Just when I think I have nothing left to give, God usually asks me to give a little bit more.
For years, my mother has organized bi-annual blood drives at my home parish, but it was just yesterday that I finally decided to donate blood for the first time. I didn’t expect it to be too exciting. My mother was in the church rehearsing for another parish event, so my father decided to wait with me in the adjacent hall before we would all head off together to grocery shop for Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving. If God’s timing isn’t perfect, then it sure is ironic.
Why not donate some blood while we’re waiting? I figured. Father was doing it, and he had encouraged me to do it, and after years of never having the opportunity to do it, I finally was able to do it.
So I did it.
Even though I had every excuse not to do it. I was exhausted from an unanticipated double shift the day before. I hadn’t eaten that morning, save for a bagel I consumed mere minutes before having 10% of my blood drawn from my body. (That’s how my loved ones can tell something’s wrong–I’m either not eating, or eating out of obligation.) I had already donated the gift of my time by substitute teaching a combined RCIC/RCIT class, and by speaking and ministering in Mass. I was about to donate more of my time by shopping for the family. I was evangelizing, studying, entertaining, decorating and cleaning the house, confessing my sins, having important conversations, congratulating some friends, arguing with other ones, and praying for them all. Hadn’t I already given enough?
“Nope,” replied the God of Justice. Or, if you prefer the voice of the God of Mercy: “There’s always more to give.”
Still another expert urges, “Give until it hurts.” That’s Saint Teresa of Calcutta’s definition of love, and basically the same advice Father shared with his flock in yesterday’s homily.
A little blood was the least I could give. Sure, it hurt physically, and I nearly blacked out…but it was hardly painful compared to the emotional, moral, spiritual, and behavioral battles I had already been fighting that weekend, especially with my dear friends and family surprising me with their support.
One friend was dancing and singing for me when she saw me go pale, another was asking all the right questions, and another was distracting me with heartwarming poetry. At one point, Father even cracked a joke about still having two more bags to go. Meanwhile, my parents were in the background, my dad jamming out to the music selected by the phlebotomists, and my mom remaining calm with a lovely Her friends have got this smile on her face.
My friends were dealing with their own sorrows and joys, but stopped to give of themselves, too.
There’s something about giving that prepares us to receive, and there’s something about receiving that prepares us to give more. I had every desire to give up this past weekend, but God never allows the world to attack His children without also being there to treat their wounds. In fact, being attacked prompts us to rely even more on Him whose nature it is to provide. Where the world takes, God only gives.
When we joyfully and gratefully receive the gifts God has to offer us, we have a responsibility to prudently and humbly participate in multiplying His already abundant blessings, even when it hurts, and even when we think so much has been taken from us that we have nothing left to give.
Stop to Smell the Flowers 