Dear God, let me not stop with simple kindness, nor graciousness. Let me go beyond these lazy minimums of polite interaction. I congratulate myself on being pleasant, as if this were a great task.
Lord, this grace that you have rained down upon me, in truth, overflows. My reservoirs are swollen and yet I guard this resource as if it were treasure. I encounter others, and am polite, yet I send them on their way still thirsty. They were parched, yet too fearful to ask for a cup. Some did not even know of their own need. Some had perhaps never tasted sweet, clear water.
And yet here I stand, a fortress of civility, aloof and smiling as if this countenance were a gift.
Lord, let me throw open my gates. Let me walk out to meet strangers, draw them in, sustain them, build them up, until I fear even my stores are exhausted. Only when my barrels are empty can they be filled. Will you send me more grace when it will only spill on the ground around me?
Let me pour out cup after cup as they come, these visitors.