A few Sundays back my husband headed off to church early. As he approached the front doors two women with a baby and child in tow stopped him at the door. They were asking for money to feed their children. As they did not look familiar at all, in fact, more foreign in dress, he asked them where they were from.
Romania.
Having some familiarity with the Romanian culture (one of my sons served a mission there and Moldova) my dear husband asked them if they were gypsies.
Offended a bit, they claimed “no, no.”
Now my husband is the first to hand out money, buy wilting roses from the guy at the intersection, bags of oranges from the vendor at the street corner, or other park dwellers that claim they need $16.43 for a chicken dinner for their family. However skeptical he may be, he offers them money (and sometimes a $20 bill) and never worries about how they will be using it. I must admit, I would have a difficult time giving that much away. However, he does not usually take money to church, or even carry his wallet on Sunday morning.
So he tells the young Romanian women to wait there and he will go get them something. They are hesitant, claiming that Mormons only take care of their own, and “could you please direct us to the nearest Catholic Church?”
Naturally my husband wanted to prove them wrong, and hustled home to get some food.Mind you, this is one of the first Sundays in a long time that I actually got up early and made “Chicken Rosemary” for dinner. I was surprised to hear him back home again, ladling up some of our meal and putting it into a plastic container.
So, instead of saying, (which came to my mind first) “hey, what are you doing with our dinner?” I handed him over a loaf of bread and an unopened jar of peanut butter to contribute to his efforts.
He found the women still waiting, and offered them a grocery bag of food and some cash. They asked him what time church got out, hoping they could catch some other members to contribute to their cause, but were a little taken back when they heard it would be three hours. Directions to the Catholic church were accepted and my husband went into our meeting.
After the first hour he stepped outside to see if they were still there–and sure enough they were sitting on the grass, eating the bread and feeding the chicken to their young ones. (I must admit I kind of thought they would just chuck the food and keep the cash.) But by the third hour they had long disappeared.
This I have learned — it is not my call to decide if they truly need the money. The money I have is truly a gift, in that God gives us the opportunities, talents and situations when we have “earned” money.
We work by faith–faith that if we work hard and not hoard the money that flows to us, we will have more than enough. The test is not only for the beggars, but for us. Are we willing to part with the money we often believe we have earned through our own efforts?
It is much easier to give, believing that in a way it has been given to us as well. Should we be careful to not give our money to those bums that will drink it all away? Or should we not be guilty of judging those “who putteth up his petition to you for your substance…and condemn him..” (Mosiah 4)
“Indolent and unworthy the beggar may be—but that is not your concern: It is better, said Joseph Smith, to feed ten impostors than to run the risk of turning away one honest petition.” (Hugh Nibley, Approaching Zion)
It is especially hard when you have struggled for so long and are yourselves in debt. Some may say it is stupid. I could certainly rationalize that until I pay all my debts I cannot give, or maybe just say in my heart I would if I could. Yet, I will buy something for myself that I know I could have gone without.
Some principles of the gospel are easier to read about than to practice. I must not forget that I am a beggar as well, calling upon God to help me, for just about everything.
