Of Life and Times

When I was a single father with four children life was hard. The Church would have nothing to do with me. The Primary wouldn't help me because there was no woman in the home, the Relief Society, the same. I had three girls, two of which were entering puberty, and no one to give me advice or take them under their wing and act as role model for them. The priesthood brethren were completely clueless. They would plan an activity at 6:30 in the evening and expect me to be there. I told them that I was commuting from SLC to Lehi and sometimes didn't get home until almost 7:00 p.m. because they were working on the roads at the time. Then I had to fix dinner, help with homework, clean house, get the kids ready for bed and still spend time with them so they felt like they had a parent and not just a housekeeper. Their response to my objection was, "just have your wife fix their dinner." Clueless to the end. The Church was my mainstay, and I was completely abandoned by all I had been raised to believe would be there for me in a time of trial.

Then there was the food or lack there of. I had to go each week to the Bishop's Storehouse to get food. My self esteem was so low at that time. I failed at everything. I couldn't braid my girls hair well enough for them to be seen in public; I couldn't earn enough for them to be able to do things at school, so they would lie to me or just tell me that nothing was happening so I wouldn't stress out when I couldn't afford the cost of their field trip or class activity. Instead they just stayed in the office while the others went on the excursion. That used to tear me up.

When I would go to the Storehouse for our food order I would go early so I could put in a couple of hours of work before they opened. I would move pallets, sweep floors, stock shelves, move boxes, and so forth. The amazing thing about the whole experience was those who worked in the Storehouse. I was always Bro. Merrill. There was always expressions of gratitude for the service I rendered. No one ever snubbed me or treated me as badly as I already felt about myself. Instead, I was constantly thanked and treated with the utmost kindness. They would ask my permission to ask me to do something that I "might" find objectionable. When we were finished with all the work, and it really was light work at that, one of the sisters would spend a couple of hours in the kitchen cooking a home-cooked meal for all the people who had come to the Storehouse that day. They made sure that we never left the Storehouse hungry. They cooked using the food they served to those picking up orders. It was always delicious and filling.

After lunch the Storehouse would open and I would help people fill their orders for a while before I had to leave to take my own order back home. On several occasions the Church employees would send me home with extra candy they had or an extra bag of nuts at Christmas, something that was above and beyond the actual order. They always made me feel like I was doing them a favor for taking it to my children.

To this day, a whole generation later, I cannot speak of my experience of the time I spent in the Bishop's Storehouse without weeping for the goodness those people showed me. At a time in my life when I could do no right, in the Bishop's Storehouse I could do no wrong. That experience has permanently shaped my view on charitable giving. I bless the Lord, and those people, and pray that I might be able to be that good to someone else and bless their life as those people blessed mine.