Remember, nobody hands out gifts like God, large gifts, spiritual gifts.
There is always one more gift to discover, even though it might have been there all the time.
The sight of an apple orchard, or the sun’s beams on a barn roof.
Check all the tastes a tomato offers in that evening salad you're consuming. Watch how a giant watermelon ripens on the vine. Natural gifts and then the gifts of the spirit:
That new neighbor who brings a warm pound cake to your kitchen back door.
The birthday present bought and paid for by your eldest child.
The surprise bonus your boss silently shoved into the mailboxes of all employees.
Gifts abound.
Someone once said: It’s all gift.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Friday, January 04, 2008
Saving Habits
Sure he was frugal. Frugality was lodged in his DNA. Dad’s religion included thrift like a night watchman's job includes a flash light. Never mind the distance my father had to gas up for vegetables on sale. Never mind the extra minutes. Fresh spinach, dicy cucumbers, or savory leeks at a bargain. Ads drew him. When a bright tomato danced in the evening’s tossed salad, we’d hear his boastful story of saving a few pennies.
As for me, the child eating and listening and catching warmth on his saving graces, his stories passed over into patterns of my own money behaviors. I’m compelled to claim a bedside bank close. No matter my age, I watch precious pennies drop into a “piggy bank.” to affirm that I’ll always be safe and secure when it comes to having enough
I think about his pennies. Dad called them “opportunities.” In them, he said, “God shines.” So now, for me, I spot one, which I did just yesterday, and I stoop to grab it just as quickly as my father grabbed juicy looking tomatoes. And on a bike ride, my feet can easily sqeak to a stop, turn back, pick one up and right there, polish it and savor that little instrument of joy.
Sure, it doesn’t buy much. But echoes of dad’s words: “it’s not about what it will buy. It’s about being vigilant, about all that is promised by God.” After all don’t we believe that embossed shiny inscription on it: In God We Trust?”
As for me, the child eating and listening and catching warmth on his saving graces, his stories passed over into patterns of my own money behaviors. I’m compelled to claim a bedside bank close. No matter my age, I watch precious pennies drop into a “piggy bank.” to affirm that I’ll always be safe and secure when it comes to having enough
I think about his pennies. Dad called them “opportunities.” In them, he said, “God shines.” So now, for me, I spot one, which I did just yesterday, and I stoop to grab it just as quickly as my father grabbed juicy looking tomatoes. And on a bike ride, my feet can easily sqeak to a stop, turn back, pick one up and right there, polish it and savor that little instrument of joy.
Sure, it doesn’t buy much. But echoes of dad’s words: “it’s not about what it will buy. It’s about being vigilant, about all that is promised by God.” After all don’t we believe that embossed shiny inscription on it: In God We Trust?”
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