She's Got a Bigger Bucket

What I've learned about her so far is this: generosity becomes her. It is her stock in trade.

In some ways she's like so many. In many other ways, she's utterly unique. Some say she looks like that one down the street, or that more famous one we read about in books. I say it doesn't matter too much because when I look at her I see a striking resemblance to her dad and that's what I find most attractive.

When I first met her she was doling out grace to anyone who needed it (and even those who said they didn't). It was astonishing to watch as people came with whatever they had--paper cups, bowls, bags and tanker trucks--and she just filled them up again and again and again out of a bucket that seemed never to empty. So generous.

It's been like that ever since save for one significant difference: she's got a bigger bucket.

Recently I asked her about that and this is what she said:

"When my dad saw what I was doing--giving out grace the way I was--he gave me a bigger bucket to carry more so I can give more. It happens all the time. When I give, I get more to give and my bucket gets bigger."

"Don't you ever get tired of giving? Like, aren't you worried you'll run out? I mean, surely there's a limit, right? You've got to make sure there's enough for yourself, right?" I asked.

Knowing now what I didn't know then, she had every reason to give me a slap upside my head, or get all preachy and angry and call me out for my narrow view and weak faith. But she didn't. Instead she motioned for me to come closer. When I did, she lifted up her giant bucket and poured its contents out over my head. As she set the bucket down, she said, "None of this belongs to me. I don't own any of this. It wasn't mine to start with and it isn't mine now. It's all my dad's. Every last drop. But he let's me dish it out in ridiculously large portions to anyone who needs it (and even those who say they don't). And when it's empty, he fills it back up and I get to do it again."

Sure enough. In the few seconds it took for her to speak that lovely, gentle rebuke, her bucket had filled again, and I found myself staring at my grace-soaked reflection in the clear mirror of its surface. Then, as I suspect it's done all along, surface tension gave way and grace started pouring over the sides.

She's going to need a bigger bucket.