Once I would have pitched in and helped my housekeeper—but now, because I have to walk with a stick and have only one hand free, I’m more nuisance than help and can only sit on the sidelines and give advice and be a pest. It is difficult having to accept all the time! But unless we did, how could the others have the pleasure, and the spiritual growth, of giving? And—I don’t know about you, but I was very proud; I liked the superior feeling of helping others, and for me it is much harder to receive than to give but, I think, much more blessed. Then, too, it’s only since I’ve been ill and helpless that I’ve realised just how good people in general are, when they have a chance. So many people have taken trouble over me, and gone out of their way to give me pleasure or help! It’s very heartwarming—and humbling, for I remember how cynical I used to be about humanity and feel a salutary shame.

Letters to an American Lady