Grandpa’s Gift

Years ago at our family Christmas, my Grandfather gave each family a gift. We were sitting in my Uncle’s living room, surrounded by the watchful eyes of an impressive menagerie of mounted animal heads, while a small mountain of presents shining in their tinfoil wrappings awaited the traditional white elephant gift exchange. This ritualistic exchange was lovingly coined “Tinfoil Christmas” after the tinfoil my eccentric Uncle would wrap around all the gifts he’d gathered over the year – maybe from far flung villages on the Amazon, maybe from his favorite hunting store – you never knew what unexpected item you might unwrap and go to war for.

This year, my Grandfather had a different sort of gift in mind. With the family all gathered, he passed out envelopes, each containing a substantial sum of money and a mission. The money given was to be given away, and at the next Christmas gathering, we would all share where our money found a home.

I thought differently about that money. I wanted to give it thoughtfully and intentionally – because it was someone else’s, and they would want to know where it went. And, if I’m honest, what I really wanted was to please Grandpa. My Grandfather – a man of stature, with the white beard and bearing you’d expect of a Biblical patriarch – wise and soft spoken, with the occasional twist of unconventional humor. The man I’d follow around his expansive garden as a young person, gleaning the stories and insights that lifted my mind and soul to new heights. The man who changed his family legacy from addiction and abuse to freedom and purpose. I wanted to please this man.

I felt the value of his gift. It was money he could have used in a myriad of ways or just donated himself in a lump sum to a cause he knew he cared about. But he trusted us with it instead. He let us share in his generosity, and willingly took the risk that it could be squandered or spent selfishly.

I don’t remember exactly how my husband and I used the money. Part of it bought groceries for a down and out single mom, some of it went to a friend’s medical expenses. I just remember wanting to use it well, and not feeling satisfied that I had.

I wondered at this feeling. Giving has always been a value of ours, so why did I feel this money needed to be given better than the money we’d typically give? I realized that it was because of who it belonged to. This memory has made me reconsider the Christian idea of “giving account”. Jesus taught that the Father entrusts us with his good gifts and will some day want an account of how we used them. In one parable a faithless servant squanders his master’s money and in the end is ashamed – so I’ve tended to think of stewardship in terms of “don’t be a screw up”.

This experience with my Grandpa’s gift shifted my perspective. I wanted to be faithful with the money he gave us because I love and respect him. I saw his gift as something valuable and thoughtful and trusting, and I wanted to honor it.

Like my Grandfather, God invites us to share in his generosity. He gives his gifts to our care, accepting the risk of squander and waste, curious and hopeful to see what we might do and how our horizons might expand.