the end of the hall, my food was generally cold by the time it got to me. It was uncanny how quickly Olympia would appear, asking if she could warm it up for me in the microwave at the nurse's station. I couldn't have gagged down those institutionalized eggs were it not for this and the several catsup packets she would bring me to smother them.

What an ordinary, extraordinary thing - to pay attention when someone's appetite is coming back after not eating for three months. Lifeline indeed.

Not-so-grand gesture Number Four:

Women in my ward signed up to drive 45 minutes to Roy to sit with me so Dale could go home and rest - and run our household - before another day back in the saddle in that tiny little room that had become my entire world. One dear friend saw Dale's spread sheet (SO Dale!) - where he kept track of who came when, so he wouldn't overburden anyone. Indignant that she hadn't been there the most, Julie insisted on him putting her on the schedule more times in the coming week.

Not-so-grand gesture Number Five:

My ministering sister offered to bring a blanket from home one evening when Dale let her know he needed to take my favorite (yes, I had a blankie) home for washing. She grabbed a favorite of her daughter, then eight, without thinking to ask.

When Katelyn protested, Mandy explained how I had been in the hospital for many, many weeks, and that I just needed it long enough for Brother Simper to wash mine and bring it back. She assured Katelyn that Dale would bring it back the very next day - that I'd only need it for tonight.

This will never not choke me up: upon considering this, Katelyn thought for a few seconds, then told her mother, "Will you tell her she can keep it as long as she needs it? She can give it back when she comes home if she wants."

Ordinary kindness is so very extraordinary. Not-so-grand can end up being so incredibly grand. Something that could be passed off as everyday mundane can be taken into a human heart as life changing - life saving.

It will never be wrong to send a message with our demeanor, words, or not-so-grand gestures: I see you. But because those gestures affirm the divinity and potential holiness of the receiver of the gesture, what we're really saying is, "I. See. THOU."

It really, really matters to be kind - to see souls - to imagine their needs as real and raw as our own. When Peter responds to the lame man begging for alms, he tells him: "Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk." (Acts 3:6)

We generally don't give silver and gold these days, but there is silver in calming a troubled heart or massaging legs in the middle of the night. There is gold in helping someone gag down the first food being eaten for weeks, or in offering a beloved blanket to an old lady in the ward you barely know when you're only eight.

What a lifestyle to practice - to go about as the Savior did, doing good, using our words and good will to say, "Such as I have, I give thee - in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth - let me do this ordinary thing for you so you can walk toward Jesus another day."

When we look into someone's eyes and see a fellow traveler and respond in the name of Jesus Christ - we will turn our not-so-grand gestures into the grandest of life changing - life saving acts. And there's a very good chance we'll never even know how much it mattered.

I am a humble victim of so very many.