Last night I dreamed that I had a ton of brand new, unwanted items in my house. Candles and candle sets, trivets, houseplants (why they were “new” only makes sense in dreamland), boxes of candy, and similar things.
I wrapped them all and had them sitting on a table in my house. People came… people who would love those gifts but I didn’t give them to the obviously intended recipients. The apron so perfect for our pastor’s wife sat wrapped beautifully in a box. The candle that Challice would so enjoy sat wasted because I didn’t give it to her. Sheets of music perfect for one friend lay atop a beautiful wall quit and a box of doll clothes sat nearby.
I loved looking at the pile of gifts. I loved that they cost me nothing. It felt like Christmas with that pile of gifts.
As the recipients came to visit and left, few to none with their gifts, I found myself growing disatisfied with them. Gifts never given don’t remain a blessing for long. The last thing I remember of that dream was misery. I was miserable.
As I’ve pondered that dream today, I’ve been convicted of just how often the gifts that God placed in my life with which to bless others are so often hoarded for my own pleasure like that pile of gifts on that table of my subconcious.