Is there value in small sacrifices?

Photo by Xavier Mouton on Unsplash

Seamus Heaney, the Northern Irish poet wrote a poem about one of his favourite aunts, Aunty Mary. It’s called Sunlight. As he approaches the last stanza, we almost hear him whispering in our ear… 

“And here is love, 

like a tinsmith’s scoop

sunk past its gleam

in the meal bin”.

The poem is all about love. And it’s also about that part of love that we are all familiar with, the making of small sacrifices. Her love is hidden deep down in the flour bin like a tarnished scoop. It is genuine, authentic, and above all it is shown through small deeds of service to her family, many of which go unnoticed. 

All mothers know this.

There is no change without sacrifice

I don’t think any of us would latch on to the word sacrifice and say ‘Cool, bring it on.’ Sacrifice isn’t something we gravitate towards eagerly.  

Or maybe you do?

What makes up a full, almost perfect Love?

Recently during Lockdown a friend sent me a video of Bosco Gutierrez-Cortina who had been held in captivity for nine months. His talk entitled ‘Confined but Free’ charted his days in prison. 

In it he recounts how shortly after he was captured, he fell into a deep depression. He had been stripped naked, isolated, and left in a tiny space all day long. One day things changed. It was Mexican Independence Day, and he had persuaded the guards to bring him a large glass of whiskey to celebrate.  He also wanted to blot out the awful smells and tastes around him and savour a pleasant smell, full of happy memory. As he drew the glass to his lips, he could hear a small voice saying, ‘Give it to me.’

He didn’t know if it was his conscience or God who was speaking to him. Naturally, he wrestled with this plea, thinking he had enough suffering already without adding to it by relinquishing this small luxury in this, his living hell.  After a conflict which lasted several minutes, he decided to yield and not drink the whiskey. Instead, he poured it heroically down the small toilet in the room. 

Very soon after that, his whole outlook on the situation changed radically.  His depression suddenly lifted, and he found himself thinking of all the people in his life, his friends and family,  who would need him to be well when he was released. He started living for the future.  He began to clean the space around him daily, to develop an exercise routine, to pray, to offer up small sacrifices for his family, his friends and even for the guards around him.  He also managed to befriend some of the guards who became inspired by his courage and his outlook.

From renouncing a glass of whiskey, this man began to construct a style of life which helped him deal better with his dismal surroundings. And finally, he managed to mobilise the mental and physical energy to escape and make his way home. 

Hopefully, our lives and escapades will not be so dramatic. But there is no doubt that the giving and receiving of genuine love it would seem is intimately linked to sacrifice. 

True love is selfless not selfish

We all know what it is to love and feel loved. And the act of loving often means moving away from our egos and our selfishness and taking on another person’s life and tastes. 

I spent a good deal of time caring for my dad when he was in his late nineties. A lot of those days the sun always seemed to shine from a cloudless blue sky outside. I used to think how lovely it would be to sit outside with a good book and soak up the sunshine. 

However, the reality was quite different. And yet, the joy of seeing my dad standing up from his meal and smiling in contentment was enough for me to believe that I was on the right track. I am not saying it was easy. It was not. It took sacrifice. And sometimes it took more than sacrifice. It asked of me patience and charity and kindness. To start looking for his glasses or his phone, or his book for the millionth time that day. Still, there was the satisfaction of seeing him content in his own home, reading or praying away quietly in his chair in the sun porch.

My experience has been that small sacrifices are well worth it even if they cost us, and maybe especially when they cost us.

I think we all know what it means to have to wait (for what seems like forever) for a friend who turns up late or having to listen to someone’s story for the millionth time, and still try to appear interested and engaged. I suppose these little sacrifices are another opportunity to forget about ourselves, and put someone else first.

Certainly, the good feelings that accompany small sacrifices are unforgettable. If you don’t believe me, try it out for yourself!

Forfeit that glass of wine, or that cup of coffee once or twice even. Save the money and give it to someone who is homeless on the street. You will be surprised at how good you feel inside.  And you might even hear a story that will surprise or shock you. You certainly will feel better. Because you have forgotten yourself. 

Try it!