When I was a kid, I thought "it is more blessed to give than to receive" sounded like a scam. If you could persuade people to give you stuff, because they thought they'd be blessed that way, then you'd get lots of stuff. Which was clearly better, sappy sayings aside.
I don't think I knew it was Jesus who originated that particular saying. Also, I was eight years old. I've learned a thing or two since then.
Remember when I was making socks for my friend who was having trouble? I gave them to her yesterday. I had no idea -- none at all -- how blessed I would be in the giving. I am feeling a little shy about posting the end of the story, because it sounds so improbable. But here it is anyway.
My friend reads my blog, and I was prepared to take down that sock-knitting post if she wanted me to. I've known her for a while and I'd never seen her so far down. I could imagine that if I were in a bad spot, somebody else's description of my troubles, posted on the internet for all the world to read, might be the last thing I'd want to see.
But she didn't want me to make the post go away. In fact, the next time I was at her house for coffee, she said the sock-in-progress got her back to Mass. I cried right there in her kitchen -- I still can't think about it without tearing up. I had been really worried that she was staying away from church. At first I wanted to say, "But the graces! The community!" Etc. I knew that wasn't what she needed, so I just prayed and knitted her socks and let the Holy Spirit do his job instead of tripping over myself to do it for him.
She sought a little help to get unstuck. I cast on the second sock and kept praying.
Last week at the park she said the most improbable thing of all: she said knowing that I was making those socks for her pulled her out of her funk. She said she couldn't explain it (socks??) but maybe it was the Holy Spirit.
This was a humbling experience for me. I've been discouraged lately about a couple of long-term situations where I seem to be getting celestial voice mail. I don't know exactly what I was expecting when I started knitting these socks, but it was not a rapid and dramatic answer. This situation reminds me that God's timing often isn't what I think it will be. It reminds me that a small sacrifice, offered with love, can bear unexpected fruit. It reminds me that hope begets hope. And it chokes me up, every time I think about my smiling friend.
It's easy for me to look at the socks and see their imperfections, like the slight lopsidedness in one of the kitchenered toes (note to self: grafting is better done when all is quiet, because it's easy to get distracted by spontaneous wrestling matches). But she says that they're beautiful and comfortable and that she'll treasure them, which reminds me that I don't have to love perfectly to make the effort of loving worthwhile. The whole thing makes me want to knit her another pair -- who knows what might happen next?
More blessed to give indeed.
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