Don't list for me the myriad gifts you've given, service rendered.

I'm only too aware of them. I, too, had a list on you. A long one.
You forgot I think. But I burned mine. To list or be impressed by what I've done, to even remember it, is to show I gave with a motive.

It was an investment, expecting a return.
Don't call it 'gift'.

Don't tell me what to do with what you gave me,
name the costliness to you and
turn my joy to leaden guilt.

Don't watch to see if I enshrine it.
If I have to give account of it, then it is still yours.
Please take it back...it was only on loan.


Don't give it if I can't turn and give it, too.
Throw it to the sky for joy of tossing...
Or burn it for a moment's warmth.

There is a return for giving. There is...

Solomon said, "Cast your bread upon the waters for after many days you will find it again... " Ecclesisastes 11:1
 

So I stood on the bank and threw my bread.

I had tied a string on it so I could keep check.
The bread went squishy. Then it disappeared.
My string came up empty.
I couldn't keep my eye on it, watch over it, hold on to it.
It was gone...forever.
Do you understand? Forever....

I saw...when you cast bread, you do so with abandon,
with joy of watching bread go down the stream to feed
whoever happens on it. You can't follow bread-on-water.

No strings. No expectations.
If it isn't that, it's manupulative...imprisoning.

Naive I was. I thought all generosity was generosity.
Then I learned it could be the purchase of your soul.
Not a gift, a contract you pay for with your freedom.

My soul is worth more than a bracelet.

You said, "I give to you as freely as a glass of water"
but years later called in the debt, a contract of your scheming,
one I never agreed to, but paid up nonetheless
to the unending, unbending
price of your demand.
That simple "glass of water,"
you deemed worth a fortune of my life's ransom.
And funny thing, I would have given your price and more,
freely with joy. In the end, you needed no ropes and IOUs to
have me.

From now on when you insist on giving,
let me stop and ponder,
hmmm shall I take it or freely say my no?

Should I receive your "gift,"
I will cut your string. It will have to dangle.
I will be free to call it "very gift." And dance my jubilation.
I promise to give my thank-you. I will want to.

And I will remember your gift.

I'm the one who should...not you.
 

And know this...bread comes back...in gold.

Copyright © 1985 Martha Kilpatrick