A Lazy Sabbatical?

            “I’m disappointed in you, Rob.  You should still be in bed.”

            A neighbor said this to me a month ago, when my Sabbatical began.  He had the sense that Sabbatical = relaxation, or rest.  He made this smiling, sarcastic comment at the bus stop as he along with me and other parents stood with our elementary-aged kids waiting for the bus that usually arrives around 7:20AM.  Our kids go out there at 7:00AM to play high octane games of tag while waiting.  Sometimes, for my kids, waiting for the bus is the highlight of the day.  We parents join them, clutching our coffee cups, around 7:10.

I couldn’t take up a practice of sleeping in even if I wanted to.  My kids are early risers.  It’s not uncommon for me to hear one of them stumbling around before 6AM, on a Saturday.  I am the type of sleeper that cannot really sleep if the kids are up. I also have trouble in June, when it’s daylight for so long.  I shudder to think how I’ll do when I am in St. Petersburg in July with 19-20 hours of daylight.

It’s funny that he, of all my neighbors said that particular thing.  He’s just started a running program.  A lot of mornings at the bus stop with the kids, we see him come running up, dripping sweat.  He’s just finished a 6-mile run.  He’s lost so much weight, I hardly recognize him. I wish I had that kind of discipline.

I don’t.  Discipline is something I struggle with, so Sabbatical has been a challenge.  A lot of times, I hear “You’re not doing anything. Can you …” (insert request). I don’t resent it.  Usually the person making the request is my wife, and the request she’s making is something our family needs me to do.  And she doubles me in terms of work done making our family’s life better.  So, I need to emphasize, stress, and underline this (in case she reads this).  Her requests are not intrusions on the Sabbatical.  But, I’ll get to that in a minute. 

The phrase “you’re not doing anything” is poignant.  In actuality, that’s not what she says.  It’s what I hear.  What she says is “Could you help,” and what I should immediately say is “Yes dear.”  But, I do wonder sometimes.  What am I to be doing?  How do I go about the work of rest?  What is my “work” right now?   I thought I’d have figured this all out by now, but I think that misses the point.  I think this Sabbatical is about meeting God in the normal rhythms of life.  I think this is especially so in my adopted Sabbatical motto, “die to self.”   

I have hiked.  Miles and miles in the Eno River State Park, Duke Forest, Occaneechi Mountain, and in my own neighborhood. On those wilderness walks, I listen to God talk to me through the voices in nature: through the wind, through frogs and turtles and millipedes.  God spoke to Balaam through a donkey and to Elijah through the silence after the storm.  I have always known that God speaks to me in green spaces. 

I have read.  Deidra Riggs One (you have to check it out); The Next Worship by Sandra Maria Van Opstal; A Common Word (this is by several Christian and Muslim authors including Miroslav Volf; I’ve read these and many other works.

I have talked to pastors and Christians in multiethnic church contexts.  Walking, reading, talking – this is all stuff I do all the time anyway, but in now, in Sabbatical, it is in a unique space.  But none of this is the “work” of Sabbatical.  The work of Sabbatical is those times when my wife or my kids need me.  One definition of “vocation” is “a person’s employment or main occupation, especially regarded as particularly worthy and requiring great dedication.”  My family is worthy of “great dedication.”  My vocation right now is being here for them.

I’ve gone on my son’s 4^th grade beach field trip.  That was a 4AM-8PM commitment.  I’ve attended my daughter’s classroom awards ceremony.  Tomorrow, I will spend the day with my son who’s about to finish 8^th grade.  Next week, I take all three of them on a three-night camping trip, one we’ve talked about for over a year.

Also, on this Sabbatical, I’ve mowed the lawn, done dozens of loads of laundry, and taken the trash and recycling out countless times (I don’t know if anyone else in my house knows how to do that).  In these simple tasks, I am living my faith in the course of daily life.  Sometimes pastors forget to do that.  Sometimes we get our heads caught up in theology or lofty goals related to justice or compassion or evangelism.  Those are all worthy things to which pastors are called, but not at the expense of serving God in daily life, in the context of our most important relationships.

