Don't touch my strawberries!
The spring of 2004 was when I first learned about the heart of tithing. I had just graduated from college, and as a young professional recently moved home, this was a timely and powerful message.
The then-head pastor at the church I was attending (The River in San Jose) spent weeks on a sermon series in which he explained not just the necessity of tithing, but the gravity and holiness of the act. He exhorted us to give faithfully, because our monthly tithe is not just a commandment to follow, but it is communion and worship of our loving God. As an experiment, the tithing buckets by the door were whisked away, and instead, our time of tithing became incorporated into the service during the portion of worship through song. Low tables, alit with candles, were set up at various locations around the darkened auditorium, and we were invited to come and kneel before our God, bringing our humble offerings to His feet. (Much as how, perhaps, the ancient Israelites approached God's altar and offered their tithes—their tenths... minus the slaughtering of goats and rendering of fat.) It was intimate. It was so incredibly joyous. It was worship. And I grew so much more fully aware of God's goodness. Even after I moved out of my parents' home and on with my life, this experience has stayed with me.
Recently, I've been reminded of this truth and also given an added perspective on God's desire for our offerings, at the unlikely place of my dining table.
Caedmon, like all littles, is so completely selfish and greedy. Given a bowl of strawberries, he will eat the entire thing without any awareness of those around him. Sometimes he even shows off, holding up a strawberry like a prized jewel. "Mama!" he chirps, turning his gem side to side as if to catch the light, flaunting his wealth. But if I so much as touch one of his precious morsels, he raises a loud ruckus, shaking his head and reaching for the stolen goods.
And so we've joined the chorus of baby-infested (I mean, -blessed) homes across the world. "Share," we croon and cajole. I give Caedmon his portion of strawberries and intentionally ask him to share with me. I give him as much as I know he can handle. I give to him in hopes that he will learn to give back on his own volition.
Isn't that like God and how He asks us for our first fruits? God doesn't need my portion any more than I need strawberries from Caedmon, but I ask, because I am asking for Caedmon's good. I ask in order to condition his heart to love, to obey, to keep a loose grip on his things, to put me above his possessions... and I ask because I have another basketful of strawberries I bought just for him in the refrigerator, that I can't wait to give him. But I must tend to his heart first. And so I keep asking. Afterall, I want him to give with a cheerful heart.
He squawks. He usually just stuffs the fruit in his mouth before I can do anything about it and gives me a mischievous grin. Sometimes, he even opens wide his mouth to show me its contents, as if to say, "You want some? Here, come and get it!"
Tonight was another round of baby-bartering.
"Share, Caedmon." I asked him brightly. "Please." He stuffed the strawberry in his mouth and grinned.
"Caedmon, Mommy gave these to you. Can you give one to Mommy? It is kind and loving to share." Another strawberry flew into his mouth.
"Look," I gestured to the bowl of strawberries on the table. "Mom has so many more strawberries to give you. I'm asking that you give just one."
At this, Caedmon picked up his last strawberry, and slowly brought it to my waiting mouth. "Awww," I gushed. My heart filled with warmth, and I swelled with pride. My boy was learning to love.
I brought my mouth closer to his offering, and just as I started to bite down, Caedmon yanked the strawberry back possessively so that what I got was just a sliver of fruit. He cackled and stuffed the rest of the morsel into his mouth. Tithe = 10%, right?
Yeah... we're working on it.
