True stories from the preacher's daughter, part 4

The good book says you will reap what you sow. Perhaps that explains why so many who crossed our path gave generously to us, without expecting anything in return. I can't count the number of times an unexpected check appeared in the mailbox, a Christmas fruitcake appeared on the doorstep, or a half of a cow made its way to our chest freezer. We were far from rich, but I never remember going without.

One of my first memories of this generosity materialized each Christmas on the porch of our light green parsonage. Throughout the year, Mr. Loomis, a faithful man from our church, delivered our Borden milk in a tin box on said porch. (Yes, I am that old.) He delivered our dairy each week like clockwork, which was equally true around the holidays. Except that the Christmas season brought the gift of eggnog and perhaps sour cream, maybe even some buttermilk and ice cream? Dad taught us to appreciate the fine taste of the eggnog at a young age, always with nutmeg gently sprinkled on top.  

Later, at our country church, a new seasonal gift emerged: the local funeral parlor delivered a box of pickles each Christmas, including several strange varieties. We always opened the box with our eyes wide, wondering at the kind of person who would send so many unusual pickles. Truly, that was one of the gifts that kept on giving. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the canned jars were yet unopened when the next Christmas suddenly arrived--and a new batch of pickled cucumbers appeared on our doorstep. I give the funeral director high marks for memorability.

Along the way, as we three girls grew up, we saw doctors and dentists who sometimes charged us a reduced fee, and on occasion, no fee at all. The dairy farmer from the country church filled our freezer with beef, including steaks, on a regular basis. And I remember most of us soundly rejecting the liver that was waiting in the freezer. In fact, I only remember eating liver once--I didn't understand why we had to eat it at the time, but I realize now it may  have been all we had at the time. No matter how little we had, we never went hungry.

In addition to all the gifts of food, my parents received money each Christmas from dear friends and from an offering collected by church members. It allowed us to receive presents and enjoy special meals and traditions we might have gone without otherwise. 

With all the generosity coming our way, I remember my parents being equally generous. We frequently had people over for dinner, mom baked cinnamon rolls and bread that were distributed around the neighborhood, and my parents regularly gave their tithe to the church and to other people or projects, no matter how little they had to begin with. 

We learned that not only does God love a cheerful giver--but that said giving brings joy back to the giver a hundredfold. It really is better to give than receive. Although receiving has its place, and allows both the giver and recipient to benefit. 

Fast forward to my freshmen year in college, when I was desperately in need of a winter coat, but didn't have extra cash to buy one. An anonymous card with money in it found its way to my dorm room, and I swallowed my pride and thanked God for this provision. I'm not sure how someone knew I needed that coat--maybe they didn't. It doesn't really matter--what mattered is that God provided the clothing I needed when I needed it.

Pickles and ice cream, steaks and fruitcake, cash and the absence of a doctor bill. Proof positive that God was watching out for us. Somehow the needs we had were often met just in time. "That was a close call," we could say. But that's not how we rolled. I remember bowing our heads around the dinner table and saying "Thank you, Lord. Thank you for meeting all of our needs, just like you promised."

It's a true gift to be forced to depend on God for basic needs and provisions. This preacher's kid wouldn't trade that opportunity for the world.