a word for you, 2015
Because I'm the exact opposite of a hipster (unlike my husband, who claims he wore moccasins before they were cool) and so in lieu of just downloading TriviaCrack, I thought I'd jump on the Christian cultural bandwagon of naming my year ahead in faith and prayer.
Last year, I was the recipient of lavish generosity, on behalf of parents, in-laws, friends, strangers, and the Church in general. Though support raising is hard, it thrust us into the delight of receiving radical and beautiful generosity flooded into our hearts, homes, and yes, bank account.
And this year (now that our income is no longer poverty-level), I long to be on the giving end of that. The one flooding. Because possessions grip me hard and invite me to trust in them rather than my All-Satisfier. Don't you feel it too, when you go to the mall and this appetite roars inside you with a hunger you didn't feel until you stepped inside? It's a mosquito bite disguised as an attractive J. Crew model following me around, whispering to me that it will all be well if I just scratch a bit more... preferably with my debit card.
But all does not become well. My heart becomes hard and wanting and still itching. I feel this, don't you? It doesn't just happen to rich people. That itch swells every time I buy something. It grips me. And that J. Crew mosquito bite turns me into my own pretentious, unapproachable, miserable J. Crew monster, how my heart cringes when people are over and we must feed them our food, let them stomp their wet feet on my clean rug. What? Who am I? Where has my joy gone? Why do my friendships feel shallow?
But when I starve that stingy appetite by happily giving the very things this monster grips so tightly, I find this odd delight, this balm for my itch. There is this beauty in hospitality, this joy of giving more to our church as our salary increases, though debt looms and my wardrobe should get an update, the fun it is to send a friend a gift card in the mail because no, I don't need that Starbucks gift card, but what a joy it would be to her! And to put money aside each month to adopt someday? nothing I would have purchased with that money would be worth it.
Generosity is a massage to the tight muscles of my heart I had refused to stretch.
And so I choose this year to be flooded with generosity.
And not just with money, but with my time, my talents. Dare I be lavish in my listening, abundant in my encouragement, overflowing in my joy for others rather than drowning in jealousy? In my servanthood, in my Bible reading, in my edifying rather than gossiping? What is it to live a life willing to pour out lavish, happily heaping, squealing-in-laughter generosity that can only come from a heart whose Wellspring doesn't run dry? Generous in my praise, in my compliments, in my smiles? Didn't our Savior pour our His whole self so we could do the same?
And oh, friends, from what I've done so far, it is so fun. A blast, this generosity thing is. Better than shopping. Better than looking like a J. Crew model. I am delightfully bewildered by this phenomenon of giving.
2015, if I live you generously, you will be quite fun indeed.
Last year, I was the recipient of lavish generosity, on behalf of parents, in-laws, friends, strangers, and the Church in general. Though support raising is hard, it thrust us into the delight of receiving radical and beautiful generosity flooded into our hearts, homes, and yes, bank account.
And this year (now that our income is no longer poverty-level), I long to be on the giving end of that. The one flooding. Because possessions grip me hard and invite me to trust in them rather than my All-Satisfier. Don't you feel it too, when you go to the mall and this appetite roars inside you with a hunger you didn't feel until you stepped inside? It's a mosquito bite disguised as an attractive J. Crew model following me around, whispering to me that it will all be well if I just scratch a bit more... preferably with my debit card.
But all does not become well. My heart becomes hard and wanting and still itching. I feel this, don't you? It doesn't just happen to rich people. That itch swells every time I buy something. It grips me. And that J. Crew mosquito bite turns me into my own pretentious, unapproachable, miserable J. Crew monster, how my heart cringes when people are over and we must feed them our food, let them stomp their wet feet on my clean rug. What? Who am I? Where has my joy gone? Why do my friendships feel shallow?
But when I starve that stingy appetite by happily giving the very things this monster grips so tightly, I find this odd delight, this balm for my itch. There is this beauty in hospitality, this joy of giving more to our church as our salary increases, though debt looms and my wardrobe should get an update, the fun it is to send a friend a gift card in the mail because no, I don't need that Starbucks gift card, but what a joy it would be to her! And to put money aside each month to adopt someday? nothing I would have purchased with that money would be worth it.
Generosity is a massage to the tight muscles of my heart I had refused to stretch.
And so I choose this year to be flooded with generosity.
And not just with money, but with my time, my talents. Dare I be lavish in my listening, abundant in my encouragement, overflowing in my joy for others rather than drowning in jealousy? In my servanthood, in my Bible reading, in my edifying rather than gossiping? What is it to live a life willing to pour out lavish, happily heaping, squealing-in-laughter generosity that can only come from a heart whose Wellspring doesn't run dry? Generous in my praise, in my compliments, in my smiles? Didn't our Savior pour our His whole self so we could do the same?
And oh, friends, from what I've done so far, it is so fun. A blast, this generosity thing is. Better than shopping. Better than looking like a J. Crew model. I am delightfully bewildered by this phenomenon of giving.
2015, if I live you generously, you will be quite fun indeed.
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