It can seem like our actions occur in isolation. But I have my doubts. Last week a friend gifted me with a charming book about a boy and his three animal friends. Its gentle wisdom is graced with sweet drawings.  Later that day someone called to inquire whether I would offer a lap quilt for his fundraiser. In the aftermath of generosity how could I even consider saying no?

 

There was a community effort to fill the freezer in the church with meals. These are poised for anyone to deliver to a family needing extra love. I was part of the team that received these generous offerings, and packaged them up. Over the next few weeks they will be unobtrusively gifted. I find it marvelous that the supply isn't exhausted no matter how many mouths there are. There is no video feed inside the freezer but I wonder if they multiply, like the bread and fish I have read about. 

 

Before Christmas my neighbors had a marathon of making soap. They got creative with scents, and colors, and ended up with more than they needed even given the hand washing imperatives we are engaged in. So they left a striped bag of them by my door. Which brings their family to mind multiple times a day as I rub the watermelon themed bar across my palms. 

 

Last week the pastoral staff filled boxes with cookies and valentines for college students. Each package will arrive with a message of affection to students who are no doubt weary of writing papers, and truncated social life. I can imagine that they will absorb that warmth, maybe even share the sweets with their roommate, and spread kindness to three score campuses. 

 

I am not the sort to put a slender treasure in a bottle and hurl it into the ocean. Besides, I don't live near running water. But I can, on occasion, throw my altruistic gestures into the melee and imagine that they land softly.