- December 20, 2024
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Days before Hurricane Milton became a threat to our area, I decided to go with friends from church to help remove trees damaged by Hurricane Helene. As I put him to bed on Saturday night, I told my son, Luke, that I was going to miss him while I was gone on Sunday. I have been feeling burned out lately from work, so I was throwing a pity party in my head: Why can’t I just relax for once?
“Just do what I did in kindergarten,” suggested Luke, who is now in first grade. “I brought a picture of Mom with me, and, whenever I missed her, I would look at the picture.”
It was dark in his bedroom, but I could see the outline of his little face in the light from the hallway.
“Did you look at the picture often?” I asked.
He nodded earnestly.
The next day, I got up early and, with my 14-year-old daughter, Ellie, drove across the state to meet up with other members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and their friends who wanted to join in.
Under the threat of more rain, we spent the morning of Oct. 6 cutting up a cedar tree that had fallen on the roof of a little old lady’s shed and fence in a tiny town called Jasper, Florida.
Two chainsaws hummed in a strange harmony, spraying maroon sawdust from the heart of the tree. The logs hauled by volunteers in tandem were heavy, but the mood was light. Why was everyone smiling during strenuous manual labor?
I shouldn’t have been surprised. It happens every time when I volunteer to serve, no matter how reluctant I am when I begin. The sacrifice to serve is usually small — half a day away from my family — but the rewards are great: relief from burnout, satisfied exhaustion, hugs from a 6-year-old waiting at home.
