Marianne sat staring at the computer screen. She resumed typing hesitantly: "For the Lord to be real in our lives, we must continually be open to His leading--" the telephone rang. With the cursor paused after leading, Marianne exhaled and answered the phone: "Hello? Oh, Dawn, hi. Yes, yes, I'll be at the writers' conference tomorrow night. Listen, can I talk to you later? I have to finish this article for Christian Family Life Today. Thanks." She hung up and turned back to her screen.

 Tortuously, she continued typing: "even when it interrupts our previously planned schedules"--the telephone rang again.

 Marianne banged the keyboard in frustration. "Hello!"

 A pause. "Uh, did I catch you at a bad time?" After a moment Marianne recognized the voice as belonging to Carla, her next-door neighbor.

 "Well, actually, I am working on a magazine article," Marianne said. Remembering that Carla had just come home from the hospital, Marianne quickly added, "But it can wait. How are you feeling?"

 "Oh, okay, I guess . . . physically. But I--kind of needed someone to talk to, if you're not too busy," Carla said.

 "Not at all," Marianne assured her, staring at the computer screen.

 "Uh, can you come over?" Carla asked. "I don't feel comfortable talking on the phone."

 Marianne hesitated, still staring at the screen. "Sure," she forced brightly. "Be right over."

 As Carla opened the door to her knock, Marianne put on a smiling face. "So! You getting all healed up?"

 "I guess so." In her bathrobe, with unwashed, stringy hair, Carla led Marianne into the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked listlessly.

 Marianne looked around at the stacks of dirty dishes and general disarray. "No, thanks. But why don't you let me clean up some of this for you?" She opened the dishwasher to find a smattering of dirty dishes there, too.

 "No, I don't really care about that. I just needed to talk. Marianne, I don't know what's happening to me. I sit around and cry all the time. Tom is so disgusted with me that he's thinking of leaving."

 "Oh, I'm sure he'd never do a thing like that," Marianne said distractedly, rearranging the dishes in the dishwasher to maximize the remaining space.

 "I wouldn't blame him if he did. I can't stand myself anymore. I don't know what to do," Carla said.

 "You'll feel better once all this mess is out of the way. This would depress me, too!" Marianne laughed.

 "I don't care about the clutter. Marianne, please sit down and leave it," Carla said.

 "You bet. As soon as I throw these things in real quick," Marianne said, rapidly placing dishes on the dishwasher racks.

 "I usually rinse them before loading them," Carla said. Marianne paused, then obligingly took out the dishes to begin running them under the cold water faucet. "I usually rinse them in hot water," Carla said.

 The impatient thought sprang up, This place is such a pigsty, who would notice? But Marianne repressed it and turned on the hot water. She began scraping dried egg off a plate as the steam rose in her face.

 "The disposal is in the other sink," Carla said.

 Marianne glanced up, biting back a reply as she gathered scrapings from one sink to put down the disposal in the other. Lord, give me patience with this woman! Marianne thought fiercely.

 It took her a good twenty minutes, but Marianne got the counter cleaned and the dishwasher loaded and humming. Then, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she plopped down at the table with Carla. "There! Now, what was it you wanted to talk about? You're feeling depressed?"

 "Actually, no; not any more," Carla said.

 "Are you sure? Well, I told you a cleaner place would make you feel better," Marianne said.

 "Thank you," Carla said woodenly.

 "You're welcome," Marianne said, pretending not to notice the lack of graciousness. "I'll run along, then. You call me if you need anything else, okay?"

 "Good-bye," Carla said.

 As Marianne sat again at her keyboard, she was suddenly flooded with inspiration. She began typing rapidly: "Illustrations of this can be found every day. Today, for example, my neighbor 'Charlotte' called me for help as I was working on this article. When I arrived at her house, I found her kitchen in a depressing mess. (She has been unable to keep things clean due to a recent hospital stay.) I offered immediately to clean it, but she was too proud at first to accept. When I persisted, however, she relented. As I was loading the dishwasher, she informed me that she usually rinsed her dishes first.

 "I obliged, but then she observed that I was still doing it wrong: she usually rinsed them in hot water. Because I truly wanted to help, I said nothing at her criticisms and did it her way. But there was more. It seems I was using the wrong sink! At this point I had to pray for patience. And the Lord enabled me to hold my tongue and finish the job, only to receive a cold 'thank you' from my neighbor.

 "But on my way home, it suddenly struck me that sometimes this is just what we are called to do: minister lovingly to an ungrateful world, and do what we can to help without expecting thanks or reward." Marianne leaned back with a satisfied sigh and reread her article.

 When Marianne's article appeared in the magazine, a mutual friend told her that Carla had seen it. Since it had carried Marianne's byline, she sometimes wondered why Carla never mentioned it, or hardly ever spoke to her at all.

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