Pass The Carrots Please

Proverbs 11 v 24 says, "One man gives freely , yet gains even more; another withholds unduly but comes to poverty." During the past few weeks I have had the opportunity to witness benevolent acts of generosity. With two newborn babies and recovering from surgery, my daughter and her husband have been the recipients of great kindness from friends and family. But one gift plays across my mind like those old vinyl records. The ones with the tiny grooves, reminding me of an era when our parents believed in the importance of following the rules they inherited, rather than simply lifting the needle and changing to a different song. In our family, like many baby-boomers, we were forced to adhere to strict eating guidelines. We had to finish every morsel on our plate before being excused from the table. We longed to pedal our Schwinn bicycles, play hide-and-seek, or even do our homework. I would cut my potato pancakes into tiny pieces, hoping the dreaded food would disappear. My brother hated carrots. With a passion. He would sit at our long maple table, his round cheeks puffed up, storing the detested veggies inside, afraid to swallow. I am sure he implored my mother with all of his heart to please let him spit the horrid stuff back onto his plate. My mother usually won the battle. Sometimes he darted to the bathroom and while we scraped our plates, the toilet flushed and we knew he had caught a break. Last Sunday he cooked a dinner for my daughter and her husband. I peeked through the glass lid. Inside, scattered around a pot roast, hugging white potatoes, sitting as proud as pieces of dense chocolate cake, were the nemesis from his youth. I wondered how he could do it, handle the carrots as if they were friends and all. After delivering his meal, and he readied to leave, my brother handed me a plastic bag housing the unused portion of the odious food. "Here, I won't need these. I hate carrots," he said. This week his words flashed through my thoughts, painting a vivid picture of the art of giving. In my book I wrote, When you fully give all that you have-and then give some more-you find yourself the proud owner of everything that can't be bought. In our giving, we discover freedom from the illusions that kept us practicing safety. The only thing it costs us is our false beliefs. My brother gave and then he gave some more. A pot roast is naked without carrots and he understood that even though he had issues with the super-food, others would enjoy the bounty. My brother was a rich man last Sunday.