The call came unexpectedly. Tara, my friend and fellow Greeting Team volunteer, spoke breathlessly into the phone. “You won’t believe what happened at church,” she said. And just like that, I was pulled into a story I can’t quite shake.
Let me roll it back for you.
I’ve been sequestered at home recovering from back fusion surgery, missing my people and the simple freedom of getting out and about. Tara—and so many others—have shown up with meals, daily assistance, and the kind of visits that lift the spirit. I’m blessed beyond measure! Still, I miss my church family and the sacred, ordinary interactions that ground my soul and set the course for my week.
So when Tara called that Monday, it felt like an invitation back into a Sunday I had missed.
That morning during Prayer Circle, Linda, a friend and fellow medical team volunteer leaned over to Tara and said, “I love your lipstick.” Without hesitation, Tara replied, “Then let me give it to you.” No pause, no polite deflection, she simply went to her car, retrieved it, and placed it into Linda’s surprised and grateful hands.
Later, Tara was at the front door, greeting as she always does—warmly, joyfully, as if each person mattered deeply. When my friend Libby walked in, Tara said, “I love your jacket.” Libby smiled, thanked her, and kept walking, but something lingered. A persistent nudge from the Holy Spirit: she was supposed to give the jacket to Tara.
Throughout the service, that nudge didn’t leave her.
Incredibly—or perhaps not so incredibly for those of us who have a front-row seat to the ways God moves—Pastor Mike preached from Philippians that day. He focused on the closing verses of Chapter 4, where Paul speaks of knowing both need and abundance, and learning to be content in all circumstances. He also reflected on the gifts Paul received from the Philippians—something Libby later told me landed with her like an exclamation point.
Philippians 4: 18: “I have received full payment and have more than enough. I am amply supplied, now that I have received from Epaphroditus the gifts you sent. They are a fragrant offering, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God.“
When the service ended, Libby came upon Tara, Linda, and a few others, all talking about generosity. It seemed to be the theme of the morning. Tara shared a story about once taking off her sandals and giving them to a woman who had admired them.
And in that moment, Libby knew, even though she had known all along. She slipped off her jacket and handed it to Tara, stating, “The Holy Spirit told me to give this to you.”
Tara was overcome. So was everyone in the circle.
Back to that Monday phone call.
After telling me the story, Tara shared what happened next. She wore the jacket to work, and throughout the day, coworkers stopped her to admire it. Each time, she told them the story—how it came to her and how the Holy Spirit had been at work.
What might have been a simple compliment became something more. Each interaction opened the door to share a glimpse of God in a place where such conversations don’t usually happen. These were moments where she could legitimately share God in an unquestionably secular environment.
The jacket wasn’t just an article of clothing. It became a witness.
I’ve learned so much from my friends Tara and Libby, as well as Linda and the others who were part of that moment. They reminded me that generosity is not a thing to plan for or pray about, but a habit to enact. Rather than something to calculate, it’s simply something to do.
Of course, Tara can buy another lipstick. Libby can find another jacket. That’s not the point. What made these moments different weren’t the items—it was the obedience, the willingness to respond without hesitation. Not later. Not after thinking it through. Not after checking the budget or the calendar.
Just…giving.
Libby later told me, “It wasn’t my jacket to give. It was God’s.”
That kind of generosity feels less like obligation and more like freedom. It’s not about what we set aside in advance, but what we’re willing to release in the moment.
And that’s the kind of giving I don’t want to miss.