From his Conference talk in October Conference last year "Tested and Tempted—but Helped" by Elder Hugo Montoya of the Seventy
:
This is good.
“Ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light.” (Mosiah 18:8). These words indicate that we have the responsibility to help each other. That responsibility can come from a Church calling, an assignment, or a friendship or as part of our divine duty as parents, spouses, or members—or simply from being part of God’s family.
I've read and enjoyed reading this again – and even again. I highlighted in Elder Montoya's talk the line above... I don't think I enough take it to heart yet, though I preach it and am coming along. I do pray for experiences to interact with others to bless them even though I'm not, like, a volunteer in our community nor for heaven's sake a social worker or the like; who in my opinion do
vast amounts of good among God's children! Like you I've accepted callings in the church that have me honoring a responsibility to help by assignment, certainly by friendship and SO because I know us all to be God's children! And because I care.
I say I don't think I enough take this to heart when I consider the
terrible need in the world: the elderly; the young, bereaved, ill, remedial, impoverished, depressed, uneducated, ones separated from family. Those especially without knowledge of the Savior. Some examples:
1. Kent's reading the life of Larry Miller. In the past few days he's told me story after story of that good man's young life. It's hard to imagine the very desperate situation in the home between his parents and him.
(I've included a story at the end of the post.)
2. From
"The Woman Who Walked in Sunshine:" (link) Precious Ramotswe finds Samuel, the youngster without mother or father, living with a stranger in terrible, poignant fear. She does takes him to an orphanage... though when she checks on him she discovers he is
so unhappy, in tears perpetually.
(How often we see images on television or know first-hand of children starving for affection and stability.)
3. From the Hallmark Channel, the movie "Finding a Family," based on the true story of Alex Chivescu who when he was 10 was delivered to foster care. His Romanian immigrant mother who spoke six languages and had become a professor in Michigan was involved in a car crash that permanently left her struggling with anger and depression and unfit to parent her young son.
Especially this last example has left me touched and remembering Elder Montoya's counsel that we
have a responsibility to help each other. Young Alex has grown up since 1999 in foster care (and in and out of his extremely unstable home), essentially fending for himself. In 2007 at age 16 he was housed in a juvenile detention center for lack of a foster home for him in the county, where he continued studying hard to prepare for college, making A's in school, helping others his age there and in school... but despairing that Social Services would finally place him in a home within his high school district where he could remain with friends, teachers and mentors. He took matters into his own hands, sending letters to families within the school district locally, imploring of them – anyone – a place to stay for his senior year to finish preparing for college.
It's a tear-jerker of a movie and for that matter the plot may not be super-true to Alex Chivescu's real life, but you see where this is going: Alex does receive the kindness of a couple in the community who invite him to be not only with them one year, but forever! They make if possible for him to cope with his personal demoralization, erratic relationship with his mother, and dreams of graduating from Harvard University. They provide him their house, a room, clothing, food, education, a normal Christmas, a sister, and the lovingkindness of functional, devoted parents.
Especially this example has left me remembering Elder Montoya's words. As if I
were a social worker in my community involved with the struggles within families, inside homes,
between husbands and wives and, thus,
between them and children gaining their autonomy; seeing routinely that terrible, poignant fear with which
displaced children struggle; reckoning often with youth or anyone at all having to fend for themselves, demoralized, uncertain, scrounging... as if I
were a social worker – a difference-maker – but I'm not – my heart is alert to and pricked by and broken at this example and the others.
Have you ever thought of being as truly good and
up-lifting as Mother Theresa?
I think about it all the time. As charitable as people who've volunteered in the Peace Corps or military or community? As consecrated as men and women in leadership and missionary ranks in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? As dedicated as many who donate months and $$$ and energy to serve the impoverished and displaced?
I think about it.
I'm a stay-at-home person who doesn't even help in my community.
