I've learned that the more I sink into my writing, the harder it is to talk to people. Well, living people. I'm so busy writing dialogue and making sure everything flows, that I forget there are real, live people out there that might want to talk to me.
Enter my church calling. My husband and I were called as the heads of the service committee. We help find service to do and make sure the ward knows what's going on. In order to do that I have to talk to people—even if it's mostly by text. It has been amazing. I've helped enough people move in to the ward, we're at the point where when I get a call to move someone, my kids don't ask why they have to go, it's "When are we leaving?" All the way down to my four year old.
Has it made it easier for me to get out and talk to my neighbors? Not really. I'll do the service and sneak back to my couch. But it's allowed me to help those that are in need.
This last month my ward has been doing a service project for missionaries in Africa. We're helping fill bags so that those in Africa that want to can go on missions. I wasn't sure how it would go, but I wanted to try to get bags for an elder and a sister.
The offerings have been amazing. I have wanted to sit and let tears pour down my face as I go through bags and bags of items that were donated.
While I may not know this elder and this sister, I hope they'll know how much love went into putting their bags together. I never want to forget how to reach out a hand and help my neighbors when they need it most.