11.5 // Love and Giving

Today I shared one of my most sacred childhood gems with Olivia and Benson: an episode of “Barney and Friends” that was first aired in gold ole 1992.
Now, thankfully, it is forever preserved via Youtube.

On this particular episode, the child actors have overalls and scrunchies and thick bangs— so they actually look a lot like hip kids from 2019— and they decide to throw Barney the best birthday party ever. He is 200 million years old, after all.
It was my favorite, favorite show as a kid, and I’m proud to say I still know every word.

The real drama ensues when the protagonist, Kathy, anguishes over what kind of birthday present to give one’s best friend— especially when he is a big, purple dinosaur. By the end of the episode, you watch Barney open all the other kids’ gifts: pictures, a dinosaur with a bow, and even an awkward hug. And then finally comes the unwrapping of Kathy’s gift: her favorite bear, Teddy.

The kids murmur and whisper in shock. Kathy’s teddy!? Oh! My goodness!
And Kathy whimpers how Barney will like Teddy, for he such a good and special teddy bear. You can tell Kathy is devastated, but she loves Barney so. She pushes the bear toward him.

Thankfully, Barney, the true hero, hands the bear back and reminds her, “Presents are nice, but its the gift of love that’s important.”
And then the confetti fires, balloons fall, and we party like its 1992!

I know this sounds crazy, but friends, that scene about moved me to tears.
It all hit so ridiculously close to home.
Barney. Kathy. Teddy.
Presents. Gifts. Love.

Can God speak through Barney?
I guess so.

As I consider my own life, I recognize this tension in me: the desire to love those around me with everything I am, but also end the day, I want to remain in tact, whole, without losing myself.
Let’s call it “Kathy Syndrome.”
Most days look like yesterday—where I’m burnt out by mid-afternoon and wondering why I don’t love playing Barbies all day and scrubbing marker off the parsonage floors, and can’t be just grateful for all the noise.

Why can’t I be more fun?
Why can’t I be more patient?
Why can’t I be more loving?

We hear the call from the pulpit and from Scripture and from the Spirit to love. But if I’m honest, I often feel like the act of loving in such radical way will burn me out, suck me dry, leave me withered. By 2PM, I’m running away again.

But you know what?
It will.
The act of loving will kill your soul.

Let me explain:

This afternoon, my Scripture meditation was from John 12, where Jesus predicts his own death:

Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me.

Like most truth, it’s a really terrifying paradox: Losing your life brings life.

Paul says similar things in Philippians, too: “for I am already being poured out like a drink offering” and “I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service of your faith.”

At first glance, it seems as if Christ—along with Paul and many other heros of faith— is challenging us to be like those kernels. To bury ourselves— our desires, our hopes, our needs, our preferences— for the sake of others, for fruit in the Kingdom.
Give everything right now. Don’t hold back. Surrender to God, to your partner, to your kids, to the church, to everybody in the entire world. Jesus gave His all for you— you owe Him everything!
Essentially, give Jesus your teddy bear, Kathy!

This is the kind of altar calls that require a countdown.
And we all come flooding down the aisle with hearts full of shame for the time we raised our voice at our kid for throwing his boot out the window or how we had to cancel plans with that one neighbor or how we forgot to read our Bible last Tuesday or how we ran away from home for a while out of sheer exhaustion (as described yesterday).

In reality, the interpretation of passages like John 12 has become oversimplified and costly.
These Scriptures are about actual martyrdom—including Christ’s death.
But we’ve read these passages only to believe that fulfilling God’s call to love is always giving to the point of death, rather than resurrection, as the whole Gospel narrative shows.

And so, we have interpreted love as something we do.
Specifically, we have interpreted love as giving.
As if they are two interchangeable things.

(Is it heresy to say that both John Mayer and DC Talk didn’t quite get it right? Maybe. Can love (or “luv” ) really be a verb that implies constant giving?)

Love and giving have to be two different things.

