The man at the rest stop

"And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her"

He appeared out of nowhere. I’ll never know how my mother saw him. Was he a hitchhiker, or had his car finally just given out when he pulled off the freeway west of Pendleton? I don’t remember what he looked like, or whether he was old or young. Something tells me he was thin, but perhaps I’m just imagining that? I know she gave him money, but I don’t know how much. I may have asked her when she got back to the car, but she probably wouldn’t have told me.

We were traveling back home from visiting my grandparents in Union, Oregon. For reasons I don’t recall, my dad wasn’t with us. Just mom and us five kids, tooling along in the white family station wagon. If the pattern held, she had packed us a lunch before we left Union. We rarely stopped at a fast-food restaurant when we traveled. Were my parents poor, or just frugal? Perhaps one led to the other? It would’ve been summertime and in that stretch of road, likely hot. We weren’t at the rest stop for more than a few minutes. If we ate lunch, it would’ve been simple. White bread sandwiches (Bologna? Tuna?) and maybe an apple and some plain potato chips. A quick trip to the bathrooms and then back into the car.

We’d driven maybe 25 yards when suddenly, right in the middle of the road, we stopped. Everyone probably asked her what was wrong, but almost before we could she had opened the door and started walking back toward the rest stop. Had we left something behind? I turned to see her, my mother, all five feet of her, approaching this man and extending something to him. I instantly understood she was handing him money. It likely wasn’t more than $5-$10 dollars. And then, almost as quickly as she had left, she came back to the car, closed the door, and we drove away.

I think I watched him until we merged onto the freeway and he disappeared from view. Did he just stand there, or did he turn and walk back to the rest stop? I don’t know. But in that brief, fleeting moment, framed within the back window of our station wagon, I was taught a lesson I’m still trying to learn more than 45 years later: To see others as the Savior sees them.

This was not some isolated thing my mother did. It was standard operating procedure. She has lived in a state of seeing “the least of these” her entire life. In ways large and small, and in moments where someone was at their lowest place, she has somehow managed to arrive at exactly when being seen was desperately needed and known just how to bind up their wounds. If a Sunday School teacher had ever mentioned the story of the Good Samaritan (and if I would’ve been listening) I would have instinctively thought of my mother.

I wish I could say she passed this virtue down to me, but such was not the case. At the risk of being politically incorrect, it seems to be something that most of the women I know, including my wife and daughters, are much better at than I am. They just notice those in need better than I do

All of this to say what is likely already obvious: The Savior was and is our perfect example of seeing and caring for the one. Again and again, while on His way to someone in need, He would help someone en route. Some of my favorite stories are of Him doing so. I’ll share just one. It’s actually found in a chapter with several of my favorite examples of Jesus ministering to the “least”: Luke 7. In this story, He arrives in the city of Nain having traveled from Capernum, a distance of almost 30 miles. (Google Maps tells me that is a walk of over ten hours, by the way.)

And it came to pass the day after, that he went into a city called Nain; and many of his disciples went with him, and much people.

Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow: and much people of the city was with her.

And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not.

And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.

And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother.

Luke 7:11-15

That’s the entire account. He enters the city at the precise moment that this large group is preparing to exit, carrying this widow’s last remaining family member to be buried. From the written account it appears that Jesus had no other reasons to be in Nain. This bereft widow was yet one more “man at the rest stop,” yet another unnamed straggler who was seen by Jesus. This pattern is repeated again and again during the Savior’s ministry. On almost every page in the four Gospels we read stories of Him noticing someone no one else had noticed and healing or consoling them.

So, what to do? Personally, a reset is needed. Asking each day, over and over, for eyes to see and a heart to respond. Looking more carefully, more slowly, without judgement, for the man at the rest stop, the widow of Nain, my sisters and brothers who may feel unseen. But that moment of seeing is also the moment of testing. So easy NOT to cross the road. So much less work to think that “someone else” will take care of the need. In that turning away is my sin. And my sins of turning away are many.

Therefore, what? How to see others as He would? A very small list:

• Less screen time and more face time. Look around. Observe. Force myself to see.

• Ask for names. Every time I remember to do this in prayer, someone’s name comes to mind. Every single time. Sometimes before I have even finished asking.

• Learn from those who do this well and try to be more like them.

• Act without delay when a name, a face, or a feeling to help comes. Stop second-guessing the inspiration and just do.

This is the hardest thing.

To be more like my mom. To be more like Him.

Next week, we’ll attempt to see “through a glass, darkly;” what it means to face impossible choices and to keep going. I’ll also share the reason why this may be my favorite picture ever of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. See you next Sunday afternoon!