>I had a two-week grace period to choose counselors. I went to the temple and stood with tears rolling down my cheeks as I covenanted to consecrate everything I had to the kingdom. I understood, even then, that this experience would call forth everything I had to give. I was willing to give it. I started to read the Relief Society handbook and was so overwhelmed by the second page that I had to break it down in small portions each day. The day I was sustained I succumbed to tears again as I sang, “Because I have been given much I, too, must give.” Then I stood as the ward members raised their hands to sustain me. It was overwhelmingly humbling to feel their love and support and to know at the same time that I was embarking on an unknown and uncertain journey. The sisters in the room suddenly became so dear and feelings of love for them washed over me.

Although I was eager to serve, I knew that the needs of our ward would intensify what was required of me. We were located in Utah, but we were not the typical Utah congregation. We were in a lower-income area, comprised of small houses and many single-mother families. We had approximately 170 sisters, 90 of whom were single. Half of those were widows. Only one-third of the families in the ward had a priesthood holder, and of those only half were active. Soon I was averaging ten welfare visits each week. These entailed going to the bishop’s home or office to pick up the necessary papers, making the home visit, returning the papers to the bishop to be signed, then delivering them back to the sister. Each visit took about forty-five minutes, and because they were confidential, only the bishop or I could coordinate it, which made it the most difficult task to accomplish. Added to these hours of service during the week were my Sunday meetings and the regular three-hour block.

I accepted this call to serve with all my heart. I visited sisters, made telephone calls, held meetings, counseled with the priesthood. Along with other people both in and out of our ward, I coordinated Christmas help for sixteen families that first year. This compassionate service ranged from providing extra food to an all-out, toy-clothing-candy celebration. Despite having an incredible presidency that was willing to shoulder many responsibilities, I felt driven to save the ward. I was going to care for every sister, solve all of their problems, build their testimonies, and do it single-handedly.

It took me just under a year to land myself in the hospital with double pneumonia, completely and utterly exhausted, empty in both body and spirit.

Because I did not have the energy to do much else, I spent much of my time in the hospital lying in bed and pondering deeply. I knew there had to be a better way. Were there different ways to give everything? I was certainly willing to give all that I had, but what of wisdom and order? How could I balance my family’s needs and my needs with my calling? And what about the other sisters in the ward? Was I preempting their willingness to give and to serve each other by trying to be everything to everyone?

As I asked these questions, my understanding of consecration was enlarged and the realization came that the Lord already had a better plan in place. I was never supposed to do this all on my own. He had provided a way for each sister’s needs to be filled—visiting teaching. I called four more visiting teaching supervisors, learned to trust in the sisters’ ability to serve each other, recommitted to trust my Heavenly Father and the presidency that He had called, and I delegated. I also recruited my husband and children as unofficial counselors and delegated to them as well. Even more than delegating though, I learned to share. By sharing the responsibilities, I shared with the sisters and with my family the joy that this service could bring. I will never forget sitting at my kitchen table and sharing my experiences with my family, careful not to use names so that confidentiality remained intact. I shared the miracles with them so that they could feel the connection to the Spirit that I felt.

One time in particular I had an impression to call a sister in the ward and ask her if she needed help with Christmas. I had been arguing with the Spirit for several days about whether to call or not (and why I argue with the Spirit, I don’t know). I finally gave in and telephoned. When I asked her if she might need some help during the holidays, there was a moment of silence and then she began to weep. She confided that, due to some unexpected circumstances, she had been worrying for days about how she was going to manage a Christmas for her family. She was so grateful for an answer to her prayers. The ward ended up being so generous that, not only was she provided a bountiful Christmas, but she had enough left over to share with another family in need.

Sharing this experience was only one of the many tender moments the Spirit allowed me to have with my family. Because I learned to share the joy, they felt to rejoice in “our” service. I also saw the growth in the women that served with me and felt to rejoice in their opportunities to more completely fulfill their stewardships.

President Spencer W. Kimball said, “In the midst of the miracle of serving, there is the promise of Jesus, that by losing ourselves, we find ourselves. Not only do we €˜find’ ourselves in terms of acknowledging guidance in our lives, but the more we serve our fellowmen in appropriate ways, the more substance there is to our souls.”² It is easier to find ourselves because there is more of us to find. Through the service I was giving, I felt expanded and stretched in ways that I could never have imagined. I felt blessed in equal measure to the outpouring of energy and time.

