A 17-year old boy spoke in our sacrament meeting this Sunday on his recent trip to India. I live in an affluent part of Salt Lake and I could tell by the words and sentence structure this young man used that he had probably been enrolled in advanced classes since middle school. At first, I wasn’t looking forward to his talk because I thought it might be more about what he did and how poor the people were, what he brought to them. But he surprised me. He said that even through their poverty, family was the central part of their lives and children the pride of parents. He may not have stated it this way, but his heart was softened, expanded because of what he saw.
While he was speaking, I looked about the congregation and wondered what blessings and love we were missing because we were too haughty. A ward in Salt Lake City, with women dressed in fur-lined vests, children with Ralph Lauren bow ties, teens with $300 boots…and it made me a little sad. I’m no exception, I get caught up in it too. It made me wonder what I was missing. And then I remembered all of the refreshing times I’ve spent with the humble people of the earth, those who are truly meek. I have met orphans in Port-au-Prince, I’ve met 4’10 Peruvians in Cachicadan, I’ve met a pre-school director in Armenia, villagers in Ghana, Cubans in Salt Lake City—each of them with the earned countenance of meekness. I’ve been lucky enough to meet people who ‘will inherit the earth’ after all of their trials and refining.
And you know, the likelihood of meeting the meek is so much greater in developing countries rather than developed ones. That’s why I love to go to them so much. I see real love. As just one example: I left the USA for the first time for Romania when I was 16. My brother had served a mission there and we were able to visit some of the families he had grown close to. Most families lived in apartment blocs, tall cement buildings from Communist times. The Radus were one such family and they had invited us for dinner.
Enter apartment: Bright pink brocade wall paper, faded, with a few paintings on the walls, also faded. A wooden coffee table that I couldn’t tell whether was old enough to be considered classic or just old. Worn furniture, but very clean. It was a peaceful place, a beautiful place. For dinner the single mother of 3 had made us sarmalas, rice and sausage stuffed cabbage leaves. I loved them! For dessert she had made a cake, a cake with pure butter frosting decorated with raisins. I just couldn’t bring myself to eat pure butter. I can’t remember what I did with the butter I couldn’t eat, but I hope it wasn’t offensive. It was a lovely dinner and a lovely place to feel love. On our way back to our hotel, my brother told us they had probably saved for a month to give us such a fine dinner, and that their dinners would be small for quite some time afterwards. I am still moved by that sacrifice. And sometimes I am envious that I have so much I may never really know what that feeling is like.
So this post is dedicated to the meek, my friends and family who exemplify this virtue, and all of those who will never be recognized for obtaining such a state of being.
