The art of giving — is simply the pouring.
Pouring your worn heart out like water.
Like a pitcher full of, and held firmly by, one unswerving, unshakable hand.
Believing that the hand that holds you steady will fill you up, so you can always give, and never fear that you’ll run out.
Standing at a Subway counter one evening, we were behind two teenage boys swiping their card to pay for their meal that hot, sweltering day.
One swipe. Two swipe. Three swipe.
“Sorry, no.” the cashier shook her head and handed the card back to the boys.
They looked at each other. I stepped in a little too fast from behind.
“May I? May I take care of this?”
I forgot to let the boys look into their wallet for cash.
But this moment of forgetting is good.
It’s holy when I self-forget. It’s wholesome to be spurred towards some random act of kindness. Yeah, it may not mean much, but who knows how long a string of love may go?
For God truly loved that He gave… — when will I learn to seize more moments like this?
Our truest response to knowing God is giving God. Giving away little bits of God’s love we’ve come to taste so others can taste Him.Tweet
To live like I’m always the one with a wallet full of, the one with a big Mama heart who loves blessing my boy, or any boys — to know that giving is my privilege — to live like I have a full jug that runs not out.
This act of self forgetting is liberty — freeing you of your own pressing needs into the role of compassionate caring towards others’ needs.
But there was something I will never forget.
I will never forget how one pandemic day got the kids and I dreaming about and brimming with one simple idea.
When the lockdown first hit? — all we wanted to do was to leave little love gifts at our neighbours’ doorsteps with a note to say: “we’re here, we care, together we can”.
We were desperate to bridge physical isolation with some heart connection, with a community of care.
So that Easter we got busy shopping for treats and printed printables over pretty ribbons that read: “He’s not here. He’s risen.”
How we zipped around our postcode in the dark dropping those love gifts at different homes in our street.
They weren’t even expensive gifts.
They just took time, took thoughts — took us.
Imagine how over the moon we were when the neighbours returned with flowers and fruits, cards and letters. Whilst it took a little virus to make us aware of others then, what I needed now was a heart transplant to replace my selfish living with Christ’s selfless giving.
“Thank you so much”, the boys grinned a mile wide.
I, reminiscing, thought — how do I really want to live? Fulfilling my own self-obsession or leaving trails of kindness with the finite life that I have touching others, teaching the kids, and training my own heart that kindness lives on, and on, and on.
I’m learning it — there are fields ripe for the harvest and we are all pastors to our own people. No matter how inadequate we may feel; our children, coworkers, church members, community — they are fields ripening to our sowing, awaiting our harvesting.
There is so much about God we cannot fully understand, but when we give of ourselves — He becomes known and we *get to know* His heart for His world.
Our truest response to knowing God is giving God. Giving away little bits of God’s love we’ve come to taste so others can taste Him.
Our life — isn’t it a vapour that disappears over time?
We’re all in this race — not in a race to preserve time, but to out-give time. To outlive the finite time we have been given so we can live for legacy. So we can live making our mark.
Time waits for no man; thinking you have ample of it causes you to squander it, to waste away your one precious life. But when we sow our little seeds of love away —- time becomes redeemed grace.
I grinned back to those boys. Nothing beats giving. Truly.