When the Saints Go Marching In

There has been a lot of talk about marching lately. The marching has been taking place in large numbers, with constant media attention, and a fiery agenda that has been displayed flamboyantly on poster-boards of various shapes and sizes, causing a steady-stream of pictures and hashtags to flood my social media newsfeed. I will say nothing more about that super-charged movement. I have an opinion, of course. We all do. You might likely guess my opinion, if you know me at all. But that movement is besides the point, and missing the mark that really matters, completely. 

What I want to share, is the kind of marching I have observed personally, in the last few days. It is the kind of marching that has made a very meaningful difference in my life. 

I blew-out my back. I was building an awesome R2-D2 snowman for Henry. The snow was perfect, I was having a great time with my cute boy, and then BAM! My back locked-up, and a violent shooting pain flew through my spine and brought me to the ground. I managed to get inside, and then I laid on the floor facedown, praying to my Heavenly Father to take this pain from me, so I could walk, and do what I need to do as a single mom. I do not have time to be down-and-out, it is just me around here holding the fort down. I am a widow with 4 children, I need to be able to function. 

I know a little something about being a strong woman, who must fight at all times. I believe that women are powerful creatures, and they can be a force for good in this world; when that power is aimed in the right direction. Oh wait, I said I was going to avoid that topic... 

Anyway, my physical power was stripped from me, and all I could do was crawl myself to the couch. I laid there in excruciating pain, wondering what I should do next. 

I do not have a spouse to call for help.  

And I needed help. 

I sent out one text to a nearby friend. I made a phone call to my sister in Alaska. 

And then... the Saints came marching in. 

My friend came and took Henry so I could rest. My sister talked me through the pain, and helped me to know what to do. We talked for 3 hours. She took time out of her busy schedule, just for me.  More sweet friends brought food, dinners for the week, I received a priesthood blessing, I was brought a long-handled-grabber-thing so I won't have to bend over, my house was cleaned as I watched on in awe (I have never let anyone ever clean my house before, besides family). My friends stayed with me and provided comfort and compassion. The list of kind acts performed for me, and my family, goes on and on.  

My heart is still overflowing with gratitude. 

These fantastic people (both women and men) did not come with frenzied minds, blasting bullhorns, or flaming fanfare, crying out for change. They came quietly, humbly, willingly, and lovingly into my home, to rescue one who was in need. They came in, and went out, with only the crescendo of freshly fallen snow crunching beneath their feet. They did not jump on social media and broadcast their good deeds for all to see. They did it with no thought of reward, or to seek attention, or to gain approval from peers. They served as Jesus would have them serve. They were the change that makes a difference in this world. It was miraculous and humbling for me to be the recipient of such quiet and helpful kindness and charity. 

Each one of these sweet Saints rescued me, with the most powerful force in the world... 

Love. 

And love, my friends, is the only thing that will mean anything when all is said and done. 

Love is the answer. 

It has always been the answer; it will always be the answer. 

Oh how I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in.