be a hilarious giver

Before Christmas, I set aside a Friday afternoon to help Josh and Riley shop for their gifts, this a true highlight of the season for me because of the downright giddy generosity, the joy, with which they give, especially together, and every year, I finish the experience on a prayer:

Lord, teach me to love giving the way they do, because they love to give the way you do.

They lean over the bar now, sipping hot chocolate, the froth making mustaches on their upper lips, while I move around the kitchen, folding ingredients into dough for my Christmas baking.  They’ve come ready, with lists of the people to whom they want to give and a running dialogue about when the gifts will arrive, how they’ll manage the wrapping and the delivery, but with absolutely no thought toward budgets or limits of any kind.  They are cheerful givers, would entertain even the most extravagant requests without restraint, and meanwhile the rest of us lean over shopping carts somewhere, even the ones online, sighing weary because the so much has made the giving too much, and anyway, the gifting has become another item on the holiday to do list.

I glance at the two of them, their arms tangled between them, Josh sweatered against the cold, Riley short-sleeved and content, both slap-happy with getting to give.

I learned recently that the Greek word used for ‘cheerful’ in New Testament scripture, when Paul writes to the Corinthian church that God loves a cheerful giver, helaros, is the word from which eventually came our English word hilarious, and this wildly impacted my thoughts about God’s generosity and the kind of heart He wants for me.  Remembering, I pulled out a snatch of something I’d stored up in my heart a while back, something I’d treasured from a tiny book the late Tim Keller wrote called The Prodigal God, wherein he asserted that the word prodigal, which means reckless and lacking restraint, actually describes the Father in Christ’s Luke 15 parable even more aptly than it describes the son, because when the rebellious, wasteful son who squandered his inheritance returns, the father still withholds nothing, either in affection or resources, from the wayward one.  Keller wrote,

Jesus is showing us the God of Great Expenditure, who is nothing if not prodigal toward us, his children.  God’s reckless grace is our greatest hope, a life-changing experience.

God’s gives God, without restraint, and we are changed, and, as the apostle Paul wrote, He does so for joy. To give the way God gives, to give cheerfully, whatever the gift, is to do so for wild joy, begrudging nothing.

Riley has been giggling all day, bursting forth, suddenly sputtering, even spewing her coffee, and when I ask why, she just keeps saying, “I don’t know!  I’m just so happy about doing my Christmas shopping today.”  She finds giving hilarious.

Just now, I glance at them and smile, pick up a spatula to scrape down the sides of the mixer bowl, say finally, “Okay, who are you giving to first?”

Josh grins, gestures toward Riley, says simply, “ladies first,” because chivalry really isn’t dead, and the first gift he’ll give—to her–is priority.  He doesn’t even know that each time he does this, he’s saying to her, I’ll always make you first.  She laughs again, the laugh of incredulity, of I-can’t-believe-God-lets-me-give, and maybe it’s also I-can’t-believe-how-God’s-given-to-me, joy bubbling over and pouring out of her as she consults her list.

“Ahem, o-kay,” she says, shimmying in her seat, and I think, when have I, even at Christmas, en-joyed giving this much?

I can’t help but wonder, pausing to wash my hands, feeling suddenly somehow cleaned by their enthusiasm, which is, I see it clear, not about material sums but a wild, unbounded condition of the heart.

“So,” Riley says, swallowing a healthy giggle, “the first person on my list is Grandma.” She says ‘Grandma’ and her grin stretches, love in her thoughts for my mom showing up on her face, wild delight pouring out from deep in her heart.

“Well, what does Grandma like?  I ask, trying to facilitate brainstorming about a gift. “When you think of Grandma, what do you think about?”

“Yeah,” Josh agrees, turning toward Riley, “What do you think about Grandma, Riles?”

“I love Grandma,” Riley says.  “She’s one of my favorite people.”

“Yeah, I love Grandma too,” Josh says.  “You know, she’s my grandma too now.”

“Yes, she is your grandma too, Josh,” Riley says, and the joy spills, and Josh grins, and they look at me expectantly.

“So, in terms of gifts…,” I nudge, catching the smile.

“OH!  She likes to cook,” Josh ventures.  “Hey Riles, doesn’t Grandma like to cook?”

Riley murmurs assent, says, “Yes.  She likes to give cookies to all the UPS drivers when they bring her packages.”

“Wait.  She gives cookies to the UPS driver?” Josh clamps a hand down on Riley’s arm, gasps, his voice climbing with surprise, cheerful giver recognizing hilarity in Grandma’s giving, and he laughs, the richest kind of grace.  “I didn’t know she did that!”  He pats Riley’s arm, suddenly excited, rushing on.  “Hey, I could be a UPS driver and Grandma could give me cookies.”

And I am laughing too, because this is hilarious, their wide eyes, their love, the sudden generous recognition that cheerful giving can itself be given as an unrestrained legacy, that one line of prodigal givers gives birth to another, that all of these come from God, like tributaries of the river of His delight.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights.

If we know how to give good gifts, I’m thinking, paraphrasing Christ, how much more does God know how to give good gifts to those He loves, and if He would love the me that is a hilarious giver, isn’t He much more cheerful about giving Himself?  My smile spreads, thinking of God thinking of us, planning our good gifts, planning the gift of Himself.

“I could give Grandma a cookie cookbook,” Riley says, already leaning into search.  “I could give her that so she can make more cookies for the UPS drivers.”

Let me give to her—oh, hilarious joy—so she can give to someone else, and maybe joy spreads with the generosity, the best kind of epidemic.  I am thinking this might be an epidemic of heart healing not just for Christmas, but something we could carry into the new year, to freely give as we’ve received, to freely give to seed the giving, to spread not our own legacy, but the legacy of our God, who has outgiven everyone.