A Happy Giver

I wish I could be as happy of a giver as our across-the-corner neighbor. Known as Negrita by everyone in Talanga, Virginia is a tiny little lady who has a heart big enough for the whole of Honduras. Not a day goes by when a smile isn’t permanently decorating her face and she is not running from one house to another for a prayer service or to lend a hand somewhere else. Her life is one of true service because she is delighted to be living it.

I sometimes struggle with whether I am delighted with what is supposed to be my year of service. The foundation of this struggle comes from how I am beginning to perceive service and the goodness associated with it. For me, the value and the beauty of service comes not just from the action, but the intentions and the manner in which it is done. In other words, a deed is not just good because it appears to be so. Anybody can do a ‘good’ deed—but it takes sacrifice and a dedication to being a joyous servant to actually perform true service. Thus to me, true service is an action of sacrifice done in a joyous manner internally and externally.

I say all this because countless times a month we are asked to do things that none of us want to do but do anyway. Just a couple of weeks ago, one of the guys from Grupo Emanuel in the Church came over to ask if I could drive him to go cut down palms for him to build a Nativity scene. After checking my calendar, I told Roger I could do it a week from the day—next Saturday. He cringed and said what about tomorrow and after me telling him my entire schedule, he picked 6am as our start time. After he left, I cursed up a storm and was so frustrated that I had been suckered into getting up early. Negative Nancy status took over here. The whole night before I grumpily came to terms with it and the next morning at 5:50am, Matt and I were at the car. He was late—I noticed that. And then we spent the next hour or so climbing up and down the side of this treacherous mountain cutting down ginormous palms. And the whole time I was there, I was ready to leave. I complained in my head about getting dirty, about my splinter, about my sweat pants getting muddy and everything else. As we left, Roger asked if he could pay us—and of course, we refused and said it was fine. Yes, this looks like a good deed—but was it? Not on my part. The act itself was probably service but my intentions and mindset going into it were the farthest thing from true service.

Can sacrifice come naturally to anyone? And if not, how can a person become accustomed to sacrificing in a joyful manner? The whole reason why I so begrudgingly struggled to see the brighter side was because I didn’t want to sacrifice. I didn’t want to sacrifice my freshly cleaned sweat pants, my sleep, or my time. I wanted things to be on my schedule and in my way. And that’s one thing that I am constantly being reminded of here. Service and my struggle to live a life of genuine service cannot be perfectly on my time and in my terms otherwise it lacks the ingredients that make it true service. Not only must I be ready to sacrifice as so many have for me, but I must be ready to joyously give in a manner that can be seen in my actions and also in my intentions and thoughts.

One day I hope to be a happy giver—delighted to be living a life of true service.