The real vocation is to live as a disciple of Jesus.  One of the ways Jesus’ disciples show love for him is by loving their families, in my case, wife and kids.  Sabbatical definitely has lazy moments.  “Should I spend the next hour reading The Next Jim Crow, or should I spend the next hour watching The Avengers?” [i]  Sometimes, heavy social reading is left on the shelf and I veg out watching a fun movie.  Sometimes, not enough times, I do the reading.  But much of the time, the answer is neither.  I want to read.  I want to veg out.  But I am “called” to play Wii golf with my son or read to my daughter.  In that, I meet God as much as in my heavy reading or nature walks. 

I am fortunate to have the gift of this time.  I’m trying to appreciate it and be a good steward of it. 

---

[i] Quick quiz – Can you watch The Avengers or Captain America too many times?  The answer is No.

Coffee Colored Faith

In our church this past Sunday, a man gave the children’s sermon.  It was about obedience.  He wanted to show how obedience to God’s ways fills and flavors one’s life so that life lived in obedience to God is better, more wonderful than a life of disobedience.

He used three images.  He showed the children pictures.

First, he used a carrot.  What happens when you boil a carrot in water?  It gets soft and mushy.  Do we want to be soft and mushy on the inside, no form, nothing to stand on?  Of course not!

Next, he used an egg as his example.  What happens when an egg is boiled?  Inside it hardens.  And our apart from the ways of God our hearts harden until we have no heart left and are nothing more than stone inside.

I get that his illustrations are not all that sophisticated, but this was a children’s sermon with kids as young as pre-school age.  They got the point.  And with his third example, I got an even better blessing, one I am sure he did not intend but would be happy with nonetheless.

He showed a picture of a coffee bean.  When that is ground and boiled, it turns water into wonderful, delicious coffee.  First, the man who gave this demonstration is my friend and I did not know he is coffee drinker.  Maybe he’s not.  Maybe he described so beautifully for the sake of the illustration.  I am a total coffee drinker.  I think it is a wonderful invention, brought the world by Ethiopia, by the way! 

So, as a coffee-lover, I loved that he likened the wonders of a life of obedience to God to water that has been turned into coffee (which I would take over wine any day).  But there was, for me, a deeper blessing.  Here is my family.

Notice, my children are vanilla, milk chocolate and dark chocolate.

Now think about colors and the images they usually convey.  When someone is in a dark mood, is that a good thing?  Is a black mark on your record something you want?  Do we yearn for dark times?  Is the phrase “black as night” accompanied by happy butterfly music?  So often “dark” and “black” conjure up negative thoughts.  Other colors are used to arouse happiness, joy, or peace.

What does that mean for people who are categorized as “black”?  Africa in some circles is called the “dark” continent.  By the way, that is about as ignorant as it gets.  Travel to Ethiopia and you’ll be blizted by vibrant color, especially red, green, and yellow!

When my friend did his children’s sermon, the negative were the hard white egg and the mushy orange carrot.  That was life without God’s word.

The good life, the delicious life is the coffee-darkened life.  As that deep blackness of coffee permeates the colorless, flavorless water, excitement, goodness, energy, and joy seep in just life is invigorated when it is filled to the brim with the ways of God.  I didn’t realize until I heard that simple children’s sermon how I yearned for something that connected dark colors (the colors of my children’s skin) with something wonderful. 

I thank my friend for giving me this delicious, beautiful metaphor I can hold onto in order to celebrate my Lord and my kids. 

Metaphors aside, I think I’ll celebrate right now with a snack of buttered steamed carrots, a salted hard-boiled egg, piping hot black coffee, and clear ice water.  

Blessed in Christ with Every Spiritual Blessing

                Bless her heart. 

Several years ago, my wife Candy volunteered in a church ministry to high school aged girls.  The leader of that ministry was a southern woman.  She used a phrase that was unfamiliar to Candy.  In speaking about someone, she might say, bless her heart.  By this she meant, that poor, poor woman.  She’d describe someone who was going through a tough time, or she’d talk about someone who just did not understand something, and she’d sigh and say, bless her heart.  That poor, poor woman.

Is that what blessedness is?  Is it a pitiable condition?

God bless you! 

Is this something we shout when someone sneezes? 

A kid was suspended from a public school in Tennessee recently; suspended for saying “bless you” after a sneeze.  “Bless” is on a list of forbidden terms.  For her part, the teacher said the student shouted the phrase from across the room and was particularly aggressive in asserting her constitutional right to say it.

Why would “bless” be forbidden?  Is there something inherently dangerous or destructive in this word? 

