I grew up in a family where being generous was a living, breathing every day occurrence.
We weren’t wealthy by any means, but our home was a place where the poor, the rich, the powerful and the needy were always welcomed in with open arms.
The reality was that being generous with our home meant hours of work cleaning, prepping food, serving, washing dishes and cleaning again.
As a teenager who was more interested hanging out with her friends, I would often kick up a fuss at yet another struggling family being hosted for Sunday lunch at our house.
My mother would smile wryly at my very obvious eye rolls and sighs of long suffering, then remind me how the meal I was preparing was possibly the only pleasurable, healthy and balanced food the family sitting wide eyed in the dining room would eat for a long time.
That the care and respect we showed them was the only comfort they would be receiving for months, and the laughter we shared with them, the only relief they’d probably had after a season of pain and suffering.
Suitably chastened, I’d whip up yet another chocolate cake for dessert and serve more tea. While my brother washed the dishes and my two sisters played with the family’s children and my parents counselled theirs.
We also had a large garden and gave away a lot of our extra fruit and vegetables to neighbours and friends who didn’t have any.
We gathered up our toys each year to give to children in need. My dad paid the school fees for or cousins and relatives who couldn’t afford it.
It was sometimes tiring and even annoying to us children to keep giving, giving, giving. Yet my parents were resolute in repeating to us - to whom much is given, much is expected.
When the teenage hormones wore off, and I got more involved in one of my mother’s initiatives - a school for 1000 kids nestled within the knee deep rubbish lined lanes of Kibera, one of Africa’s worst slums - I realised the significance of serving.
Being faced with children who were living in abject poverty, with nothing to their name, yet a big smile on their faces, I realised that not much that separated us except for luck, privilege and opportunity.
My privilege didn’t come from my good deeds or wealth, it came from the sacrifice of my parents many years ago and the support of my grandparents and their grit, giving and determination.
The memories of my time in Kibera and my Sundays serving others, continue to influence me to this day.
It's clear the legacy of generosity was being handed down to me. Today, living all the way in Sydney, Australia, I still push myself, past my natural selfishness and sighs of long suffering to practice those same qualities of friendliness and generosity to all, opening my home and my wallet to strangers, even when I feel least like it.
The result however is priceless. People always comment that my home is always ‘full’. Our home is constantly graced with friends, family, strangers, neighbours, my children’s friends, and even the dog next door.
It’s full of blessings, laughter and love, and although we’re not wealthy, it is ‘full’ of peace, joy and rest; for all who walk through our doors.
Insight Inspiration
What more could you be doing to meet the needs of others in your world.
Could you home become a haven for those less fortunate than you are?
Could you involve your family and kids in community and giving back programs?
Could you kickstart a project to give back to those in need?
Or could you simply offer to mow your neighbour’s lawn, bring them a pot of soup, offer to clean up neighbourhood streets and yards?
Think on it.
