A Grinch's Prayer

As ashamed as I am to admit it, the Grinch and I share a similar past.

Not in the... "I hate Christmas, so I'll steal gifts and trees and lights and happiness right out from under everyone on Christmas Eve" way.

No.  Not at all.  Because, unlike the Grinch, I really, really love Christmas.

Instead, it was more on the lines of..."I think the most likely reason of all…may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.”

In past Christmases, I remember the internal struggle I had whenever I heard that description to explain the Grinch's personality and the reason for his less-than-acceptable behavior.

Maybe that was me, too.

Given any personality test in years past, I'd score high on thinking, low on feeling.  High on analyzing and judgment.  Low on sympathy and mercy.

I rarely cried and was rarely moved to tears by others' situations and suffering.  I cared.  At least I thought.  At least I tried.  But in truth, more often than not, I turned my head, closed my eyes, or pretended not to hear the cries of the needy and the most vulnerable.

And though I'd never considered myself a taker, I'd never described myself as a giver either.  It's not that I was opposed to giving or that I hadn't given or that I didn't give. 

I had.  I did.

It's just that giving didn't seem to overflow naturally from me like it did from so many others I knew.

The hard reality:  I needed some supernatural help with my seemingly small heart.  The heart defect had to go.  My heart needed to grow.

So I prayed.  One simple prayer.  One very short, life-altering prayer. 

(I feel the need to offer a word of caution here.  You may not want to pray this prayer unless you really, seriously...like really, seriously mean it.  Consider yourself warned.)

"Lord, break my heart for what breaks yours."

 

What breaks the heart of God?  Here's my short list:

The lost.  The vulnerable.  The oppressed.  The captive.  The lonely.  The needy.  The helpless.  The poor.  The sick.  The persecuted.  The wounded.  The widow.  The orphan.

That one prayer changed my whole perspective on God and others.  No longer can I sit back and watch, content to stay within my own world, doing my own thing, for my own pleasure. 

No longer can I look at the needs, both here and there, and think, "There are just so many. I'm only one person so I won't be able to do much." 

Instead, I need to help.  I want to bless.  I'm compelled to give.  Something.  Anything.  Not sparingly, but generously.  Not under compulsion, but from a full heart.  A heart which has been given so much.

Weeks ago, I wrote down a specific list of giving opportunities I was aware of this holiday season.  Knowing it was not possible for our family to give to all of them, I narrowed the list to several things/people/ministries which resonated both with us and the heart of God.  And we focused our giving to that list.

And with each giving opportunity, I'm learning a valuable lesson.  Giving takes practice.  Lots of it.  Like learning to play a musical instrument or a new sport, giving is a skill.  The more you do it, the better you become at doing it. 

I'm grateful for these opportunities.  They have given me the chance to put into practice what I'm learning.

In 2 Corinthians 8:7, the apostle Paul said,

"See also that you excel in this grace of giving."

 

Paul knew that left on our own, we will hoard.  We will keep instead of give.  We will continue to store up temporary trinkets for ourselves.  But because God has been so incredibly generous to us, He calls us to store up eternal treasures on behalf of others and for His name's sake instead. 

 

Clinching closed fists less.  Extending open palms more.  

Not to receive, but to give.  Because the more I try to hold on to my life or my stuff, the more I lose it. The more I let go, the more I gain.

Including a bigger, growing heart.  A more generous heart.  A heart that breaks for what breaks His.

(To all my friends and family who possess such giving hearts, thank you. 

I have learned much from your example.)