Lifting the Hands that Hang Down

There's this scripture in Hebrews that talks about "lifting the hands that hang down, and strengthening the feeble knees." For some reason, I have always really liked that verse. It gives such a beautiful visual of serving others. It sounds better than, "Serve people who need it."

About a month ago, a gal in my ward had a baby. Now, Ben and I really, really struggle to make ends meet. This is no secret. But when that sign-up sheet went around to feed this gal's family, I just had to sign up. Ben got so mad at me - "We don't have money to even feed our own family; why did you sign up to feed someone else's family??" I jutted out my chin and said something to him about keeping my temple covenants. That shut him up. But I also did this because I remember so vividly how much it helped me when people brought food to me after each of my babies. You feel so sick and weird and...postpardem-ey. The last thing you want to do is cook. I appreciated it so much when people brought food.

When Micah was maybe a week old, Ben was back to work, and I was in my house with three crazy kids, wondering what on earth I had DONE, thinking I could handle three children. All of the dishes that people had brought their food in were washed out and in a pile on my kitchen table. I just didn't have the willpower to try to deliver the dishes to the various people they needed to go to. Then I get this knock on my door. It was a lady in my ward named Enid. Very elderly. Probably in her eighties. She walks slowly, and with a cane. She had brought me a huge vase of lilacs, my very, very favorite flower. And then she told me she was taking all of the dishes back to their owners for me. This woman who walks so slowly (and probably painfully) did this service for me, and I'll never forget it.

I came down with something last week. I think it must have been some kind of 24-hour bug. I barfed all night one night, and all the next morning until noon or so. I called Ben and begged him to come home, that I couldn't function, that the kids needed help and I couldn't parent them in this condition. He had a huge deadline for the next day at work and said he really couldn't. So I called my mom. I got voicemail on both her home phone and her cell. I figured I was going to have to try to do what I could. So, when Micah had a poopy diaper, I would get up, barf, change his diaper, barf, and lie down again. It was miserable.

And then this lady in my ward, Angie, called me. I am HER visiting teacher - keep this in mind for later. Angie plays the organ in church and needed to talk to me about a last-minute change in one of the hymns for Sunday. She asked how I was doing, and I told her honestly that I felt like I was dying. (I express, not repress. Just how I am.) She asked what was specifically wrong, and I told her. "I'm coming over," she said.

My mom finally got my message and came over. When I opened the door and saw my mom, I said, "Thank the Lord." Mom cleaned my kitchen for me and got my kids some lunch. I snapped a couple of pictures of them eating outside on our picnic blanket:

And then I went down to bed.

Then Angie came over. She and Mom chatted for awhile, and then she came right down to my bedroom with pretzels, saltines, 7-Up in crunchy ice, and some probiotics. I was so grateful, and those pretzels tasted so good to me. As did the 7-Up.

By the next day, I was feeling back to normal (throwing up four times in the morning, but that's it). But guess who came over again? Angie. She is convinced that the iron in my prenatals is what has made me sick all these months. She went and bought me some new prenatal vitamins, with no iron in them. Those suckers are EXPENSIVE. And she got me some gatorade and some more 7-Up. Then she vowed that she was going to get me one of those wrist thingeys that people wear on cruise ships for motion sickness.

Enid, my mom, Angie - angels. Heavenly Father really does answer prayers.