“But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand.” — 1 Chronicles 29:14

I have shared time and time again the struggle I have with putting myself out there through my writing. I don’t like the concept of being the person that is looked for or to. While I know this isn’t true, there is a deep spiritual warfare I battle fighting that I am not giving the perception of MY glory, but always HIS. Because in actuality, WE are all His children, and I truly believe that we can change the way believers reach spaces such as these. But still, there are moments when I sit back and think about the fact that people are reading MY, and I use that loosely, writing. I write these posts. I press publish. And if I’m being completely transparent, that part still makes me uncomfortable.

I often dream about starting a ministry. Maybe even a podcast where, just as I write, I speak… although I’ve joked that I may need to do it with a paper bag over my head. I kid you not; I imagined this whole idea and concept in service yesterday. I thought, maybe I could wear a ski mask, but certainly someone would recognize my hair, or my tattoos. A girl can dream… right?! Because I don’t particularly like what attention, validation, influence, leverage, or even ability can sometimes do to people. I never want what God allows me to carry to become something I believe belongs to me. Or worse… people think it belongs to me and not Him. But this weekend, I had the pleasure of hearing a message from one of our pastors, Pastor Joel, and somewhere in his message, God helped me understand a little more clearly why I continue doing this even when it makes me uncomfortable.

The message was about generosity. And one of the things that stayed with me was this: generosity reveals what you love, or maybe better said, who you love. I have always considered myself generous. Generous with dollars, or pennies when pennies were all I had. Generous with my time. My resources. My home. My encouragement. My willingness to show up. If I have something and someone else needs it, my natural response has usually been, How can I help? But this message challenged me to see generosity differently. Because generosity isn’t simply about what leaves our bank account. Generosity is about what we are willing to release from our hands.

Generosity is:

Our time. Our gifts. Our resources. Our plans. Our comfort. Our story. Our influence.

Even our lives.

Because honestly, none of it was ever ours to begin with.

Pastor Joel asked a question that I haven’t been able to shake: If you were accused of being generous, how deep would someone have to dig to find the evidence? Would the people around you immediately say, Oh yes. Absolutely. Or would there need to be a full investigation? A deep forensic dig in order to find proof of you being generous. And I’m not just talking about money. Would there be evidence that you were generous with encouragement? With grace? With forgiveness? With your time? With your gifts? With the opportunities God placed in front of you? Would there be evidence that you lived with your hands open? Because one of the things written in my notes from Sunday was:

“We are stewards, not owners. We don’t own anything.” That changes everything. My time isn’t mine. My resources aren’t mine. My abilities aren’t mine. And perhaps the part God has been working on most in me lately: My influence isn’t mine either. If God gives me a room, I steward the room. If He gives me a platform, I steward the platform. If He gives me a story, I tell the story. If He gives me people to encourage, I encourage them.

And if He asks me to speak when I would much rather hide behind that paper bag, maybe generosity looks like giving Him my yes anyway.

the time is now

I’ve also been reading about our relationship with hurry and time, and I’ve realized how much time controls our lives. There is this strange belief that somewhere out there exists a season when we will finally have enough of it. But we never have enough time.

So, we tell God: I’ll follow You more closely when my mess is fixed. When my family isn’t struggling. When my marriage is stronger. When my kids don’t need me quite as much. When work slows down. When I’m more confident. When I’m more prepared. When I finally feel qualified. And suddenly we realize we have spent years waiting for circumstances to become perfect before giving God what He asked us to give Him today.

“God is calling you in every season of your life. Your time is brief.” Perhaps generosity is also refusing to hoard the time God has given us. We so often come before Him holding our plans, dreams, ideas, careers, families and futures and say, “God, here is what I have planned. Will You bless it? Will you give it your stamp of approval?” But being generous sounds different. Generosity says: “God, here I am. Have Your way. My time belongs to you, so have what you may of it.” And maybe that’s what I’ve been doing without having language for it. I didn’t wait until I had the perfect platform. I didn’t wait until I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn’t wait until I felt qualified enough, healed enough, knowledgeable enough, confident enough, or brave enough. I just said, “Okay, God. Here I am”… While simultaneously whispering, “But God… who am I that You would choose me?” And maybe His answer isn’t that I am extraordinary. Maybe the answer is simply that I was willing. There was another line in my notes: “Give willingly.” Not when you have more. Not when you’re finally comfortable. Not when everyone understands. Not when you know exactly where obedience will lead. Willingly.

Because generosity isn’t measured by how much we possess. It’s revealed by how freely we surrender what God has already placed in our hands that really was never ours to begin with. When that day comes, I want to be able to say, “God, look what I did with what you gave me. Look how I used my ability to write and speak, to grow your kingdom.” And perhaps the greatest act of generosity isn’t writing a check at all. Perhaps sometimes it is looking at the life God has entrusted to you, your time, your testimony, your gifts, your children, your career, your influence, your ordinary everyday spaces, and recognizing: “God, none of this is mine. Use it however You please.” I may still cringe a little when someone calls this my writing or my platform. I may still struggle when attention comes my direction. I may still wonder why God would choose someone like me to write, speak, encourage, lead, or dream about ministry. But I am learning something:

I don’t need to own what God gives me. I only need to steward it well.

And if one day someone were to examine my life looking for evidence of generosity, I hope they wouldn’t simply find receipts showing what I gave. I hope they would find a life that said: Everything I had belonged to God, and I tried my best not to hold any of it too tightly. God, who am I that You chose me?

I don’t completely know. What I do know is that every one of us has the ability to simply say “yes” to His invitation, and that yes may lead us into a life we could have never dreamed for ourselves. But maybe the question is: Are we generous enough to surrender the things we’re grasping so tightly? Our plans. Our time. Our comfort. Our resources. Our reputation. Even the version of our lives we thought we were supposed to have.

Generosity isn’t only about what we’re willing to give to others, it’s also about what we’re willing to surrender to God.

So here I am, Lord. Have Your way. Create in me a spirit that gives freely and generously; not so that anyone would look at my life and see me, but so that the way I live would point unmistakably back to You… the One who first gave so generously to me. You gave the ultimate gift. Help me live like I know it.

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From the archives: This reflection was originally written as part of a faith-based community with my workplace. It has been lightly adapted for Everyday Spaces, Sacred Graces while preserving the heart and message of the original.