Is this was “bless” is?  A word that requires censorship?  Or a vehicle for a Christian student to challenge a secular teacher?

Gathered around the coffin, family members comfort one another.  The son – now the family patriarch – gazes at the corpse that was his father.  “It is a blessing,” the son says.  Is this blessing, then?  Someone lives a good life but then in the senior years contracts a disease that leads to suffering and a painful death.  Upon reflection, do we say his death, an end to suffering, is a good thing?  Is this blessing – a good thing?

Would you describe yourself as blessed?  Do you live a blessed life?  If you say that, what, exactly, are you saying?  Do we have any idea what this really means?

Poor, poor woman.

Sneeze response!

A good thing.

A description of my life.

What does it mean – blessed, bless, blessing???

Ephesians 1:3-4 relies on this word family:  “³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, ⁴ just as he chose us in Christ^[b]before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love.”

Whatever blessing means in current vernacular, in Ephesians the one who is blessed is a child of God.  Through Jesus, we are adopted as God’s children (v. 5).  Our sins are forgiven (v. 7).  And we get to know what God knows (v.9).  Finally, we have an inheritance (v.11, 18) which involves receiving power from God (v.19-20), while living in the presence of God (v. 10).  Blessing then is being God’s child.  We are children of a father who loves us.

The best way I can think to relate is my own experience.  I am an adoptive father.  My eldest was adopted from Russia when was 3½.  The younger two were each just under two when they were adopted from Ethiopia.  We come together by marriage and adoption and the five of us make a family.

I don’t know what it is to love a child I have sired.  I do not have any biological children.  I don’t have any context so I cannot definitively say how I would feel about a child who came from my wife and me, so to speak.  What I know is I cannot imagine loving anyone more than I love my kids.

My love for my kids is fun.  We play kickball, UNO, we play on the swing set, we climb trees, swim in pools, hike trails, and play hide ‘n seek.  It is loads of fun. 

This love is also sacrificial.  When they have nightmares or cannot sleep, my wife and I are up with them.  When they are sick, we take care of them.  We have made the choice to live without things (like cable TV) for the sake of paying for other things (adoption expenses, good health insurance, family vacations).  In the moment, we don’t always like giving things up.  In the big picture, we love it because we love the kids. 

The love we have for our kids is long term.  I mentioned their ages at adoption.  From the moment they were in our custody, they were ours.  They were already walking, but just about every developmental milestone in a human’s life that comes after walking we taught them (and continue to teach them).  We want to help them know how to discover their passions, how to grow intellectually, emotionally, physically, and spiritually, and how to live in the world as it is.  The way we raise the kids prepares them for life.  This is daily work and lifelong work.  And it is an expression of our love.

I don’t know exactly how fitting this is for a picture of God’s love for humans – all who come to Christ and are adopted as God’s children.  I don’t know, but I believe the metaphor serves to give an idea of God’s love and the blessing we have as God’s children.

I said our love with our kids is fun.  I think God’s love is fun, but even deeper because God’s love produces joy.  I described our parenting love as sacrificial.  The sacrifices parents make are important; the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross is even more so.  I imagined our parent-love as being long-term.  God’s love for us, His adopted children, is eternal.  More than just lasting, God makes a ways for us to live eternally with Him because He wants to be with us. 

Is definition for blessing needed?  How about this?  Blessing = being adopted as child of God.  This is blessing and this is what we have and what we are when we are in Christ.

Thinking about ... Golf??

I'll start with this - Our church is hosting a Golf tournament.  Here is the link - 

http://hole4one.com/

OK, why, besides the fact that millions of people love golf, are we hosting a golf tournament?  The intent is to raise money for our mission trips to Ethiopia.  We go every Spring, and this year we're also going in October.  We always visit the same place - the Children's Hope Chest care point in the city of Kombolcha (http://www.hopechest.org/). There are 170-200 children who come to this care point.  They receive funds for education, school uniforms and supplies.  They also receive a meal.  And most importantly, they are taught the Gospel.  Our trips are intended to build an in-person relationship with the children and also with the adults (all Ethiopians) who tend to the daily care of these kids.  We think if we do this annually for a decade, we will see tangible results.  Children will come to faith in Christ.  Children will be educated and learn English and gain employment opportunities.  Maybe, this generation will grow up and become parents who do not need American sponsors to help them care for their children. Maybe we are making a contribution that can break the cycle of generational poverty.

