The rickety old bus bumped and tumbled its way down the winding
roads, drifting between pavement and dirt roads alike. The sun beat down brutally
through the dusty windows, making the often crowded environment even less
appealing. The hot, uncomfortable blue seats were scarce. The majority of us
stood holding onto various, oddly intertwining metals bars that somehow kept
everything together. This was travel in Brazil.
It was one of those hard weeks. When you find yourself
questioning once again what you are doing, why you decided to come, and why you
haven’t gone home yet. Sometimes, life just doesn’t seem worth the effort we
put into it. It was that kind of day. The sort where you feel a little like you
are banging your head against a brick wall in a maze without an exit.
But I was saved by a distraction. The bus had been rolling
on, passing by what looked more like a makeshift bus stop, when suddenly the motorista
(bus driver) slammed on the breaks. I looked out the window to see why, and
caught sight of an unusual commotion. Seemingly out of nowhere, a number of women
from the other side of the street had come running at the bus, shouting angrily
and swinging their purses, forcing the driver to stop at once.
My first thought was one of skepticism. Of course. Brazilians
are loud and opinionated. This was probably about something silly. Maybe they
were mad about his route or wanted to board before he came around to the other
side of the street. Who knew?
But that’s when the
bus doors opened, and I saw a frail little old man with a cane slowly struggling
to climb the three steps up to the bus driver, where he would pay for his fare. And
that’s when I understood what had happened. The women hadn’t been angry about
themselves. Apparently, they had been trying with all their power to flag down
a bus driver that hadn’t seen the weak old man’s attempts to do it alone. So
the entire street came to his aid. And the bus stopped. And he boarded. And
instantly, everyone returned to their daily lives. We kept moving after that,
but my thoughts were completely different. I even smiled to myself, thinking
suddenly how strange it was that one small event could seem to make everything
in the world look so much better.
I also felt a little guilty. Because really, whether or not Brazilians
are loud and opinioned, I do love them. And the truth is, they are always
willing to help. Somehow, in my selfishness, I had forgotten to see that. I hadn't wanted to see it that day.
On a similar vein…probably about 3 years ago, I was texting
an old roommate of mine. She had recently gotten married, but we are close
friends, and were catching up in what ended up being a long conversation. Among
the many topics, we somehow ended up discussing world issues and some of the
crazy things that were happening. We both like talking about that sort of
thing. I remember she told me about a recent horrific news story she had watched
where a mother had killed one of her children. She mentioned how frustrating it
was to see so much bad in the world, and how much she wanted to make a difference.
But we both felt a little helpless about it. Then, she shared with me something
that I have never forgotten. An idea that struck a chord in my heart and gave me a little hope.
In discussing her frustrations with her husband, he had come
up with a suggestion. Instead of focusing on the sad news stories, he said that they
should just try to do what they could to make sure that their personal actions never led to anything bad. No bad news. She then said quite simply, “We’ve decided to
be the good news in the world.”
Good News.
When we look around, we see a world filled with violence,
disloyalty, abuse, anger, pride, greed, dishonesty, and just plain meanness. We
hears stories of murders and explosions. Shootings and Death. Abuse and torture
to women, family, and children alike. There is mental illness, depression,
accidents, and just the everyday struggle of life.
Maybe that’s why I decided to study politics. Maybe I
thought I could help stop it. I probably still do think that in a way. But you
do learn things as you grow. And one simple thing I am learning is that answers
are often as simple as a kind word to a sad heart. If you can’t always change,
fix, or prevent things, you can at the least cling to, hold on to, remember,
and ultimately BE the good news to the world. As much as possible.
And in a Gospel sense, it becomes much clearer. In ancient
Greek, the "Gospel" actual means the “good news." So to live the Gospel means the embodiment, defense, and witness of the good--which is of course emulated in the life of Jesus
Christ. The good news of the Gospel means the Atonement of Jesus Christ. That is the key.
But here’s the tricky part.
In the everyday life, its easy to forget. Just like that bumpy ride on a dusty, Brazilian road, it’s easy to get distracted.
The world often screams louder than any small act of kindness ever would.
But if darkness and suffering and circumstance are trying to
shape and break us in so many ways, then sometimes all we can do is turn to the good things, even the small acts of kindness, to give us strength and hope to
be refined and defined in a way that makes us stronger. That’s what life is all
about. Believing, seeing, and then being the good news. As much as possible. We must try to follow the example of Christ.
In that spirit, I give a few examples as a way to close. To
me, the people I meet and hold to and want to be around are the representation of
good things I want to hold to and become in my own life.
It’s like that moment on my mission, when I was sick and
weak in bed, coughing up blood-lined mucus and too weak to dry my hair from my
most recent attempt at a shower. And then suddenly and silently, my companion walked over,
propped me up comfortably on some pillows and proceeded to gently brush and
blow dry my hair while I lay there, just so I wouldn’t have to go to bed with
wet hair
There is that moment when my friend finds out that her dad has broken his leg and can't work in the same year that their family already lost their home, and she had
just gone through a heard break-up of her own. But instead of lashing out, I watch
her change her schedule to carefully make that she can take care of her dad and be with him
every day if possible. Even when she’d rather be with other people. And I have
never once heard her complain.
I see in my mind’s eye that one Christmas break just after my grandma’s
stroke. When my mom waited on and watched over my grandma morning and night, selflessly
serving her for the entire break. I didn't know how to help, so I did little. But one night, I overheard my mom crying
in my dad’s arms, and I knew that she was one of my heroes. Because she just kept serving, even when it was hard. She just wanted to help her mom.
I could go on. Late night conversations. Small acts of
service and love. A helping hand to those in need. The little daily acts of heroism
that go unsung, but make the greatest differences.
When there is so much to cry about, so much of depression
and dark times and hardships, how can we not take advantage of every good
moment that comes our way? How can we not remember that our very source of
salvation comes in the greatest act of goodness and sacrifice—given by the one
we seek to exemplify—the Savior, Jesus Christ.
We can’t let ourselves forget.
It is in the good moments, that we find our purpose and our
salvation—the key to our strength and the path to our growth. It makes life
worth it. It makes sense of the world. It is often in the hardest
of moments, that the smallest of things become the most beautiful. I think missions
teach you that. I think life does.
On the plane flight to Brazil, after having served for seven very personally challenging months in South Dakota, I remember feeling afraid.
I had no idea how I was going to survive the next 11 on the mission. I didn’t know
what to expect or how I would handle a new language. We had flown all night,
and I had slept most of the way. But as I sat up that morning and looked out
the window a couple of hours before we reached Sao Paulo, I caught sight of the
rising sun, golden and bright, just on the edge of a blueish-purple horizon.
I was watching a Brazilian sunrise, which began to light up the countryside
below, full of beautiful greenery and lush forests. It was a beauty I had never
witnessed before.
And as I watched that sun rise, it became a sort of symbol to
me. The world is beautiful, and there is always something good to take from
it. But if we fail to see it, it can never give us hope. It can never help us
heal.
So that’s it. We have to cling to the good. Cling to the
Gospel. Try to be the good, try to be like Christ. You have to see it first.
Sometimes seeing is believing, but only when you see it with the eyes of faith.
It’s the good news, the Gospel—the truth—that sets us free.
Comments
Post a Comment