My Relief Society service became more balanced after that first year, but there was always more to be done than could possibly be accomplished. It became a balancing act between listening to and following the Spirit and total exhaustion. I remember one Sunday in particular. I spent six hours in meetings. Afterward, I ran in and ate dinner with my family, then began a series of welfare visits. All day long I had felt the impression that I needed to visit Sister Smith*. I kept telling myself that after this meeting, or after this visit, I would go to Sister Smith’s. Then the bishop would send me to another family who needed food. It was a constant shift between the impression I was having and the immediate need of each family I visited. Finally, at ten o’clock that evening, I returned to my home, not having seen my family since midday. I sat on my bed utterly spent. I couldn’t even summon the energy to pull off my nylons, which was saying a lot. I realized that I had not been to see Sister Smith and that it was too late to make a visit. I resolved that I would go first thing in the morning and fell into bed.

The next morning I awoke and set out on my morning walk. My plan was to take my walk, shower, then go to Sister Smith’s home. It would still be early, but I was eager. As I came through the door after my walk, my daughter called out, “Mom, you need to call the bishop fast. He just called and said that Sister Smith passed away last night.” After talking with the bishop I sat on my couch, wondering numbly, “What family should have gone without food? Should I have visited late last night? What more could I have done?”

I wondered what miracle the Lord could have performed in my schedule if I had listened and obeyed the promptings that I had been given. Could He have made ten minutes out of five? If I had been willing to be guided by His timetable, given my will and my agenda to Him, what could He have made of my day? This experience was another in a long line of lessons on how to “let go.” The Lord was teaching me how to sacrifice my will to His. In the beginning I surrendered that control with gritted teeth and tense muscles, fighting the process every inch of the way. I had a concept of how my service should be. He began to shape my service into something that would prepare me for what was to come. Consecration and sacrifice intensified the preparation process.

“He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me” (Matt. 10:37). That scripture had always disturbed me; I loved the Lord and loving my family was part of that love. But serving with such intensity changed my perception of those words. I learned to let go of a clean house, perfect children, some relationships, my expectations, and so on. In that process I also learned to give those things to my Father in Heaven. I came to realize that He could make more of them than I ever could. Letting go of my children, my family, my home, my agendas was in reality giving them to Him. Learning to let go and give up control was going to be an ongoing, lifelong process for me.

As life changing as the call to serve and the service itself was, the release from such an all-consuming calling was equally life altering. I remember driving around the ward and again feeling this overwhelming love and connection to each sister. Losing the capacity to serve them the way I had previously left a monstrous hole in my heart. At the same time I felt this amazing sense of freedom. But what was I free to return to?

My service had altered every relationship I had. I felt as if I had been away serving a mission and returned to a drastically changed world. Looking back now I realize it wasn’t so much that others had changed, but that I was different. I had often been too busy to go out to lunch. Shopping was a luxury. I had to hurry through everything. These changes took a toll on the close ties I had always shared with my sisters. It seemed to me that the busier I became, the closer my two sisters became as they spent time together. During my service I would wistfully look on, knowing that I would be able to join them in the future when the Lord might not need me in such an intense way. When that time came, however, their habits had changed as much as mine, and we found it took much more effort to make time to spend together.

The dynamics of my relationship with my mother changed as well. The emotional abuse she suffered as a child left her sense of self somewhat impaired, and because of my caretaking nature, we had developed a relationship where I tried in every possible way to help and support her. My idea of love was to make things as easy as possible. Relief Society changed that very quickly and I began to view our interaction through new eyes. I barely had time to parent my own children, let alone my mother. This was so difficult for both of us. I remember at one point she asked me what she could do to help me because I was so overwhelmed. My reply was, “Just take care of yourself, Mom. That would help me a lot.” Although we haven’t regained the closeness that we had before, we are working on it. We are learning healthier ways to interact with each other, which includes her ability to reach out to others now when she needs help.