Awesome.

What does any of this have to do with golf?

It is expensive to travel to Ethiopia.  Many of those from our church who go on the trips are university students.  They need financial help.  And those who go come back saying, "I want to sponsor a kid."  "I want to raise money to get new facilities at the care point."  "I want to dedicate my life to helping people know Jesus and climb out of the pit of malnutrition and material need."  

Some of the funds raised in the golf tournament will help people go on the trip.  Some of the funds will go to the care point, to help with the many needs at the facility.  I have seen some nasty toilets in my life.  I have not seen many worse than the one at the care point.  The leaders of the Meseret Kristo Church (the Care Point is an Evangelical Mennonite Church) know how insufficient their facilities are.  They just don't have the money for upgrades.  The Care Point would benefit from improved kitchen facilities.  These are examples of the needs.  

So ... Golf!

We want people to play in our golf tournament (click on link at the top).  We want companies to sponsor holes in our golf tournament.  We want God to bless this effort and multiply the money that will be used for our mission in Kombolcha, which as I said we hope will be ongoing for at least the next decade.  We are also praying about adding another site, probably somewhere in the Western Hemispheres, in 2015.  This would be in addition to, not in place of, the work in Ethiopia.

Readers of my blog, I ask you to pray about this effort.  Pray for Children's Hope Chest.  Pray for the One Child Campaign (http://onechildcampaign.showitsite.com/).  That group, led by Caleb David, plans the details of our trips.  Caleb or his brother Josh go with us and act as guides for us.  If you have a mission trip you are planning, contact Caleb.  He might be able to help you pull it off.  Especially call him if international missions are new to you.  Pray for Hope Chest, for One Child, for our church, for the kids in Kombolcha.

And, my faithful readers, pray for our golf tournament.  I am even going to play.  I have never broken 100 (probably never even broken 115 if I honestly count all my strokes).  I am going to play because it is fun.  No, that's not why I am playing.  For me golf is a lot of fun, but when we became parents in 2005, I happily gave it up.  No, I am blowing the dust off my clubs because I believe in this project.  If you can, please sign up to play.  Spread the word.  Tell your friends.  Play golf and pray that God will help us carry out this mission of Christian love in Ethiopia.  

One other thing; if you are moved by the tragedy of orphans and economically vulnerable kids, consider joining us in our work in Ethiopia.  Sponsor a child.  Travel with us.  The trip is March 8-18.  Actually we need a physician or physician's assistant for our trip in October, October 12-21.  If you know a doctor, physician's assistant or nurse practitioner who might go in October, please pass the word along.

Play Golf.  Share the good news.  Love as Jesus loves.  

http://hole4one.com/

A White Father with Black Kids

A friend from many years ago, Diedre, writes a wonderful blog - "Jumping Tandem" http://www.deidrariggs.com/ .  On it, she asked for stories related to race.  Here is what I shared. 

My wife and I have three adopted children, but most people looking at our family would never guess.  Our oldest, I___, adopted from Russia, is as white as we are.  It's not a stretch for people to look at him and guess which features are from me and which are from Candy.  But the joke is on those who innocently pose such guesses.

I___ shares as much with us genetically as his younger siblings, his brother H___, 6, and sister M___, 4.  H___ and M___ are adopted from Ethiopia. 

The three of them act like siblings.  That means I___, 11, despises, bullies, and in his best moments protects the younger ones.  M___, like any youngest sister of older brothers thinks she is a princess, thinks the world revolves, and is pretty convinced she is really the one in charge.  I___ also thinks all people exist to serve his purposes.  He might have a future as a drill sergeant. 

            And there is golden-hearted H___.  This child is one of the happiest, most well-intentioned people I have met.  I came down to the breakfast table the other day and H___ had been the first one awake.  He is most days, up by 5AM, singing, clapping, happy.  On this particular morning, H___ was the only one downstairs.  There were five bowls of cereal, with milk already poured, around the table.  Ah, my H___.  He woke up and thought it would be nice to have everyone's breakfast ready and waiting for them.  What 6-year-old   does that?