Though I think about this, too: "Sometimes," writes President Howard W. Hunter, "we dwell on our failures while ignoring
aspects of our lives that may contain elements of true greatness... surely they include the things that must be done in order to be a good father or a good mother, but, to generalize, they are also the thousands of little deeds and tasks of service and sacrifice that constitute the giving or losing of one’s life for others and for the Lord. They include gaining a knowledge of our Father in Heaven and His gospel. They include bringing others into the faith and fellowship of His kingdom. These things do not usually receive the attention or the adulation of the world."
"Surely we need not look far to see... those who quietly and consistently do the things they ought to do. I am talking about those who are always there and always willing. I am referring to the uncommon valor of the mother who—hour after hour, day and night—will stay with and care for a sick child, or the invalid who struggles and suffers without complaint. I’m including those who always volunteer to give blood. … I am thinking of those who may not be mothers but who nevertheless “mother” the children of the world. I am speaking of those who are always there to love and nurture."
"I am also talking about teachers and nurses and farmers and others who do the good work of the world, who teach and feed and clothe, but who also, in addition, do the work of the Lord—
those who lift and love."
True Greatness, February 2016 Ensign
I love these words! By them I better feel equal to the scriptures' and Elder Montoya's counsel to bear another's burden... that, without yearning to be employed at it, or recruited to it, or much-troubled or concerned. Thus, to feel responsible and volunteer as I can; as it's appropriate; as I have resources and stability myself. To watch for ones to run to and rescue; besides, link arms and hands with others doing it too.
I know when my own head drops and I shed tears or can't smile or need to talk (or
don't) I'm succored by this same resolve in others.
This is good.
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Story from "LARRY H MILLER: Driven"
One night during the summer of my 16th year I returned home to find my world turned upside down. It was late, close to 11 p.m., and I had walked home through the summer night on Capitol Hill as I often did after being out with friends. It was a typical evening, with a cool breeze stirring the maples overhead. I counted my steps as I walked, which remains one of my odd habits. As I approached our house, I saw three sacks on the porch and wondered what they contained. I walked up the stairs and onto the porch, peeked into the sacks and was stunned by what I saw. They were filled with my clothes.
I was confused. What was going on?
I tried the front door knob. Locked. I walked around to the side of the house to try the walkout basement door. Locked.
The house was dark, but I knew my family was in there.
Slowly the realization of what had happened washed over me: I had been kicked out of the house.
But why?
I didn't know what to do, especially at this late hour. I was moving as if in a dream. I was too wounded to knock on the door and ask my parents what was going on. I did the only thing I could think to do: I picked up the three bags, hugging them to my chest, and walked down the hill to Gail's house. We had been dating for about a year now, and I spent a lot of time at her home. Her parents agreed to let me stay the night on their couch.
The next day I walked to the Haslams' house, which was three blocks from my own home. They had six boys, and I was a frequent visitor to their house. After I explained what had happened, they invited me to stay with them. At some point in the weeks that followed, Mr. Haslam — his name was Dale — sat me down to discuss the situation. He came off as a gruff man, but really he had a heart of gold. He made me feel welcome in his home, and I wound up living there for six months. I slept in a bunk bed on the back porch, which had been walled in.
During all that time, I never had any contact with my family, just three blocks away. I felt empty and displaced, but I did not have longings to return home, probably because of the tension that existed there. As Christmas approached, I finally began to experience some of those longings, so I called my mother and told her simply, "I think it's time to come home." Her response was cool. "You'll have to talk to your dad," she said. Two days before Christmas I moved back home. It was 1963.
Nothin' much going on but February changing to March. Got a cold a couple of days ago that's got me sneezing my head off and blowing my nose and wiping my eyes. Ow, my cheeks ache! Other body parts are workin' okay though, that's good, though shoot all the time I'm kinda' creaky.
This little dude wraps up in masking tape in the end, wild-eyed, for fear he'll lose all his body parts! Last week, with a crazy hip ache that was me (fallin' apart, yah). I have an inversion table to which I 
