It was a Friday, just a few days before Christmas, and I had a lot to do. Besides being the day of preparation for the Sabbath, I was coordinating a Christmas program at church the next day and had a million preparations. But as I started the day tending to our dog's injuries, which she had sustained a few days earlier, I realized my day wouldn't go as planned. Her injuries were beyond my control, and she was at risk of dying if I waited until Monday. I would have to take her to the vet immediately, and that would change all my plans.

Very frustrated and questioning God, I went to town to take her to the vet with the help of one of my daughters. After leaving there, the hours flew by as we rushed from one store to another, buying what we still needed. We returned home to help my husband and my other daughter, who had stayed behind preparing the house for the Sabbath. Two hours later, we were back at the vet picking up the dog. Now I just needed to stop by the pharmacy to pick up some medicine, and I would be home before sunset.

As I turned the last corner in the town square to get to the pharmacy, "Boommm!!" I heard a huge bang, and smoke started pouring from my car's engine. My daughter screamed, scared, thinking the car might catch fire. Not knowing what to do, I saw several people start to approach, and an older gentleman instructed me to steer while they pushed the car to the shoulder.

When the car stopped, he asked me to open the hood, asked for water, and stood there assessing the situation. Meanwhile, I managed to get my daughter and the dog out of the car and call my husband to come help me. But living almost thirty kilometers away, I knew my wait would be long and that my Sabbath wouldn't be so peaceful.

The sun slowly set on the horizon, and there I sat on a park bench, with my daughter beside me, the injured dog, and the broken-down car. In my mind, I kept thinking, "Why, Lord? Of all days in the year, why did this have to happen today?"

Despite feeling completely helpless in the situation, I strangely felt a great peace in my heart and surrendered the situation to God. It was then, despite all the adversity, that God began to open my eyes to something I hadn't been able to see. That gentleman who was looking at the car stayed there for a long time. He didn't leave until he was sure we were okay and that my husband would soon arrive to help us.

While we waited, several people strolled through the square where musicians were preparing for a Christmas concert that would soon begin. Many people passed us; some looked at the dog with pity, others at the car, and others at us. Some even asked what had happened but quickly left.

Some time later, a well-dressed lady crossed the street and came directly towards us. She had a bottle of water and a disposable cup in her hands. She immediately bent down, approached the dog, petted her head, and poured water into the cup for her to drink. The dog was truly thirsty and drank all the water in seconds. Seeing that it wasn't enough, the lady returned to the store she had come from and brought more water. She stayed with us for a while, talking and giving the dog water, and when she was sure we were okay, she left.

After those two people passed us, I could barely think about our situation anymore, but I was amazed, wondering what compelled those two strangers to stop what they were doing to help us. Everyone else rushed past. Some were in a hurry to get home after a long work week, and some were already coming from home, dressed up to stroll in the square. But that gentleman and that lady, who had nothing to gain, who hadn't even been asked, felt it was their duty to stop and help us in some way.

Perhaps you might think that what they did wasn't that important, that anyone could have done it. True, but the point isn't the magnitude of the action, but the magnitude of the willingness. Because often we fail to do even more insignificant things, as we think it's not our responsibility. And why does this happen? Why do we often see people in need and can't help them? Why do we see busy people next to us, and we don't have the slightest awareness that it's our duty to help them? Why is it that, generally speaking, we only help when asked?

I wonder if the spirit of selflessness, which was the foundation of Jesus' life and should be ours too, is something only some possess. Is it a gift only for a few, or can all of us develop it? Will selflessness one day be so natural for us that we will always be attentive to those around us to offer help?

I've come to the conclusion that this is my resolution for 2019: I want to have the sensitivity Jesus had to perceive the needs of others and always be willing to help them. How far I feel from that! How difficult it is for us to step out of our comfort zones to help others!

For us Christians, this should be the norm, but often it isn't. We even find it easy to help large missionary and charitable projects, but in the smallest things, we still struggle greatly. But God doesn't expect us to be selfless only in grand projects; to Him, what humans value doesn't hold as much worth, and what we devalue is more precious than anything.

“Many have surrendered to Christ, yet they see no opportunity to perform great works or make great sacrifices in His service. These may find comfort in the thought that it is not necessarily the self-denial of the martyr that is most acceptable to God; it may be that the missionary who daily faces danger and death does not hold the highest place in the records of Heaven. The Christian who is such in his private life, in daily self-renunciation, in sincerity of purpose and purity of thought, in meekness under provocation, in faith and piety, in faithfulness in the smallest things, who in family life represents the character of Christ—this one may be more precious in the eyes of God than the missionary or martyr of worldwide fame.” (Christ's Object Lessons, 390).

May God help us to be selfless and offer help to those in need, even if it doesn't come naturally to us, or if it costs us to step out of our comfort zone.

Rute Bazan

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