            The Trayvon Martin story, and others told in our local area (Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill) worry me a bit.  Right now H___ is cute, but he is going to grow into a strong young man.  He's already compact and muscular.  He's probably too nice to every play football, but he has a condition I have never had to deal with.  Because he is male, if, when he's an adult, he goes out at night, with a hoody on, I have to fear for him.  I have to worry that my own neighbors will call the police because he outside, at night, with a hoody, and he is black.  When the police come, I have to worry that they will assume he's up to no good.  My golden-hearted H___.

            Last year, one of our neighbors posted in the neighborhood email list serve this message.  "I just saw two black young men going door to door.  Should I call the police?"  My wife went outside and discovered these were in fact players on our local high school football team selling calendars to raise money.  Many times, white players did the exact same thing.  There was no panicked email about calling the police.  My wife, appalled, called the woman and requested that she not call the police if she ever saw H___ out playing.  The woman, to her credit, immediately recognized the racism in her own actions and came to our house to apologize to Candy in person. 

            Being the white father of black kids has awakened many things in me.  I have mentioned some of the majors, especially regarding H___.  Simpler things include lotion, shea butter for the skin.  Never in my life have I used any kind of lotion on my skin, save for sunscreen.  I hate.  I hate having my hands sticky or greasy.  H___ and M___ need their skin lotioned every day.  Candy has to make the lunches for school.  I who hates having stuff on my hands have the pleasure of applying shea butter to my children. 

            I asked my friend Emerson about this.  He is black and he said it can be a peaceful, intimate time with your child.  My friend lied.  He raised daughters.  My son H___ gets half greased up with shea butter and then, naked, runs around the house.  Try grabbing someone who is strong, fast, and greased.  I supposed it could be described as intimate, but there is nothing quiet or peaceful about it.  The more frustrated I get, the harder H___ giggles.

            But's that's nothing.  I am a bald man.  What little bit of hair I have is cropped tight.  "Doing my hair," involves zero effort.  Candy has mastered M___'s hair, which is about as curly as you can imagine.  Awesome.  Husbands and wives divide up labor and Candy has M___'s hair duties.  And Emerson, the father of daughters, is right.  That time Candy and M___ have together is special and beautiful and intimate.  And Candy is going to Ethiopia for a 9-day mission trip in October. 

            Who is going to do M___'s hair?  The white bald man who hates getting stuff on his fingers?  One day in August, Candy intentionally left the house early, M___'s hair undone, and stayed away all morning.  She knew I would have to get M___ ready for the day.  She kind of shouted some instructions as she ran out the door.  It was test.  She claims it wasn't, but I know it was.  I got the stuff in the purple dispenser (don't ask me what it's called), and started working through M___'s curls.  I know I was using the correct product.  But I probably did not spend enough time working through the kinks and knots.  And I definitely did not tie the band for the puff tight enough.  M___'s confidence is in tatters.  The four-year-old often anxiously asked about what will happen with her hair while Mommy is in eee-pee-oh-oee.  She asks the question as if I am not home, even though I am sitting next to her while she asks.  Clearly, in her mind, it is not even a remote possibility that I will be of any help.  October 21, Candy's return date, cannot get here soon enough.

            I love my three children.  I love that I live in a time and a town (Chapel Hill, NC) that accepts our colorful family.  I love that they have friends from colorful families.  I love that our church celebrates our family and that there are other interracial families in our church.  I thank God for Martin Luther King Jr. and John Lewis and so many others who have worked for a better world.  I thank for my Dad, who as a young college student, against his father's wishes, hopped on a bus in Detroit, road to Washington DC, and heard the "I-have-a-Dream" speech.  I bet he didn't think he'd one day have black grandchildren.  But he sure loves them.  I thank God for my mom who taught in Mumford high school in Detroit.  One day her principal asked how many of her students in a class were black.  I don't know, was her response.  Upon reviewing her role, she realized all of them were black.  She had not thought about it.  Because she doesn't form opinions about people based on their pigmentation.  That's the right kind of colorblindness. 

I have told our story many times.  I appreciate this context in which I can share it again.

Sleep

Wonderful day at my house yesterday - my parents were in from out of town along with my sister. And my aunt and uncle came over. So it was the five them, plus the five of us (three kids, wife, me). And throw in a neighbor who comes over.

We ate delicious chicken pot pie a church member had given for pastor-appreciation month. We had a massive kickball game in the backyard (which is really too small for such a game). Then we ate moist, rich brownies my wife Candy made. Brownies with vanilla ice cream mmmm ....

