Sometimes I feel somewhat spiritually numb and show up to church on Sundays with a bad attitude. I am sure it has nothing to do with me being the slug in the family, causing us to arrive very late week after week.
Some weeks I am not feelin' it, the topics people speak about bore me or seem cliché. I don't feel like being social. I just want to be in my bed sleeping. Or watching MTV. Or eating. I am a loser that way sometimes.
So I remind myself my religion is more than being in a building every week and soaking up spiritual goodness, which actually does happen some weeks. That part of it for me, church on Sundays, is only a tiny sliver in a grand haystack.
It got me thinking to times in my life when I was moved without expecting it. The times I might have been asked or called to do something I would have never volunteered for and perhaps went forth with trepidation. The times I put my charity hat on and ended up with an experience that touched me spiritually in ways not always felt inside of a church building.
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One thought brought me back to when I lived in Brooklyn several years ago. Very few people have cars there because the subway is easier. And, well, if you saw what our car looked like once we left and the colorful language awesome people scratched onto it, you would understand it better. We were one of few families at church with a car. My calling with the Relief Society coupled with the convenience of having a car led to a request for me to assist with delivering food from the bishop's storehouse to those who needed it.
It would be a lie to not admit I did not want to get up early each Saturday, untruthful to say that I did not grumble about it. I would be remiss to not offer that some neighborhoods I would not feel comfortable entering in broad daylight.
But it started to change me after the first time I went. I arrived to a really small storehouse that contained a few refrigerators, several cabinets, and one single man coordinating a lot of food inventory and a lot of orders for several wards and branches. He was an older man, a little slow moving, but direct and efficient. It humbled me to watch him in action. I wanted to be like him.
Each week Mike went with me, I never had to ask. His example of duty was a strength he never realized provided me more backbone than I had before. He navigated our car packed with food and took the heavier boxes up flights of stairs as I trailed behind with the plastic bags that contained lighter items. The feelings we had together in that car, making those trips and bringing people food for their families, were some of the times I felt closer to God in all my life. I never felt like I was giving enough. I always walked away wishing I had cleaned out my own cupboards for them and gathered personal belongings I regularly used so I could sacrifice something beyond just my personal time. I would get back into my car at the end of the afternoon with a soberness of gratitude and a little embarrassment for all that I had- for how good I had it and I didn't even know. From my shoes to my health, from my teeth to my food.
We later got moved into another ward due to boundary changes and the first Sunday there was an announcement over the pulpit that a man had passed away, leaving a widow behind. I don't recall the medical condition that was described, but I recognized the name. It was the man in the storehouse, he was gone. Each Sunday I looked at his widow and saw rays of light beaming from her. I just wanted to tell her what an amazing person I knew her husband was, despite the little interaction I had with him. I wanted to tell her how our Heavenly Father must be so proud of him and his service. How he made me want to be a better person.
So on Sundays when I am not feeling it, I remember solid times that whispered in my ear what life's like when I try be more like Christ. How I sometimes learn how to in that brick building, being near people who are also trying. How I learn from others' Brooklyn Storehouse Stories. How callings or needs for charity change me when I participate, albeit at times with a sour heart initially. How I also find it in the world around me outside of the building and in the fiber of who I want to be.