First, we know that love precedes giving.
The most famous Bible verse ever says that
“God so loved the world, so He gave.”
And likewise, I’m called to love my family and the church and this world, and out of that love, give.
Love first, then give.
They simply can’t be one in the same.

Next, we realize that the call to give is not a call to self-elimination.
Jesus, the Incarnate God, gave up His life out of love, but only once, only for a divine purpose, and only at the appointed time.
Christ was not crucified every stinkin’ day. He more regularly pulled away to the quiet. He didn’t heal everyone. He only revealed Himself fully to a few closest friends. He got angry and rebuked. Jesus, the image of perfect, complete love, did not model limitless giving.
In His dust-to-dust body, He loved without reservation, but he gave with wisdom.

So we, too, must distinguish our love from our giving.

Instead, we realize that Jesus was love. It was who He was, not simply what He did.
And that is the call to believers, to me, to you, to all of us.

And this distinction allows us to survive demanding seasons of life. It encourages justice and worship, action and contemplation. Love as being is what transforms us to BE like God, not just act like Him.

If love is a state of being, there is room for people like Nouwen to call for “ boundaries for your love”:

“The great paradox of love is that precisely when you have claimed yourself as God’s beloved child, have set boundaries to your love, and thus contained your needs, you begin to grow into the freedom to give gratuitously.”
(The Inner Voice of Love)

This holy order is worthy noting:
Recognize that love is being— beloved.
The giving of our love and affection can have boundaries.
Other’s giving cannot quench our need for love to be our being, to be beloved.
We can then give sacrificially, freely, extravagantly.

Giving love is not the same as love.
Giving is not even the starting point for love.
Belovedness is where life begins.

When we feel like we have given all and are utterly spent, that we’ve lost ourselves in our self-giving or that don’t know who we are apart from the roles we fill— we should not praise this as Love.
Most likely, this is the result of limitless giving motivated by shame or fear.
And as stated above, the act of love, if defined as “giving,” will kill your soul.

No.
Love is not doing.
Love is not a verb.
Love is not an action.
Love is being.

After all, it is the beloved disciple who reveals to us that “God is love.”
Love is rooted in personhood, not activity.

And so here’s the freedom: we are not what we do, and we are not how much we give.
If love is who we are then we can say “no,” and set boundaries, and refuse to be ashamed of our human weaknesses and limitations.

I have permission— you have permission— to love more without giving away more.
You can grow in love without growing obligations to everyone else.
You can be more rooted in love without being more tied to the demands of your employer, partner, neighbors, or even your sweet and rowdy kids.
You love because you are beloved, not because you “given yourself” into some spiritualized human pulp.

So now, we have to ask:
How do I love well from my being rather than from my doing?

And I recall the moments where I acted on being beloved and refusing the need to be endlessly giving:

I loved from my being today by continuing to implement and prioritize quiet time— the kids are in bed with books and audiobooks, and the timer is set.
I loved from my being today by showing up at MOPS— with no make-up, wet hair, and sandals, and I laughed and laughed with other mamas who held my new little baby, and I did not apologize for how I looked: raw and tired, but also light.
I loved from my being today by listening to our sacred Word and offering honest prayer— even though that John 12 text was hard and rubbed a tender place in my heart.
I loved from my being today by washing clothes and making dinner— but in a posture that actually smelled the lavender laundry detergent and actually savored the peppers and cumin and beans in my bowl.

I see the golden thread of God’s voice throughout my day, revealing this distinction between love and giving. He was reminding me through Barney and other moms and prayer and writing.
He is always speaking.
May we have ears receive his words and become Love.
And then give it away.

*Recently I started using the “Pray As You Go” app for scripture, prayer, and meditation— and I strongly recommend checking it out, especially if you are seeking a Christian practice that simply draws you into Presence and out of the noisy chaos. And if you don’t have a lot of time— 12-13 minutes! Holla!