It was, admittedly, a lot of excitement and stimulus for our 2-year-old daughter who's only been home from Ethiopia since June. We're still pretty protective about her, limiting her exposure to people and experiences. Yesterday was a lot for her. As was the previous day.

That day, a Friday, after school, a throng of neighborhood children gathered in and around one neighbor's yard. There must have been 20 or more kids. Several games were going - tag, some sort of war game, lawn mowing (the toddlers with plastic mowers). The ages ranged from 2 (my daughter and another two-year-old) all the way up to one high school freshman. It was great fun.

Those two maddeningly fun days accumulated dizzying over stimulus for our dear daughter. Last night, Saturday night, she could not fall asleep. Normally, she falls asleep in the stroller with me pushing, and it typically takes 10-20 minutes. Last night, I had to push her around in the dark for almost 55 minutes (a nice 3-mile walk for me). She finally conked out and we put her in bed.

I went out to watch my beloved Detroit Tigers get knocked out of the playoffs by Texas, an ugly 15-5 game (not ugly if you're a Rangers fan). I got home and got ready to get into bed around 11:15PM. I was not yet asleep when she popped away and would not go back to sleep.

Midnight ... 1AM ... 2:30.

It did not matter if I was with her or if Candy was with her. She preferred Candy, but she insisted on being awake. If either of us tried to lay her down or walk her or do any of the techniques to get her to sleep, she screamed, wailed, protested, and did it all very loudly. That girl has power with her lungs. It was enough to wake her 9-year-old brother and he was fuming mad. Miraculously, the 4-year-old brother slept through it.

Finally at 5 AM - yes - she and we were still awake at 5 AM (I put her in the van to see if taking her for a drive would get her to sleep). It worked. Thankfully, we got the 9-year-old back to sleep around 1 or 2AM. But, mommy, daddy, and baby girl were up most of the night, mommy and daddy, the entire night.

And today, as senior pastor, I get to baptize 4 people and preach the sermon.

Theology of Blessing

20Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. 21And he said, "Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD" (Job 1:20-21).
As I write this, I am nearing the end of a fabulous, week-long vacation. Our time has been split between my parents’ house and my aunt’s lake-house. My sons, 2 and 7, have had a great week of connecting with my generation of cousins. There are 15 in my generation and my boys got to meet and spend quality time with 6 of them (including my sister and me) as well as some of my aunts and uncles and my parents and grandmother.

How many people would say they have a restful week-long vacation with their parents? My wife also has had a good time. So many people become adults and have acrimonious relationships with their parents and adult siblings. We have been truly blessed.

And that is really my whole point here – blessing. I have lived a blessed life; the life of Job before Satan got a hold of his possessions, family, and health. So, do I respond as Job did by leading my family in worship and praying for them? YES! And what would happen if I lost it all?

I shudder to even imagine that eventuality!

But, it is worth thinking about. What is the proper theological response to blessing? The book of Job raises theological questions about suffering, but what is a proper theology of prosperity and blessing?

In short, two answers come to mind. The first is thanksgiving. I was sitting with my dad on the back patio. I was reading the Bible and writing in my journal. He was reading the morning comics. We were both enjoying coffee and bacon. When my journal entry was complete, I asked him to pray with me because I always pray when I am done journaling. I thought about the blessing of having a dad, who is a good friend and a brother in Christ, and I thought about all the blessings of the week, and I led us in a prayer of thanksgiving.

Without doing any complicated theology, I think the first response to blessing is to say thanks to God. We don’t wonder why we are blessed and another is not. We thank God.

A second and equally important response to blessing is generosity. A friend of mine, a missionary named Phil, really tipped me on this. I was writing some newsletter pieces for our church about tithing. He said, “You know Rob, the real New Testament teaching about money and giving is generosity.” Jesus and the New Testament writers do not teach us to give 10% of our paychecks. Generosity is modeled, taught, and commanded.

So, all disciples of Jesus are called to extremes in generosity. And our generosity should reflect how “blessed” we have been financially and relationally. We give our money, we open our homes, and we open our hearts. Just as it is unwise to blame God during times of hardship, it is unwise to take credit during times of wealth God. We thank God profusely, and we share the blessing with an extravagant, unending flow of generosity.