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How much is enough?  That’s something I find myself considering every now and again.  I grew up in a two bedroom cottage.  Granted we had a basement and a garage but it wasn’t a huge home.  Yet four of us along with all of our stuff fit in it just fine.

Now I live in a three bedroom ranch with a double garage and full basement. There are three of us and I work at home.  But it’s a bigger home.  And yet, this house is full.

But when confronted with need, we get pissy.  “How dare the Pastor suggest we eat out less so that we can give more to the poor?”

It seems like the more we have, the less willing we are to share.  We are so worried that we might give it to someone undeserving, someone who is trying to scam us, someone who might squander it.

Or we might just change a life.  I read the perfect post about this earlier today at Sean of the South.

It doesn’t always take something huge to turn someone’s life around. Sometimes it just takes a small gift, a bit of mercy and faith.




I grew up on stories of Sunday dinner at my grandparents’.  They had very little. Sure Grandad had a college degree.  He was a mining engineer in a time when many American mines were playing out.  He took any job he could find, working in the mines when there were open, painting cars and managing a service station when they weren’t.

My grandmother had a huge garden and chickens.  You could do that in West Texas even when you lived in town.  Back then feed sacks were made from patterned fabric.  The girls got dresses from the prettiest.  Next up were shirts for the boys.  The least attractive fabrics became underwear.

Sunday dinner was a production.  The whole family was there and often there were several friends.  Whoever needed a meal.  Anyone who craved fellowship. All were welcome.  They’d just wedge another chair in around the circular table.  Chicken, corn, potatoes, biscuits, greens from the garden, corn bread, beans.

As little as they had, my grandparents shared.  Grandad always insisted it was a Southern thing.  I don’t know about that but I did get the rest of the message loud and clear.  What the good Lord gives us, we are meant to share.

At my grandparents’ table, no one ever went away hungry.  And there was also space enough to wedge in one more chair.



Then Jesus said to His disciples, “Assuredly, I say to you that it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. And again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”  (Matthew 19:23-24)

Why is it that we tend to hoard what we are given?  No, get back!  God gave it to me.

And yet our homes overflow.  We buy organizing supplies.  We pay people to show us how to declutter.  We rent storage space.

But share?  Suggest it and watch people’s hackles rise.  We worry about scammer and people who want to beg instead of earning a living.

Did we truly earn what we have?  Either our riches or God’s grace?  Both are gifts meant to be shared.




Holy Father,
So many things come into my orbit from day to day.
Help me to see what I should give space in my life
and what I should release so that it may benefit someone else.

Glossy magazines and Pins tell me
that I deserve more,
that I deserve the best,
that I have earned it.

Help me turn from this call to acquire.
Help me hear your voice
urging me to take only what I need
and pass on the rest,
as the crowd passed along
the loaves and fishes.
They found that they had
more than enough to share.

Let me be so aware.
Let me see that there is
more than enough to share.




Have a Mary Little Christmas

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