Charity Never Faileth

I've been studying charity. Again. Seems like I never quite have it down. This morning I read this from Marvin J. Ashton: "Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other." He puts it so simply, but why is it so elusively difficult to practice? Years ago, when I was feeling particularly uncharitable and was drawn to the topic, I read Moroni's words:

"Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure."

"That's it!" I thought. That's the magic formula. The key to success! I couldn't find it anywhere else. All throughout scripture, ancient and modern, I hadn't yet found a set of directions, an if-then statement, that would yield the result I wanted. IF you [fill in the blank], THEN you will have charity, beautiful and full. But here it was. And applying that mathematical logic we all learned in high school, the contrapositive must also be true. If you don't have charity, then it's because you didn't pray for it. I write this not in a condemnatory sort of way. But to simply illustrate a truth. I've come to believe that charity, that pure genuine transformative charity, really only comes when we surrender to the Lord. When we fully admit that it isn't something we can fake or force. It's not a mask we can put on each Sunday, or when we go visiting teaching. It's a gift. It's something that the Lord can fill us up with when we admit that we are empty without His help. That we are clueless! True charity occurs when we see someone as the Lord sees them, and that can only happen when we open ourselves up to receiving that vision from Him.

Case in point: My child is writhing on the floor in a fit of anger and frustration. There are a number of ways I could react. I could pick them up and put them in their room and hold the door shut until the storm passes. I could yell and spank and throw my own tantrum. I could speak quietly with venom and disdain. I could hug them, but does that really help or just reinforce? I could issue a consequence. I could walk away . . . so many choices. I've tried all of these--some clearly bad ideas, and some . . . maybe productive, maybe not. Which is it? How do you know?

As a mother, I'd say it's . . . 50-50? Maybe half the time I know I'm doing the right thing. Maybe. Maybe that's too high . . . but if I open my heart, then I know that the path I've chosen in that particular moment is good enough. And that's a beautiful feeling. And it IS enough. One of my children in particular (some of you may know who this is) has a bit of a temper, a strong will, shall we say. We used to butt heads. A lot. I wont say we never do anymore. But I will say that it has gotten better. A lot better. And the answer? A moment of pause. A brief unspoken prayer, or even just a moment of introspection, to say "I want to do what You want. I want to put my own personal frustration aside, and that sacrifice is worth it to me to approach this child with her interest foremost, seeing her as You do." And I don't always do what the experts say you should do. Certainly not. Occasionally, she still goes to her room. Occasionally, she still screams, holds a grudge, hurts her sister(s) in her frustration at how difficult it is to reign in her fury. But more often than in the past, she feels my love for her and my belief that she can do better and be more, and she responds to that. Miraculously quickly. It is a tender mercy, a gift from above. My simple willingness to put my personal offense aside and invite the Lord's view to prevail, enables her to feel my love, and I hope His love as well. I don't know how this works. I don't know if my voice is different, if my posture is different, if I choose more consistent discipline tactics, or if my strategies end up being more psychologically sound. Whatever miracle it is, I'm thankful for it. I love seeing the smiles come through the anguish more quickly than they used to. It makes me love her all the more. And that approach, however shaky and fumbled, never faileth.