The vital importance of learning to balance service and family is difficult because they overlap each other and are both eternally significant. My marriage was probably the hardest hit by my calling. All of a sudden our marriage was chaotic. I had changed the rules, and my husband didn’t know what the new rules were. Even I didn’t know what the new rules were. I was seeing him with new eyes and I did not like what I saw. I questioned everything and he wanted nothing to change. We embarked on a journey of tearing down what no longer worked and rebuilding something of value that we could both live with. Many times the only thing we had in common was our commitment to our covenants. When I agreed to consecrate everything, I really had no comprehension of what “everything” could mean. Had I known how much that calling would change my life, I wonder if my willingness to serve would have been less. I hope not.

There is a line from the play Joan of Lorraine that says, “Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing, nevertheless they give up their lives to that little or nothing. One life is all we have, and we live it as we believe in living it, and then it is gone.”³ Our perspective as Latter-day Saints is, of course, a bit clearer. Our lives are given to or for what we believe, and then they continue on into eternity. My life for a period of time was given to Relief Society. I entered as one person and emerged quite a different one, and I don’t regret that.

The years after my service were a time of incredible contrast. After trying to move into a larger home several times in the past, suddenly the opportunity presented itself and the Lord’s witness to me was, “Well done thy good and faithful servant, this is your blessing.” I felt that things were going to sail smoothly from that point on. After selling our home in a miraculous way and moving into our dream home, every other aspect of my life started to unravel. I found out I had serious health problems, and the company my husband worked for came under persecution, which ended with the death of his boss and the dissolution of the company. We ended up starting over after having invested years in a practice. Then my son decided that not only did he not want to serve a mission; he no longer needed the family, the Church, or God. I kept thinking, “But I did my part, I obeyed all the rules, why isn’t this working? If I am supposed to always have if I always give, WHAT DO I HAVE NOW?” The words of Brigham Young about great adversity coming with every great blessing rang true in my life.

My Heavenly Father knew me and knew the intensity of the trial that would be necessary for me to really learn to trust Him. Again my bishop’s words rang in my heart, “This is what the Lord has been preparing you for.” Because I’d had a lot of practice in letting go, I was able to give my son to his Heavenly Father with complete trust. He had a Savior and it wasn’t me. All I had to do was love and refrain from judging. After two very difficult years my son was able to return to a home where he felt completely loved and accepted.

I remember a time when we were driving in the car, having a Sunday discussion, and my son asked me what I might have done if I had been Abraham of old. Would I have been willing to do anything the Lord asked me, including sacrifice my son? He is my only son and I’m sure the answer held a special significance for him. It was one of those surreal moments when everything slows down and becomes so clear. I was able to say with absolute certainty that yes, if the Lord had asked me I would have obeyed. “How do you know?” he asked. Because I have already done so. Because He asked and I did it. I gave it.

In the book Covenant Hearts by Elder Bruce C. Hafen, the epilogue is written by his wife Marie. “I will cut my desires into short day-by-day lengths, and I will feed those lengths to the hungry fires of courage because I want nothing more than for my sacrifices to be accepted, my gold to be purified, even if my hands are bruised. I want you, my children’s children, and your children, to know that no matter how hard it gets, it is worth it. It is worth everything—holding nothing back from each other nor from the Lord .&nbsp. . I want to give you all the gold I have, I yearn to reach out to each of you and place the gold from my bruising but sanctifying experiences into your hands. If I choose well, if I always say yes to what He asks—by covenant—if I sacrifice with my whole heart, I will have purified gold to give to you.”⁴

I know that the Lord prepared me to serve in Relief Society. And I know that those years of serving my sisters was, in turn, a preparation to endure incredible adversity. Another mantra of mine is “trust and obey.” Because I was given an opportunity to obey on quite a grand scale, I am more. I am stronger. I am wiser. I have bruised palms, but I also have gold to give.

* Names have been changed.

NOTES

1. Bruce C. Hafen, Covenant Hearts (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 2005), 270.

2. Edward L. Kimball, The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball (Salt Lake City, Bookcraft, Inc., 1982), 254.

3. Maxwell Anderson, Joan of Lorraine (New York City, Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 1957), 80.

4. Bruce C. Hafen, Covenant Hearts (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 2005), 272.