Psalms 41:1-4

“So, I wonder why you say so much about giving to the poor.”

“Why do you wonder?”

“Well, what makes the poor more eligible for my giving than something else?”

“Like what something else.”

“Oh, any number of things.  Like the new addition to our church.  Surely that is a good cause.”

“Sure, it is.”

“Or, what about the road in front of our place.  I hear the county is out of money, and there have already been two vehicles hit the ditch because of all the washboards.  What if I’d donate some time and equipment to fixing it up right.”

“Not a bad idea, not in the least.”

“There is also a place I could send funds, unnamed of course, that would help send the gospel and those going to people who need it.”

“Yes, again not a bad idea.”

“And then there are those who have just lost a loved one, and even though they may have a nice amount laid by, it seems like something I could do for them.  Because I finally don’t know what to say or do and it gets so uncomfortable just sitting there in silence.”

“Maybe.”

“You and I don’t quite seem to be meeting in the middle.”

“No, we aren’t, are we.”

“Well, what?  Aren’t you happy with my giving?”

“It feels kind of good to give the way you have been, doesn’t it.”

“Sure.  I mean, your Word says it’s more blessed to give than to receive, so I guess I’m entitled to some good feelings for my efforts in that area.”

“Oh, but of course.  Any type of giving brings with it its own reward.   That’s the way I set it up, in the beginning when I created everything.  It ensures that no one is ever forgotten for a good deed they do, regardless of their motive.”

“Motive?”

“Yes.”

“Are you saying there is more than one kind of motive for giving?  What kind of motive do you think I’ve been giving in?”

“Well, even though you give anonymously, you still must like to be seen, if by no one else, than by yourself.”

“WHAT?”

“Well, you ticked off a nice list of things you have given to, didn’t you?”

“Sure.”

“You always keep a running catalogue like that in your mind?”

“Probably.”

“The sad deal is, with that approach, I can’t help you much when it comes your turn to need help.”

“Why.”

“Because you’ve turned to tangible things and words from folks you’ve given to, to prop yourself up, and there hasn’t been any room for me to fit into that scenario.”

Deafening silence . . .

“It’s the folks you help spontaneously; the poor ones that you almost don’t notice as you drive by them.  You scorn them in your mind.”

“So what?  They’ve made their bed.  Let them lie in it.”

“It’s the kind of giving you do when you help those that counts with me.  Many of them aren’t where they are by their own choice.  They don’t have the added ability to help themselves like you do.”

“What if they use what I give them for the wrong thing?”

“Let me worry about that, okay?  You need to be able to give without any other responsibilities than to give.  If you give that way, it won’t be long and you’ll have a whole crowd of folks you’ve helped, and you won’t even know it.  But I’ll know it, you can count on that.”

“And?”

“And then, when your time comes to need help, the memory of all those you helped will be with me, and I, in infinite tenderness, will tuck you in at night. 

I’ll be your Father; and I’ll take care of you so completely you’ll have need of nothing else.  Not even the smallest, worrisome thought will harm you.”

“Oh.”