Givers and Takers

Bill’s Grandpa Grover used to say, “There are basically two kinds of people in this world—givers and takers—so decide which one you want to be.”  The longer we live, the more convinced we are that he was right.  There are big-hearted, generous people, and there are clutching, stingy people.

We have also observed that the attitude with which a person approaches life doesn’t seem to have much to do with how much one has.  We’ve seen unselfish, generous poor people, and we’ve seen tight-fisted, grasping rich people.  We’ve seen extravagantly liberal givers who had means, and we’ve seen miserly, greedy poor people who hated everyone who had anything.  It all depends on how we choose to spend the days allotted to us.

Bill’s grandparents, Addie and Burl Hartwell, lived for the joy of giving.  Though they never had much of this world’s goods, it was impossible to get out their door when we went to visit without them thrusting into our hands a head of cabbage, a loaf of freshly baked bread, or a “mess of corn” from the garden for supper.  We wanted to be that kind of givers; we hope that we have taught our children to be givers too.

Maybe one thing the pandemic has taught us all is that we really do need each other.  We have become a little more aware of a neighbor who can’t get out to get groceries, or someone who is stressed by job loss or home schooling or worry about someone they can’t visit.

What could happen if the joy in giving away what we have should be as contagious as Covid-19? Could a new attitude take over the world?  Jesus taught that it could.  He said that sharing our bounty could perfect us.  He said that giving our food to the hungry, something to drink to the thirsty, our hospitality to the overlooked or lonely, our clothing to the destitute, and our care to the sick would make us heirs to God’s Kingdom.  And physical food, water, housing, clothing, and care are just the tip of the iceberg!  What if we were to truly offer food for the soul, water for the shriveled spirit, the shelter of a place to belong, and the covering of encouragement for the raw and exposed heart?

The best anti-depressant to be found is this prescription from the old-timers—and from the Master of Life:

If you want more happy than your heart can hold,
If you wanna stand taller, if the truth were told,
Take whatever you have and give it away!
If you want less lonely and a lot more fun,
And deep satisfaction when the day is done,
Throw your heart wide open and give it away! 

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It's Okay to Cry

Go ahead. Wail away!  God can take it, and it’s okay to cry on His shoulder. These are hard times. Losses and set-backs are the rule and not the exception; every family is touched by shortages, job losses or reductions, and illnesses with no certain diagnosis.  Family relationships are amplified in times like these, both strong ones and the dysfunctional. Income and food insecurity, payments due, and uncertainty about the future are the topics of social media, newscasts, and conversations.

Somehow we have come to think there is something wrong with our faith if we find ourselves screaming at God or silenced by doubt—or both by turns.  But there is as long a history of tears as triumphs in our spiritual archives.  And in spite of our present emphasis on “praise” in our worship, a third of the Psalms are cries of distress.  We just tend to leave those verses out and skip right to the victory phrases.

I still strongly believe that the marks of the true believer are joy and rest.  But I am learning, too, that there is a big difference between happiness and joy, and that rest is what we settle into when, as Annie Johnson Flynt wrote, “we reach the end of our hoarded resources,” and find strong arms holding us still.

And joy is not at the mercy of circumstances, but comes as a result of a security bought and tested in the crucible of pain and suffering. The things we pray for God to remove from our lives are often the very shovels He uses to enlarge our capacity for joy and for holding what is eternal.  It is almost always the things we go through that write our greatest songs of praise.

Maybe Annie Lamott is right.  Maybe there are only three essential prayers:  Help! Thanks! Wow!  One thing for sure, tears really are a language God understands, and His ear is as tuned to our “groanings that cannot be uttered” as it is to our loudest Hosannas!  And just maybe the groanings are the valuable currency with which we purchase any hallelujahs that ring true.  One thing you can take to the bank is that the operative word in any crisis is “through.”  Our God will take us through.

There was a time, Lord, When I was happy,
but pain had not plumbed my happiness deep enough
to be truthfully be called joy.
There was a time when I knew and celebrated
true things,
but experience had not yet sent me
over perilous pilgrimages
in pursuit of a Holy Grail.
There was a time when I made eager plans
for a future,
but had not yet learned
to embrace eternity in the moments I had.
Thank you, Lord, for the road I’ve traveled.
Only now I am discovering
that it is beautiful to praise God in all things.
Today, at least, I do.
Praise You.
Amen.

Prayer 40 from A Book of Simple Prayers by Gloria Gaither, © Gloria Gaither. 2008 Gaither Music Group, Alexandria, Indiana

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Welcoming The Children Home

Now on its third bunch of little ones from two generations, “Horseshoe Hideaway” was originally built for our middle daughter, Amy who loved to read and often needed to escape the noise of a busy musical family. It became not only a playhouse but a place of solitude and, for Amy, a place to display her horse-showing winning ribbons and her collection of books about horses.

Over the years, her children and other grandchildren have adapted this space to their own favorite pastimes. Now our youngest, Mia and Liam, cook pretend meals, display their collections of nature treasures, and sweep the porch in preparation for the arrival of pretend guests.

Another planned space for making the children feel at home is the creek bank of “Gaither’s Pond.” As I write this, our white swans are hatching their signets on the peninsula across from the nature observation deck we built on the stump of an old willow.

When we planted seedlings in our bare yard forty years ago, Bill and I talked about how one day our grandchildren would play hide-and-seek through the trees. Well, now they do! And they all run down the same hillside their parents once enjoyed. There is something to be said for “staying put” in this mobile age. As hectic as our lives are, we all need a place to which to come home.

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