Hit or Miss

Mike and I
have this thing.

Some would consider it unromantic.

For holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries we make lists. A catalog of gifts we would like to receive. We exchange these lists via e-mail and keep our fingers crossed, although as a recipient we have nothing to lose. No real surprises. No grand gestures. But also no returns, no pretenses or useless clutter.
Did I mention my aversion to surprises? So this system is ideal. Unless you have a husband who doesn’t follow said system and makes an anarchical purchase some holidays.
This Christmas I got the usual: apparel and sweets. And a rogue gift.
From, who else,

Michael.

(Caleb wouldn’t dare. He knows better… or cares less. Either or.)

A present is really a lot like the game Battleship: a hit or miss.
Sure, no matter how the gift is categorized, as a hit or a miss, it fills a niche. You know, ‘it’s the thought that counts’ notion.

But wouldn’t it be great to give a meaningful present always? To know the needs and desires of others? Now I’m not talking Twilight Zone perception (Have you seen that episode? Good one.) but rather Heavenly Father’s ability to give perfect gifts to his children. (Matt 7:11)

A couple of months ago there was an essay on Segullah that discussed miss-the-mark service. The essay hit home for me, and is one I reread.

I have tried to be more prayerful regarding the needs of those around me, inside and out of my home. I fall short often as most would, but it is important to evaluate and progress.



I am in accord with President Kimball who said, “It is by serving that we learn how to serve,” but I would go even further to say it is by being served that we learn how to serve.

An instance of service that was meaningful to me, that I relate often, happened shortly after I had Caleb. Our apartment was in shambles, littered with moving boxes. My sink: a place where flatware goes to die. I was a new mother with a four week old, gone was the token week of Relief Society meals. Gone was my sanity and beauty sleep. After returning from an extended family vacation, my visiting teacher was surprised to hear I had delivered and quickly offered to bring me dinner. Alms of chicken salad sandwiches (with walnuts and grapes!), fresh fruit, veggies and brownies. I don’t remember ever telling her about my favorite meal (the perceptive meal is still, to this day, speculated in our family to urban legend proportions) but we sure appreciated the thought. Knowing how much I appreciated that service, we often provide a meal for families around the second month of postpartum.


I know I benefit from an open ear and a closed mouth, as well. I am glad I have such an audience that enters my Coliseum, La Scala or my Apollo and leave with pursed lips, knowing what they have witnessed is sacred in it’s own right. Unmentionable.

I would like to think that Heavenly Father provided a wondrous, ponderous gift when he gave me Emma. In so many ways I have been schooled, but still I am incomplete. Irritable about the words people would sluff off without regards, I would marvel at the insensibility of others, vowing to never do the same.
Last month, I said something tactless to someone who needed console. Before I even completed the sentence, I wish I could catch the spewing words in cupped hands beneath my mouth. They might as well been vomit! I was sad I had said such a thing.

I still have learning enough to do.

PS The rogue present was beyond acceptable (whew)
and I welcome the tame chaos my husband adds to my life. : )