I have had a mad case of writer’s block lately. But guess what? That’s not something I can really afford as writing is my whole internship right now. So what am I to do when I’ve run out of original thoughts, ideas, and passions? I tell stories.
For some reason, it’s real easy to get down about the world. People are terrible. The way the world works is terrible. Having to work a 9 to 5 or go stir crazy at home with kids day after day is terrible. Paying for school without promise of a well-paying job in the future is terrible. The list goes on.
So today I write of moments when my faith in humanity (and life) was restored.
The first is a mission story.
I was serving in the small town of Muskogee, Oklahoma, and was training a new missionary. One morning, one of our tires went completely flat. I knew we had a spare in the trunk but had no idea how to put it on (don’t worry, I’ve since learned to be a strong, independent woman).
Luckily, one of our neighbors found us outside and offered to do it for us. He never really talked to us before and was rather rough around the edges, but we stood and had a nice conversation as he replaced our tire.
Just then, another neighbor came outside. He happened to work at a tire center and offered to get our flat patched until we could take it in to get replaced (driving on a spare all over town is not a good idea).
It seems minor as I tell the story, but we were strange “Mormons” in a Bible-belt town where people were often afraid of or hated us, and both neighbors offered their help without so much as batting an eye. It meant the world to me as a young girl in a “foreign” town who wasn’t sure what to do.
The second is a love story. Or not.
There was a boy I dated for a while after my first breakup who treated me better than any boy ever has. We had so much fun together, but it just wasn’t right. He broke things off because he could tell I wasn’t feeling it as much as he was (mainly because I wasn’t over my ex). Then he came back and asked for another chance.
Again, we had fun, but my heart wasn’t fully in it, so I ended things. He took it well, but I knew it hurt him.
A few months later, I had just found out my ex was engaged, and I was a devastated mess. The boy I ended things with stopped by to drop off a book he had borrowed. We hadn’t talked in 2 months (in fact, I didn’t think we’d ever talk again), but he stayed with me the rest of the day.
He never asked what was wrong, just gave me a big hug and somehow found ways to make me laugh. Although he didn’t know it, I could not believe that the boy whose heart I had broken was sitting with me through my heartbreak. There was no hidden agenda—we haven’t talked since—just a friend who cared enough to pause his life and lift me up.
The third is my favorite story.
Wendi is my older sister with Down Syndrome who, every year, participates in a Special Needs talent show. Most years are roughly the same. There’s a girl who always shows everyone her a scrapbook, a boy who always lip syncs, another girl who always tells jokes, etc.
But this year, there was a new face on the stage. He was very tall, had dark skin, and a kind face. He was a bit shy but proceeded to sing his heart out (rather out-of-tune) to a Jason Mraz song. Pretty soon, a bunch of high school girls who were helping out with the show ran to the foot of the stage cheering and throwing their hands up like fans at a concert.
The smile on the boy’s face was priceless. He leaned forward, touching their hands like a true heart-throb singer and began to belt even louder. The audience went wild and started clapping to the beat.
I’ve never been more proud to be a part of something.
Really, it’s these moments that have kept me going. I encourage you to make your own bullet list or keep a journal of moments in your life that restore your faith in humanity once again. They’re there, I promise.