Mt. 5:42; 1 Tim. 6:18; Heb. 13:16
Driving home from class one late-ish night, my stomach rumbles, and I realize that I have no wife waiting at home with a meal (OK, real talk, I realize this quite often), or even a real meal to come home to at all. There's a small chicken joint that I've always wanted to try, so I figure, why not? The more hole in the wall it looks, the older the grease, and the more flavor you munch. Background: the area around the school was once rather prosperous, but now, quite the opposite. It would be odd to NOT see any homeless on the drive to and from school, and on more than one occasion, I've bought or given my own lunch up to someone that has asked (also down really cheap Tupperware!). It's not a big deal, not usually.
So rewind to the historical present of the story: as I'm waiting, I see a homeless guy come into the store. Now, there are two exits, and right off the bat, I was weighing the odds of him asking me for a meal, or if I should just take the easy way out and go out the other exit. Except, lately, my money has been exceptionally tight. Moving to a new state, to a new school, chasing after a degree in Theology, and trying to live on my own and figure things out has not been cheap. Previous times, I have had some, or maybe even a little, but I've always been able to give semi-comfortably. Now, I can probably count how much money I have starting from 0 and hit it in less than a minute. In quarters. Needless to say, taking the dive towards the other exit seemed like a very, very live option.
And yet, I chose the other way, hoping he would not in fact ask me for anything. Of course, that wasn't the case, and I barely start a step in his direction when he asks me to help him and his daughters. He mentioned not making it to the church on time, and so needed help. I was upset, a little desperate, and (testament to what you should not do), pulled out my wallet, saw I had a couple tens, and gave him one; I left before I even saw him order, but not without parting with a whiny, "I don't have much either man, but here, whatever."
God, I give all the time. My life and future and ministry and thoughts and vocation are towards the advancement of your kingdom. You couldn't spare me this once? I can't get hired to save my life, and I can't find it in me to write for support (a pride issue I'll touch on one of these days), and yet here I am, giving what very little I have. More thoughts were swirling. Was it OK to say no? Was it even responsible to say no? Should I have gone the other way? Looking back, ideally, I should have just paid for a meal (what he was asking for was much less than what I gave him), but I was so lost in complaint that I did not realize until I was sitting in the car.
And yet, the very next day, I fill up my gas tank, I fill up my fridge and freezer and pantry, and have leftovers and the knowledge that I have friends that will help generously and without hesitation should I ask. I was so wrecked by realizing that, that I almost started weeping while putting my mandarins (or tangerines? who knows) onto the belt. How many of us have little, or less and use that as an excuse to not give at all? God gives us life, sustains the universe's very existence, gives us an appreciation for beauty and comedy and laughter, grows us through our weakness (and very many times, in spite of it), and so much more.
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Lord, work on my heart. Help me to be a cheerful giver always and always and forever. You are too good and kind and generous and wonderful to me for me to act otherwise. Thank you for all that you do. Amen.
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