Sacrifice

My Mom has a sister named Wanda.  My grandparents fostered and then adopted her when she was 14 and my Mom, their oldest, was little.  She grew up and moved out to New York.  I knew about her and saw her picture on the wall of family pride but did not meet her until I was an adult.  I've only seen her a handful of times since, but we exchange Christmas cards and are Facebook friends.
I wanted you to meet her here, because today she taught me what sacrifice is.
This morning I went out to the mailbox; a chore I have been stalling on because I know there are bills lurking in its silvery depths.  I found an envelope from Wanda in the mix of flyers, people wanting our money, and those that we actually owe money to.  On the card, a cute, fuzzy faced river otter smiled up at me and from it's fold spilled a gift.  I'm not given to hyperbole (much), but I gasped.
This morning I learned that sacrifice isn't giving something that is a pleasure to give-- it is giving what you can't afford to give to someone who has less.
I'm not sure I've ever done that.  I know that tithing is a sacrifice, but it's never felt like one.  It's a law.  We obey it.  I know that motherhood is a sacrifice, and there are times I feel its toll, but I don't feel like I absolutely put my kids first all the time.  
When I serve, I tend to do it with baked goods or a laugh; things that I find enjoyable.  Is that a sacrifice if it is a pleasure?
When we walked through the National Cemetery in Montana and our own closer to home, there was a sacred feeling permeating the air.  It is the feeling created when a sacrifice is sanctified.  It is made when some ordinary person does the extraordinary by giving what they can't afford to lose to someone else.
There will probably be more than one lesson we learn through this particular phase of our life, but I hope this one sticks with me through out.  I will not take for granted the gifts and the offerings people give to us.  I will not forget the laundry washed, dried, folded and brought back to my house.  I will not forget the words of encouragement or the hugs of concern.  I don't want to forget.  As hard as it is to be the one with less (and we are so far away from having "less") it may be what saves us in the end, because we are beginning to recognize the humility it takes to graciously accept from others the sacrifice they are willing to make in our behalf.