The Loaf of Bread

"Heavenly Father, help me to be an instrument in your hands today," I prayed as I kneaded bread dough on my kitchen counter. That morning I'd awakened thinking about a woman in our ward, feeling like I should stop by and see her, but not sure why.  Since I had no special reason to visit I thought I would take her a loaf of bread.  If she needed to talk I'd stay, if not I'd just drop off my gift.  But still, I wanted to know if it was Heavenly Father prompting me, or just my imagination.  

 At least once a week I made bread or cinnamon rolls to take to people in our ward.  It always surprised me when someone received the gift with, "How did you know I was feeling down today?" or "You must really be inspired.  I was hoping someone would come see me."  I loved feeling like I was being an instrument in the Lord's hands, and just hoped I was listening closely enough to hear whenever he called on me to help.

As my bread baked I dressed and put on makeup.  When the timer rang I anxiously took the loaves out of the oven, thankful they looked OK.  Usually my bread worked out, but once in a while it didn't rise right.  If it had fallen today I'd have been too embarrassed to take it as a gift. Then what excuse would I have for visiting the sister who was still on my mind?

"Something must really be wrong at her house," I worried as I rubbed butter over the hot loaf of bread, then wrapped it in a napkin and carried it out to my ugly, old brown station wagon. 

"I won't be gone long," I told the kids and their babysitter.  During the school year I ran errands while Linnea, Holly, and Russell were at school, taking Alyssa and Stephen with me.   But it was summer, and I couldn't take all five kids along, so I'd asked one of the teenage girls in our ward to stay with them this morning.

Getting in our car I held my breath and turned the key.  The engine sputtered and choked, but it started.  I was never quite sure if that old car was going to start or not, and when I drove down the street it made such a racket everyone in the neighborhood knew I was coming, but at least it worked.  Sheldon had bartered the old car away from someone a few months earlier, and I really did love having my own vehicle, but it sure was embarrassing to be seen driving that rattletrap.  What I wouldn't give for a new car.  “But at least we don't have a car payment,” I told myself.

It was already 105 degrees outside, although it was only 10:00 in the morning. My makeup dripped down my face while my hair swirled around in the wind as I drove the two blocks to the sister's house I was going to visit.  The old car didn't have air-conditioning, and I wondered why I'd even bothered putting makeup on? Oh well.

I parked the car in front of a nice, two-story house.  "Everything looks fine from here," I thought as I walked up the front side-walk and stepped onto the porch.  There were no ambulances, police tape, or other signs of catastrophy.  "I wonder why I felt prompted to come?"

I rang the door bell and stood on the front porch, just a tiny bit apprehensive about how I would be greeted.  "Please help me to have the spirit guide me," I silently prayed.  I knew I wasn't good at saying the right things or being compassionate all by myself, but with the Lord's help I could do anything.

It took awhile, but finally I heard someone on the other side of the door and it opened, revealing a cute young woman, dressed up and looking like a million dollars.  She smiled when she saw me, but raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw the loaf of bread I was carrying.

"Hi," I told her, a little taken back by how nice she looked in her stylish clothes and fresh makeup.  She sure didn't show any signs of stress or grief.  What was I doing here?

"I was baking bread this morning, and thought about you and wondered if you'd like a loaf?" I told her, half apologetically.  Maybe someone who lived in an expensive house and wore designer clothes would be offended by a plain old loaf of homemade bread.

"Thank you," she said graciously, reaching out for my gift.  "That was really nice of you."

She didn't open the door wider and invite me in, she didn't burst into tears and say, "Oh, how did you know I really needed someone to talk to today," she didn't even look particularly pleased that I was there, but I didn't give up.

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to get to know you yet," I tried, smiling my warmest smile and hoping she would look at it and not my messy hair or runny makeup or sweaty clothes, and especially not behind me out on the street at my old, run down car.  "I don't know many of the sisters in Relief Society yet.  I used to work with the Young Women, but I'm trying to get to know everyone now."

She just smiled at me.  "Oh," was all she said.

"Well, I guess I'll get going," I finished lamely, not able to think of anything else to say.  "I hope you enjoy the bread and have a good day.  There's not anything I can do for you, is there?" I added in a last, vain attempt to be helpful.  Hadn't the Lord prompted me to come here today because she needed me?

"No, I'm good," she replied cheerfully.  "Thanks for the bread."  And with that she shut the door.

"So much for being an instrument in the Lord's hands," I thought as I walked dejectedly back down her sidewalk and got into my stiflingly hot car.  "I must have been letting my imagination run away with me this morning."

I inserted the keys in the ignition, thankfully the car choked into life, and gingerly I held onto the burning steering wheel with just my fingers as I turned the car around and headed home.

"That was really embarrassing," I thought.  "Obviously, she didn't need me or my bread.  I wonder why I thought I needed to go see her.  Maybe I've been letting this calling go to my head and I need a dose of humility.  Just because I think about somebody doesn't mean the Spirit is prompting me to go save them or something."

I felt pretty dumb all morning as I cleaned up my kitchen and did the rest of my housework.   But then I got to thinking.  So what if the Lord hadn't prompted me to go see this sister?  Did it do any harm to take her a loaf of bread?   Maybe she didn't need it, but doing something nice for somebody never made things worse. 

By the end of the day I had come to the decision that I could never do bad by trying to do good.  The worst it could do was make someone happy when I gave them a treat, and making people happy was a good thing.  Maybe it wasn't saving the world or being an answer to prayers, but sometimes it was.  So I made up my mind to just go ahead and do whatever nice thing came into my head, and not worry whether it was a prompting or not. 

Interestingly enough, one Sunday about three months later I was in a Welfare meeting when our Bishop mentioned staying up all night counseling with a couple in our ward.  He didn't tell names, but from the way he talked I knew it was the same girl I had taken my loaf of bread to. Putting two and two together, I also realized the night he was talking about was the night before my visit.  Maybe I had been prompted after all.