Paper Bag Love

My son Kai and I have found ourselves newly enthralled in an outreach of our local church. On Thursdays, some of the ladies visit local nursing homes. They have a devotion, sing, and allow the residents to share their thoughts. I had put off joining in because Kai is, well, "rambunctious". He loves people, and he's never met a stranger, but his high spirits can at times get him in trouble. I finally gave in last week and he did a great job! He walked around shaking hands and saying, "morning" and "[Merry] Christmas".

This week the ladies of this ministry brought a special treat for the residents. After our service, we handed out bags with fruit and a few treats inside. I couldn't help but think about my mom.

My mother grew up in extreme poverty. It would shock some of you to hear of the conditions she experienced in rural America. Christmas was always special for her, not because she got lots of toys or because she stayed up looking for Santa to shower her with gifts, because those were not realities in her world, but rather, she was excited because the local bank always did something special for their neighbors. The bank would open up and hand out bags with fruit inside. Every Christmas growing up mom would tell us about those bags. They contained an orange, an apple, a banana, and a candy bar. And that was the highlight of the season. Something so simple, but it stayed with her because it was an act of love in a paper bag.

Fast-forward 50-something years. That little girl, who somehow survived to adulthood, has thrived. She has traveled the world, worked hard, and built a fine life, but never forgot what it is to have nothing. Even in very lean years, she was always generous. Times growing up when we didn't have much, she still made it a point to be a "giver".

And what did all that giving "get" her?

It got her a grandson who happily spent his play time handing out love in a paper bag. It allowed her to see the embodiment of Psalm 100:5, "For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations" because not only did she make it through by the Grace of God, she has seen her children's children be blessed and bless others.

As Kai was "working the room" yesterday someone asked me how many generations of preachers are in my family. I proudly responded that I'm the third as far as I know. The inquiring lady smiled, pointed at my two year old, and said, "then he will be the fourth. I can already see it." As a mother, I guess I'm supposed to hope he enters a more lucrative field, but what's a more fertile field than the harvest before us? My heart leaped at the thought that my son would spend his life in joyful service to his Master.

I pray that my son always thinks of others before himself. I pray he always finds his deepest joy in serving those who need to borrow from his peace. I pray that he recognizes how blessed he is. I pray he possesses the generosity of his grandmother. And I pray that we all realize in this season of over-indulgence that love doesn't have to come from the fanciest store or be wrapped in the most expensive packaging, it can be found at the bottom of a paper bag.