Uncommon Gifts

I’m not sure when I first noticed it. The awareness dawned gradually. Like waking up without the jangling of an alarm clock. There is a drowsy stirring. An eye opens slightly, then squints against the morning’s brightness. There is a moment of half-sleep twilight. All this before fully awakening.

For me, it was a thought. An idea. A possibility. Waking up to a reality, squinting in surprise against it:

Every good gift is from God.

Sun, rain.
Sight, taste.
Intelligence, speech.
Friendship, family.
Health, life itself.
Every.
Good gift.
Is from God.

The Bible had been a gift from my parents. For years I had regarded it as a special book, though I never read it. Until that evening, high in California’s Sierra, as I read Matthew’s Gospel, alone, by the light of a campfire. The generosity of it rocked me. The gift of Jesus — his grisly death — had opened the way for me to know God and enjoy him forever.

With hell’s fire in plain view, I could recognize in forgiveness a good gift when I saw it.

But as good a gift as forgiveness is, this awakening awareness that every gift is from God was something far different. Something, in a sense, more comprehensive than the promise of heaven, tomorrow. Or at least more encompassing, inclusive.

Forgiveness was God’s special favor to his people, his family of faith. But this every gift idea included everyone. Good gifts were freely lavished on everyone — friend of God, enemy of God, alike. Heaven was the Christmas gift from the Father to the members of his family. Every good gift was for that larger gift list on which every human’s name appeared, whether they recognize it or not, acknowledge it or not, everyone receives.

From the hand of God.
Every.
Good gift.

It was that same long-neglected Bible; it had introduced me to the gift of eternal life, now it sparked my awareness of God as the Giver. I had read the New Testament book of James — when, I don’t recall — but I had read it with a yellow marker in hand. I had underlined much of the first chapter.

Months passed. Perhaps even a couple years. Then one afternoon as I skimmed James, a bright yellow patch of Bible words rose off the page:

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

Every gift.
From God.

An idea was stirring. A thought awakening.

I had read it before, noted the words for their simplicity and power. But new meaning was dawning.

I realized that Christians asked God for things. (James talks about this, too.) And God often grants their prayer requests. He often gives what has been sincerely requested, as a gift. But prayer wish lists, prompting the generosity of God the Giver, were not the same as this new every gift awareness.

Prayer-answers were special gifts. Gifts requested. Gifts dispensed by God to his own people who knew how to pray.

This every good gift idea was fundamentally different. These gifts were common: food, shelter, ingenuity, life. Yet they were uncommonly special. But in their commonness (I call them common only because God was so unbridled in his giving) they were most often overlooked by us as gifts. They were merely life’s standard equipment. Who would think to thank God for something as expected as beauty in a sunset, simple as a smile, as routine as emotive music?

These everyday gifts were not only common, they were unrequested. They just happened, simply arriving in our lives. Who would think to say thanks to God for something life itself dished out — to all?

Yet I found myself waking up to an idea. Every gift. Sitting bolt upright out of sleepy presumption. Is from God. I was facing afresh the commonplace ... and seeing God.

Every.
Good gift.
To everyone.
Is from God.

And I was impressed with God all over again, in a new way. Impressed by his generosity, his creativity, his willingness to give without fanfare, without thanks in return.

You might reverently say that God was just the kind of guy everyone would want as a father if just once they could see him as the giver of every good gift.

Wildlife and waterfalls.
Flowers and flamingos.
Clouds and stars.
Music and art.
Medicine and high technology.
Human brilliance and humanitarian impulse.
Something was behind it all.
Someone.

Think of it! The growth of vegetation is possible because God cares enough to feed us, to shelter us, to convert carbon dioxide into breathable air. Rain and sun and fog and wind and ice. Beauty, variety, balance.

Think of it! You bite into a strawberry, or a lemon; fresh fish, or dark chocolate.

Thank of it! You feel the lightness of a gentle rain on your face, or a special friend’s touch on your arm. You splash in Pacific surf or slip into warm covers on a cold January night.

Symphonic sound envelopes you. A friend whispers a compliment. You step off a curb and someone shouts a warning.

The evening’s darkening sky fills with stellar pinpoints of light. You see the face of a friend. You examine delicate floral patterns.

You read, reason, talk.

You communicate with strangers. Establish friendships. Mate.

Think of it!
And thank the Giver.

And understand this. Jesus said, “Love your enemies ... that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

God is perfect. We know, because he gives gifts freely, perfectly, to all of us. Friends or enemies.

Every.
Good gift.
In from God.

I should have understood before, awakened sooner. The thought is exquisite: Every good gift is from God.

Sun, rain.
Sight, taste.
Intelligence, speech.
Friendship, family.
Health, life itself.

Every good gift is from God.

Is it any wonder I would choose him as my Father?


James 1:17
Matthew 5:44-46

© 2008