Twice a year, "the stickies" arrive. You can always recognize them by the fingerprints on the packaging, and the card that reads: "I lov yew, Dady." They arrive at Christmas time, and on my birthday, and sometimes for no special occasion at all. The correct celebration is never the point. The stickies are always the same— a scrap of cloth, a tattered item from the garbage can, a little wad of yarn with feathers glued randomly to it. Carefully, I run my fingers across the colorful plumage, remarking, "Gee, Cooper, this is the most beautiful bird I’ve ever received."
Silence intrudes—followed by correction.
"It’s a hand gwenade."
Ah, yes—a hand grenade, one of the many tokens of love I’ve received from my kids over the years. They are always so touching, so personal . . . so sticky. But it doesn’t matter that they are coated in that goo that covers every child’s hands. They are sincere, and that’s why for as long as I live, I would never dream of throwing them away. I keep them in a special drawer, where my children—who are grown now—can one day bring their children to rummage through the stickies.
Paul’s closing instructions to the Corinthians begins with sincere giving, (I Cor. 16:1-4). There is perhaps no greater mark of Christianity than one’s willingness to give to others. And Paul doesn’t just instruct the Corinthians to give; he tells them to give habitually—once a week, as soon as the paycheck comes in.
To be specific, Paul wants them to give to the church in Jerusalem. It is the most ungrateful that are the most unsympathetic to the needs of those who helped them get their start. When we know someone, or some ministry that was instrumental in our spiritual life, we should ask God how we could bless them with our giving. Then, we should bless them with a blessing they’ll never forget.