In the season of giving, what is a better gift? The kind we wrap and leave under the tree or serving others with a willing heart?

The peeling pages of a spiral bound notebook don’t seem capable of holding much.

We poked a lot of pencils through them in school and mom had pencil sharpening down to a science so the marks dragged in the most legible form of thick lead lines (which only she had mastered the art of not smudging). She kept a composition notebook on our school table and every inch of the first page was filled to the edge with notes and comments, one-sentence stories and short reminders that composed our family’s prayer list. 

Every morning we did our devotional and ticked down the list. Surgeries and broken marriages. New babies and children with terminal diseases. Shut-ins to remember to visit and local businesses to support. 

After discussing each one we prayed together. It rarely failed that mom butt in with the phrase — never if we had just discussed a family service project — “And, Lord, give us servant’s hearts.” or to us, “Remember to have a servant’s heart!”

It was a phrase both of us became familiar with very early on. And we knew the meaning because we were all but forced to live with the evidence in our actions (by forced I mean it was a free choice but with consequences if we didn’t do our part; my parents are firm believers of letting us use our own discretion). 

When we made meals for grieving families, my brother and I always had a part in the preparation. On weekdays mom took us on ‘field trips,’ to help charities organize their closets or move furniture — on weekends dad took us to help move a church member’s family into their new home or (his favorite) extract unwanted fish from our older neighbors’ ponds.

All, we were tenderly reminded, were in an effort to be the hands and feet of Jesus, to serve like He did. To make our daily bread giving instead of taking - make our joy the kind of joy that comes when lost souls are found and our sadness the kind when we see them living in darkness. 

We worked grasping as much as young children can grasp that what we did was important. It wasn’t a matter of if we felt like it or not. It was a matter of life and death — serving because if we didn’t, whose project would fall through the cracks, who would go unaided in a time of desperate need? Whose life wouldn’t be touched, left unchanged by a kind of love they may never see again? 

Our family served weekly if not daily and we developed an appetite for serving. Like kids who are forced to eat salad and slowly begin to savor it, both of us crave it now.

We created the kind of habits that bleed into adulthood and if anything become more routine. There were times when both of us hated it and would have rather been anywhere else. But I am thankful that our parents made us serve.

I haven’t been alive long but I have noticed there is a kind of bondage that comes with gluttony. Every now and then a guilty pleasure is just what we need but sometimes the splurges make us feel worse. Shopping can be fun. A treat in the morning can be the perfect push to get the day started. When those things become regular, however, the toll it takes can be more than just financial.

As we slowly shift to reliance on things that were once ‘just a treat,’ gluttony overtakes us. Soon it is no longer a treat but an essential — if unchecked, it becomes an addiction. As quickly as things may have spiraled, as much as we may try to defend we can’t truly be surprised. Whatever we consume has the open invitation to consume us. What is going to stop it?

In a society wherein words mean less every day, we have frankly made a joke of addiction. We sarcastically flaunt our obsessions, claiming addiction whether we are truly addicted to something or not simply because it is cool to say you are addicted. Maybe we think it shows a form of almost patriotic passion or even commitment — it could be a way people ask for pity (another unfortunately popular habit) or maybe it is just an obscure joke I’ve misinterpreted. At any rate, I’ve heard enough claims to strange addictions, seen enough shirts that say albeit disturbing things about tacos or coffee to notice that we have a problem. 

The thing that truly saddens me is that addiction to heavily abused substances like drugs and alcohol commonly works itself into jokes of people my age (speaking regretfully having made a few myself). Other harmful addictions to things like work, social media, etc. are all but celebrated by everyone from kids imitating what they saw on their favorite show to adults laughing at the younger versions of themselves. People who have grappled with such addictions, however, rarely take them lightly. If they are aware of a harmful addiction and have seen it's effect on the lives of their loved ones, they know it is no laughable topic.

Drug addictions have ruined people’s lives — obsessions with work, social media, hobbies, sex, money, possessions, or alcohol have destroyed just as many. The sad truth is that gluttony isn’t limited to the abuse of bad substances or activities. You can be obsessed with working out and break your body in an effort to ‘get fit.’ Doing your work diligently, even good work, can become toxic when idolized. Should I give more examples? Think of the thing that you love most or dedicate most of your time to. Have you not seen it (even once) ooze into parts of your life you never intended for it to go, bubbling on the edge of toxicity? 

As much as I wish I had a servant’s heart all of the time, that is far from true. Do I crave the act of serving others? Absolutely. In our current times with two day shipping and instant-energy espressos, serving others feels like a reprieve from constant gluttony. But swimming against a current that is pushing toward enjoyable and seemingly harmless things is not easy. As a teenager, that kind of gluttony can seem inescapable sometimes — like it is just the default. Society expects me to make poor decisions ruled by fickle desires. Most give people my age some grace for selfishness if not a free pass entirely. 

In a society like this, your habits play a big role in your decision making. I don’t have helicopter parents who follow me everywhere, but I do carry the habits I formed with them. If nothing else I question my more gluttonous actions. How much more would what I am consuming mean to someone in need? How much more would money I am quick to throw away be guarded by someone who worked exhausting hours for every bit of it? Would the time I use to improve myself be better put toward having a conversation with someone who is truly hurting? Those “smaller” choices are all at my own discretion. They are often influenced by impulsive reactions based on past habits. But whether I make my decision based on things I learned from the hands that held the spiral bound notebook or not is entirely contingent on my character. 

Try as they may, that is something my parents could never teach me if they tried. While helpful and extremely important, good habits only take us halfway. Character is left with the rest.

To condense these scattered thoughts, I’ll make my final point. No one is going to tell you right from wrong at every turn. Big decisions attract advice and come with their own posse of comments from people who see the effects of your choices — but next to no one cares if you held the door for a random stranger or not. Those little things that are really defining pillars of your character are rarely the things a person brags about and puts in their instagram bio. You can be an adored influencer for good morals or the gospel itself, with captions that people praise and graphics that have countless reposts and be useless when it comes to serving. You could get the best gifts imaginable for all of your friends and family, thoughtfully selecting each one for their popularity and functionality — and fail to meet their simple needs on a daily basis. Small acts of service almost always mean more than any gift. My broken record repeats the phrase that has been my theme since the first addition to this blog on January 1st. Actions speak louder than words.

Christmas can be a stressful season simply because of greed. You want to get the gift you asked for, you want to make sure everyone is impressed with the gifts you are giving. If we aren’t careful the old Dr Seuss stories and nursery rhymes can become true — we make the season all about ourselves instead of the truth it was supposed to remind us of. 

While giving gifts is a great way to show appreciation, I challenge all of us to serve others this Christmas. Give generously and outnumber the gifts you give with humble service of those you appreciate and those in need. Get a plan of how you can be the most helpful — start a page in a spiral-bound journal if you need to.

Material gifts can come with baggage — serving only costs a kind heart.