Time for Sacrificial Giving - Part 1

My parents divorced when I was very young—maybe two or three years old. My mom and I moved into a three-bedroom apartment already filled with my grandparents, two uncles, an aunt, and a cousin. For me, this was paradise. There was always someone to hold me, play with me, or simply spoil me.

The best part—and, as I later learned, the most tragic—was Christmas. Every Christmas Eve for the next five years, we opened presents. For my cousin and me there were mountains of gifts—an abundance that made me feel cherished, wanted, and secure. But this abundance planted a seed in my young mind: the more attention and the more gifts I received, the more loved I was.

Then everything changed. My mother remarried, and the three of us moved into our own apartment. My stepfather was a functioning alcoholic—steady factory job, but most of his time and money went to the bar. And as they brought four more children into the world, the constant attention I once enjoyed simply vanished. I went from a house full of adults who delighted in me to a home full of crying babies and a tired, overwhelmed mother.

This atmosphere was amplified every Christmas morning because now the gifts were few. And when I called my cousin and heard about all the presents he received, I felt betrayed, abandoned, and unloved.  I reached this conclusion:  If I was ever going to be loved again, I would have to find a way to make people love me.

Over time, those ideas hardened into coping strategies. By early adulthood, I had settled on one that seemed to make sense:  Since love felt transactional, I believed that the more I sacrificed, the more people would love me.

That mindset shaped many of my early life choices. Joining the Peace Corps was the first major one. Yes, it was a good thing—but the reasons behind it were complicated. When Peace Corps advertisements appeared on television in the sixties, I had a strange premonition: “Someday you will join.” Part of that was adventure, part was an escape, part was a desire to serve, but a deeper part was this:  If no one really loved me, then maybe giving my life away in some beautiful gesture would finally prove my worth.  Maybe if I gave enough, someone would love me back. Part of me was still chasing that childhood Christmas feeling.

But Ghana changed that. My Peace Corps experience was difficult, often dangerous. I faced hardships that nearly killed me. And yet, in those moments, the Ghanaians around me stepped in with generosity and compassion that I did absolutely nothing to earn. They saved my life—twice—without expecting anything in return.  By the end of my service, I had learned something I had never really understood before:  True giving is sacrificial, not transactional.  True love is freely offered, not earned.

That revelation prepared me for becoming a Christian. When I finally learned about Jesus, it all made sense. His love is not a negotiation. He didn’t give to get something from me. He gave because He loved. Period.

Paul wrote, “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8, NKJV).  Jesus gave the greatest gift without waiting for us to earn it, deserve it, or repay it. His giving was completely selfless—without condition or transaction. That is the pattern of true giving.

And yet, change is slow. Even after my conversion, during times of stress or trial, I slipped back into that old way of thinking: If I give more, maybe God will give more back. But as I matured spiritually, I realized that my entire understanding of love and giving had been upside down.

Let me apply it to Christmas.  Christmas is not a marketplace. Giving is not a negotiation. And love is not a ledger where we track what we receive compared to what we give.  Real giving is an altar—sacred, costly, and free of calculation.

God began a new era by giving Himself freely, fully, sacrificially, and He invites us to imitate Him.  So perhaps the most Christlike thing we can do this month is to give someone a gift they can never repay—not because they earned it, but simply because God first gave freely to us (cf. 1 John 4:19).

This Christmas, may we move from transactional giving to transformational giving.
From “What will I get back?” to “How can I reflect Jesus?”  From measuring love by gifts… to measuring giving by love.

One more thing brings all my experiences full circle. That premonition I had as a kid—that I would one day join the Peace Corps—I know now that was God speaking to me. He knew the path I needed to walk. He knew what I needed to learn. And through those experiences, He revealed what I could never have discovered on my own.

That Word, those experiences, and the revelation they produced are the greatest gifts I have ever—or will ever—receive.