offerings.

my companion and I walk down the busy main street of Salt Lake City. there is construction going on, something to do with the rail system. we have to walk a little faster than usual to be on time. the sky is blue. the sounds of the city bounce off the varying heights of buildings.

my black pencil skirt, the one I always put on for trips downtown, is just the right amount of flexible and stretch. it allows me to speed walk to my appointment on Temple Square.

Sister T and I spent the 45 minute train ride in silence, exchanging tired smiles when we needed to change trains or when someone would make small talk with us. we both knew it would be my last appointment here; the hours we had spent discussing and crying about what I should do were hard on the both of us.



the week before, the STL's had come over to talk me down from leaving.



"you can't really go home, Sister. President L. has no control over that, so you could just be stuck here anyway if they don't approve it." 



"medical leave means you can't come back. you know that, right?"



"you haven't given your meds a chance."




both my companion and I had to hear it. we both knew what I needed to do, despite it.


I snap back to the elevator we were in, headed down. we smile at the Temple Square sisters in the elevator us.

I pull the gilded door handles and we enter LDS Family Services. I can't remember her name now, but the Receptionist Who Was Always There smiles at me and hands me the normal paperwork. Sister T sits in the corner in one of the faux leather chairs and picks up an Ensign.


I fiddle with my water bottle and see Michelle open the glass door that leads to the back offices. She's happy to see me, she says, and we walk to her room. during our first appointment, one of the first things I notice were her bookshelves. I've read some of the titles on them, and it gives me a little comfort every time I go back; a rubbing stone of knowledge. we had both read those books. we were on the same page.



the "how was your week" pleasantries are exchanged, and then Michelle asks the question she does every session:

"do you want to go home?"

and, for the first time, I say yes. I say yes and my hands start shaking just a little bit. because I knew what it would mean:

talking to my mission president,
talking to my STLs
talking to my parents.


I would have to talk myself through it, too, because I felt liberated and scared all at the same time. an emotional tornado.

because I didn't know what I had given on my mission. what had been my gift to make my calling count, even a little bit? I sat in silence and Michelle, ever wise and supportive, gives me the life-changing advice that carries me home:


your offering is an offering, no matter how small you may think it is. the Lord knows you better than your parents, your mission president, or your leaders. He knows what you gave. He knows.




see, because before, I didn't realize that not serving 18 months was a valid "offering" to the Lord. I could never see something not completed as real or right in my Father's eyes.



but do you recall the story of the early Latter-day Saints in Missouri, building what was supposed to be the first temple? I hadn't, until a sweet young couple shared it with me.  (shoutout to Sister Mangum, my forever big sister and friend. also for giving me popsicles and letting me play with your puppy.) 


a bit of background:

early followers of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had experienced extreme religious persecution after the settlement of the Saints in Illinois. they are forced out West, to Missouri. at the time, it was pretty much a territory, controlled by local governments. lawless. rough.

the governor at the time, Lilburn Boggs, has just sent out an extermination order against the residing Saints. Joseph Smith, Jr., the prophet, receives this revelation from the Lord about what to do. do they stay and risk their lives to complete the first temple, so they could worship? or do they flee, again, into the unknown?



Verse 49 of the Doctrine and Covenants says this to the ailing members:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, that when I give a commandment to any of the sons [and daughters] of men to do a work unto my name, and those sons of men go with all their might and with all they have to perform that work, and cease not their ^adiligence, and their enemies come upon them and ^bhinder them from performing that work, behold, it behooveth me to ^crequire that work no more at the hands of those sons of men, but to accept of their offerings."


I think both the Saints and the Prophet didn't want to go. they had fled. they had pleaded. and yet, the governor didn't relent and the trials were mounting to a level they couldn't handle.

but they had tried their best. they had given their offering.

 in fact, the original foundation stone is still there in Independence. when I heard this, a rush of relief came over me. 

what does this mean for us? how does this apply to those


                                                    who live in a free country,


                                       who have beautiful families,


                        who suffer silently?


 we don't have mobs terrorizing us, or have our houses being purposefully and maliciously burned down.


so, how do these words from our Father in Heaven apply to our day, our souls?




it took me a while to understand how they do, especially because that 'enemy' that verse talks about, was myself.


I seemed to be hindering a work I wanted so desperately to perform because of something I didn't have 100% control over. 


how could these words apply to a situation I felt like others could handle? why couldn't I do it?



in asking questions like these, I feel it's helpful to examine when we have felt touched by the love of another person. it was probably simple, or maybe it was big, and it probably felt beautiful. it probably felt warm and it stayed with you all this time.




that was an offering. and our offerings, big or small, matter. they change lives, shift them even just a little bit. or a lot a bit.


my mom's offering was her body when she was pregnant with me. it was her time and her love, something she doesn't get to see the fruits of often. those are counted in my heart, and they are counted to the Lord.





because, the truth is,

He knows us better than we do. 
than we. ever. will. 


I don't think we don't know what we are capable of when we learn to trust His words, especially when He says,



"it's ok, Child. that is good to Me."



when we can lean into that trust, we are set free by what we think measures up to Him.




so, who are we to say when it is enough or when it isn't?

 see, that's the miracle of His grace and His sacrifice.


this is His show, and what a privilege it is to even play a small part. when we turn to Jesus and our Father in Heaven, They will teach us about our parts. They will teach us about who we are, what is "enough", or teach us love when we can't offer that much.




it's all Them. it always has been. 





our offerings are beloved. 

       


             you are beloved. 




                         I am beloved. 






and, with that,

I love you.


xx, 
g