There’s a sense of “she owes me” that has crept into my giving.

I’m ashamed to admit it.

It makes me cringe.

It makes me want to curl up into a ball and pretend like I’m not me.

But, unfortunately, it’s true.

The thought slips into my mind and creates a full-fledged story that I convince myself is true.

It goes something like this:

“I selflessly gave her XYZ and she barely even acknowledged it. I think she may be taking advantage of me. I know she is. That’s why I should never give things away because when you do, you get taken for a ride.”

The story builds up in my mind. It grows arms and legs and tentacles and claws. And it eats into my shalom.

It’s an ugly human tendency—when we give we expect something in return. Perhaps we don’t expect stuff in return for what we give. But maybe gratitude, maybe loyalty—at least acknowledgment? When our kindness is met with disconnection and perceived disloyalty, we get upset, we build up defenses, we layer on the armor of invulnerability that ensures that we won’t be in that position again.

But even as those octopus-like thoughts held me in their grip, God whispered in my heart.

And all He said was: Look at Me.

And when I paused and looked up, I saw grace upon grace.

I don’t deserve it. I don’t always acknowledge it. I’m not always loyal. I’m not always grateful.

And yet.

Yet He lavishes His grace upon me. He doesn’t hold back.

There’s a story from the Bible that leaves me gutted no matter how many times I read it—the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15.

Here’s the focal scene that captures my imagination: As the bedraggled and scruffy son returns home, the father runs toward him.

The son was, perhaps, a mere silhouette in the distance. And yet the dad recognizes the familiar gait. His eyes had been on that road, hoping, praying, for this moment.

He doesn’t wait. He races without hesitation to meet his son.

And then he embraces and kisses his son—the boy who recklessly demanded, the boy who was hopelessly ungrateful, the boy who didn’t bother to turn back in thanks, the boy who trampled upon the kindness of his father.

What a well-worn path between God and me. He comes running toward me and He holds me, despite the stench of sin.

The astounding thing is He knows.

He knows that there will still be times when I won’t turn back in thanks. He knows that there will still be times when I don’t even acknowledge Him.

And yet—grace upon grace.

It’s grace that rescued me. And grace that holds me still.

He shows us that kindness doesn’t calculate, grace doesn’t wait, and mercy comes running.

May we be so undone by this unmerited favor that we don’t need acknowledgment or expect gratitude.

May we be so unraveled by His lavish love that we can’t help but pour it out.

May we listen to those God-whispers that compel us to focus on what He’s done for us instead of what may be “due” to us.

May we be a people who are blessed to be a blessing.

 

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