It started, I think, with blueberries.
We had just moved in, with boxes still filling the hallway, and not everything put away yet. And you brought over blueberries, still warm and fresh-picked from the bushes in your side-yard. Not a skimpy handful, but enough to make pie. That was the first time I experienced your generosity.
Or maybe it started with candles.
We had just moved in, with boxes still filling the hallway, and not everything put away yet. (It must have taken me a while to unpack.) And you brought over candles, because the power had gone out all over town, and you guessed we might not know where our flashlights were in all the chaos. I still have one of the candles--a leftover from your son's wedding. Maybe that was the first time I experienced your generosity.
But it definitely wasn't the last.
Cookies, cups of sugar, babysitting, prayer, backyard meals. All of it shared freely and fully.
Our lives have been marked by your willingness to share, and you have taught me, maybe without you knowing it, to look for ways that I can be generous with what I have to the people around me.
We had just moved in, with boxes still filling the hallway, and not everything put away yet. And you brought over blueberries, still warm and fresh-picked from the bushes in your side-yard. Not a skimpy handful, but enough to make pie. That was the first time I experienced your generosity.
Or maybe it started with candles.
We had just moved in, with boxes still filling the hallway, and not everything put away yet. (It must have taken me a while to unpack.) And you brought over candles, because the power had gone out all over town, and you guessed we might not know where our flashlights were in all the chaos. I still have one of the candles--a leftover from your son's wedding. Maybe that was the first time I experienced your generosity.
But it definitely wasn't the last.
Cookies, cups of sugar, babysitting, prayer, backyard meals. All of it shared freely and fully.
Our lives have been marked by your willingness to share, and you have taught me, maybe without you knowing it, to look for ways that I can be generous with what I have to the people around me.
~~~
I was talking with my students yesterday about people whose lives embrace what we've been calling "Common Grace for the Common Good," after a book by Steve Garber. And you're who I talked about. You have made a life that is marked by seeing our town and the people in it, and loving our town and the people in it, many times through cookies. You brought me a batch just this last week, because you had invited one of the neighborhood boys to help you bake, and you guessed I might need something for my kids' lunchboxes this week. You see a boy who wants to bake (where I guess that others might see a potential hooligan) and you see a mom running a bit ragged trying to get everything done (where I guess other might just see the polish I put on when I walk out the door in the morning). You see us both, and you bake for us both.
When the writer of Proverbs talks about the woman of valor, whose children will rise up and call her blessed, know that I'll be standing with them, thanking God you've been my neighbor all these years.
~~~
When the writer of Proverbs talks about the woman of valor, whose children will rise up and call her blessed, know that I'll be standing with them, thanking God you've been my neighbor all these years.
Comments
Post a Comment