I give and give out words

But are these my best?

What if use them all now and then run out?

What if I give them away—

Never to find new ones again?

Can’t I keep a few?

Yet a thought was impressed upon my soul—

There will always be more words

More thoughts

More inspiration

There will always be more words

Besides, they are from the Lord

Not my own

He gives to me, if I seek his inspiration

Then I am to pass them along

Think of all the times I move too fast—

And miss the words that got away

They are not a gift to be squandered—

These words

There will always be more words

So

Give them out

They don’t cost—

But they can bring value

Give them out

They are a gift—

To be shared, not kept

Give them out

They were given to me in the first place—

Give them out

To those he asks me to give to

We have certain places we exist on this earth

Certain gifts

At certain times

With certain roles to fill

I was given words

Not to keep, to hold, to retain for my own worth

Not to build me up—

To give

To breathe life into others

To encourage, uplift, and adore

To press others onward

To remind them how precious they are

To help make them everything they are supposed to be

I give and give out words

Because they were given to me

There will always be more words

And always those who need to hear them

Living in the city, it’s a tension I experience daily. I pull up my car to a stoplight, and there stands a person, sign in hand, seeking money. Faces become familiar as people have corners they frequent.

But today was different. I saw Isaac.

Just hours before, Isaac showed up at our church. I greeted him at the door, and he and I had a long conversation about where he was in life and his church background. He joined our worship service, met a number of people, and talked with one of our elders afterward.

This happens to us—people who live nearby walk to our church and share their stories. They seek a handout at the end of it all. It’s hard not to become calloused. We know they truly have needs, but we also know their practiced stories aren’t always completely true. We strive to be “shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16). The policy of our church is to give some money once and take down the person’s information, seeking to hold them accountable and begin a relationship.

When I saw Isaac at the corner, my heart dropped. Earlier he’d walked up our church’s two flights of stairs to get to the sanctuary; here at the corner he leaned deceptively on crutches with his homemade sign. Just when I’d hoped this time the story I’d been told was sincere, reality struck.

I’m sad because this experience fuels my skepticism. While my heart longs to be empathetic, I find myself becoming numb and doubtful.

When I hear the call to enact justice, provide mercy, and fight for the dignity of all people, I have to realize that means Isaac as well. Just because he deceived me doesn’t mean his physical and spiritual needs are any less important to God.

It doesn’t make me better than him.

My experience highlights how blessed I am with what I have and who I have in my life. I am blessed to know I am valued by a Savior. 

Out of the abundance of mercy God has shown me, I am called to show it to others.

Photo by Edwin Andrade on Unsplash

It’s time. But we’ve arrived embarrassingly late to the grand event, skittering to a halt before the guest of honor. Our garments are tattered and spattered with mud. We are a sight to behold.

We are the impetuous children, having frolicked and spurned guidance, fully ensconced in our own whimsies, play, and merriment without another care in the world.

And so we look down in shame, cheeks flushed, unsteadily rocking back and forth, twisting our fingers behind our backs in anticipation of the reprimand to come. We have strayed beyond the given boundaries. It is evidenced in our appearance.

But in a twist of fate we hear not the harsh scorn of threat and demise but rather a welcoming demeanor. “At last—you’ve made it! Come in, my children, come in. I have been waiting for you. Look what I have in store.”

Presented before us is a feast with place settings for any and all who would come in. As we enter the grand dining room, a gift is offered to each of our outstretched hands.

It is Resurrection Sunday. Today we dwell upon Jesus’ ultimate gift to us—grace. That’s what the resurrection is. It’s a gift undeserved, fully offered to our humbled souls.

This is what it means to each of us—a chance to be whole, to be clean, to be new. A chance to be looked upon not as we are but as we could be.

Our future is bright. Our potential is full before us. We have been given a chance to start the day anew. We are looked at through eyes of pure love by a Father who gave everything to invite us in to dwell with him.