As vehicles slowly moved through the intersection, I finally got close enough to see the source of the problem. A lone man was pushing a pickup truck across the wide intersection. As I rounded the corner, I saw a car parked at the curb. It suddenly dawned on me that the man pushing the truck was the driver of the car. A woman was steering the truck as the man strained to push it, while other vehicles zipped by.
"You could pull over and help the man push the truck," said the Good Samaritan (see Luke 10:25-37) that lives somewhere in my mind. "Yeah, I could," I responded, "but by the time I got there, the truck would already be pulled to the shoulder on the other side of the intersection. Besides, traffic is heavy enough that trying to get to the truck would be dangerous."
A moment later my inner Good Samaritan said, "You might not get there in time to push, but maybe you could provide some other kind of assistance." "What, me?" I shot back. "You know I'm no good with mechanical stuff, especially when it comes to cars and trucks. It's not like they need my phone; everyone's got cell phones nowadays. It would be awkward. Besides, I frequently serve others. Do I really need to do it this time?"
The intersection was receding in my rear view mirror as I was having this conversation. As I accelerated, the Good Samaritan voice I had been hearing became quieter. I cruised my way home, but I knew inside that, like numerous other drivers that had passed the scene, I had been the priest or Levite while the sole man pushing the truck had been the Good Samaritan.
It's not like I haven't been steeped in the doctrine of service to others throughout my life. It's not as if I haven't deliberately gone out of my way to serve others. Often. It's not as if I don't belong to organizations where I actively reach out to serve. But sometimes I excuse myself from unplanned service, especially when it seems inconvenient.
A few days ago I happened to be working from home when my wife came in and said that a neighbor lady's car battery was dead. I may not know that much about cars, but I have successfully jumped dead car batteries many times. At my wife's importuning, I got up and went across the street as my wife pulled her car up along side the one with the dead battery. I soon attached the battery cables as the lady started the car and brought it to life. She was very grateful as she hurried away to pick up some relatives from the airport.
I went back across the street, stowed the battery cables and returned to my computer. Although the task had taken only six or seven minutes I grumbled at the interruption, because interruptions can really throw someone doing a deep thinking task like software development completely off track.
I was just starting to get my head back into my work when my olfactory senses started to pick up on some undefined foreign scent. I sniffed my hands. Nothing. looked at my shirt. It looked OK. I checked my pant cuffs. Nothing there. Just then my mental classification system kicked in. "If I didn't know any better," I thought to myself, "I'd think that odor smells very much like ... cat crap!"
Oh, no! The neighbor I had helped owns cats. A quick check of the bottom of my shoes revealed the telltale yellowish greenish goulash of feline excrement firmly embedded in the well defined tread pattern of my fairly new hiker shoes. Although I immediately pulled the shoes off my feet, I realized that I had likely tracked pussycat poop all through the house.
The next few minutes were occupied by cleaning the bottoms of my shoes and cleaning spots on the flooring where I had stepped while wearing poopy shoes. This took much longer than the original car starting task had taken. I re-grumbled as I again tried to reengage my software developer brain.
There are lessons I can learn from both of these events. I really do enjoy serving others. But I like to do it on my own terms. It's best if it's planned and on my schedule. Sometimes I don't respond well when service opportunities inconveniently present themselves suddenly.
Years ago, Elder Rex D. Pinegar (then of the Seventy) told the following story.
One morning several years ago I was driving with my family to Disney World in Florida. Our four young daughters were excited as we approached the turnoff to that famous park. The laughter and happy chatter stopped suddenly, however, as our rented station wagon sputtered and chugged to an unexpected stop on the exit ramp. Many cars sped by us in the rush-hour traffic as I tried unsuccessfully to get the car running again. Finally, realizing there was nothing more we could do, we got out of the stalled car and huddled together off the road for a word of prayer.
As we looked up from our prayer we saw a smiling, handsome man and his son maneuver their bright red sports car through the lanes of traffic and pull off the road beside us. For the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon these men assisted us and cared for our needs in many kind and helpful ways. They took us and our belongings to the receiving area at the park. In their small car, it took several trips. They helped me locate a tow truck for the stranded car; they drove me to the rental agency to get a replacement vehicle. Then, because there was some delay, they drove back to where my family waited to let them know where I was. They bought refreshments for them and then waited with my family until I returned several hours later.
We felt that these men were truly an answer to our prayer, and we told them so as we said good-bye and tried to thank them. The father responded, “Every morning I tell the good Lord that if there is anyone in need of my help today, please guide me to them.”
Elder Pinegar went on to explain that planned and institutional acts of service are "important and commendable. They are the mark of a Christian people." But these opportunities "cannot fulfill the responsibility you and I have for personal acts of Christlike kindness. These lift our soul and renew our relationship with our Heavenly Father and with His Son, Jesus Christ."
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf recently detailed the following discussion between an 11-year-old girl name Eva and her Great-Aunt Rose.
Eva ... said, “But surely being busy isn’t what made you happy. There are a lot of busy people who aren’t happy.”
“How can you be so wise for someone so young?” Aunt Rose asked. “You’re absolutely right. And most of those busy, unhappy people have forgotten the one thing that matters most in all the world—the thing Jesus said is the heart of His gospel.”
“And what is that?” Eva asked.
“It is love—the pure love of Christ,” Rose said. “You see, everything else in the gospel—all the shoulds and the musts and the thou shalts —lead to love. When we love God, we want to serve Him. We want to be like Him. When we love our neighbors, we stop thinking so much about our own problems and help others to solve theirs.”
“And that is what makes us happy?” Eva asked.
Great-Aunt Rose nodded and smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes, my dear. That is what makes us happy.”Service by itself doesn't make us happy. The pure love of Christ makes us happy. While we often feel this love when serving others, those filled with this kind of love naturally serve. If I had been filled with this charity (see Moroni 7:47-48), I would have loved the woman in the stalled truck and the man pushing her truck enough to stop and help, instead of giving excuses to my inner Good Samaritan.
I didn't know about my neighbor's dead battery until my wife alerted me to the problem. Still, even if I had known, would I have gotten up off my duff and done something about it without my wife's encouragement? I would have if I had been filled with Christ-like love. Sometimes an invitation can help us get outside of ourselves and help others.
What about the cat crap on my shoes? If you're going to follow Jesus Christ, you have to accept the fact that you're going to have to deal with some crap when it comes to serving others. Service can be inconvenient, problematic, and even dangerous.
But I suppose that it was pretty inconvenient for the Savior when He bled great drops of blood for me in Gethsemane and when He allowed himself to be tortured to death on the cross for me. But He has a fullness of joy. And He wants you and me to have it too. I'm sure that in the long run we will see that the trade off is well worth it.
I want to go there. But I still often find myself listening to my inner priest or Levite on the road to Jericho, instead of listening to my inner Good Samaritan. Like Nephi, I am sometimes frustrated with my own wretchedness (see 2 Nephi 4:17-18). But God doesn't want us to think of ourselves as hopeless cases.
Pres. Uchtdorf recently said, "God will take you as you are at this very moment and begin to work with you. All you need is a willing heart, a desire to believe, and trust in the Lord." Like the desperate father that cried out "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief" (Mark 9:23-24), I feel like crying, "Lord, I am willing; help thou my unwillingness." If I keep working at it, I know that God won't give up on me.
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