Sharon’s Vision

My wife, Sharon, always wanted to be a philanthropist and donate millions to visionary causes. Alas, she married a teacher, not a banker. Even so, she has found ways to practice philanthropy on a shoestring.

Creator. Most mornings my redhead works at her sewing machine, making quilts in bright-colored patterns. She donates most of her creations to International Disaster Emergency Service (IDES), a Christian church organization that uses relief work to implement evangelism. They auction off her quilts, and the proceeds go to the relief efforts. Most of her quilts earn between $200 and $500, but some have gone for as much as $1,200.

About midmorning, I drop by Sharon’s sewing room to check on her. She is hunched over her machine, laboring to see with eyes that no longer focus well. As she works, she mutters to herself. “Oh, no, this is not right. I’ll have to do this over. I just can’t see well anymore.”

I run my fingers over some of her fabric squares. “How can you bear to give these quilts away,” I ask? “They take so much work, and they are truly beautiful.”

She smiles. “It’s hard, sometimes, but a big part of my sewing pleasure is in giving my work away.”

Confidant. It’s Wednesday, and Sharon is making chocolate pecan muffins for two college girls who come by now and then, just to talk. They will bring the latte and a desire to learn from someone wiser.

Sharon closes the kitchen door for privacy, but I can still hear them asking questions, sparring, laughing.

“We talk about all kinds of things,” Sharon later explains as she stacks dishes in the sink. “They just need someone to talk to, someone who will listen and not preach at them.”

“You are giving them a wonderful gift. A good listener is as rare as gold these days, when everyone is so busy.”

In the afternoon, Sharon will take the leftover muffins around town to her elderly friends, who can’t get out. Her friends will talk, and Sharon will listen, aware that these ladies are very lonely.

Three hours later, Sharon will stagger in the door, exhausted but happy, knowing she has given joy to her friends.

I will have the last muffin for dessert.

Correspondent. After supper, Sharon will go into my study and close the door, while I watch the evening news in the next room.

Sitting at my desktop, she will expand her philanthropy to other parts of the world. She corresponds with several missionaries, some of them former college students of mine, like Rob and Lynn in Australia, or Josh and Susan in Mexico.

“Missionaries need more than money,” she reminds me. “They get very lonely and need someone back home to talk to.”

Finally, she will write to her four grandchildren, telling them about her mission projects, hoping to interest them in spiritual matters.

The next morning I will find a pile of envelopes on the kitchen table for me to mail. Some of them will contain small checks for her favorite missions—like Open Door Libraries, a Monument, Colorado-based organization that starts Christian libraries in European cities—while others will contain sympathy cards or handwritten missives.

“With the advent of email,” she says, “paper mail is more prized than ever.”

Commuter. It’s Sunday, and we are getting ready to leave for my preaching point. Sharon is beautifully adorned in an Irish green dress, which goes well with her auburn hair.

Like me, Sharon loves the small churches I serve. As we roll north to Kirksville in my Ford Escape, I am biting my nails, anxious about my sermon. To relax me, Sharon tunes the radio to the “oldies” station.

“Oh, my, remember that one?” Sharon laughs. “I sang that one to George when I was 16 and in love.”

We stop at Macon, the halfway point, just long enough for Sharon to pick up some doughnuts and coffee. She has a mental map of all the doughnut shops en route to all the churches.

Smacking her lips and licking her fingers, she reminds me how much she loves doughnuts. I come in third, behind George and doughnuts.

As we near Kirksville, I hand her my file folder on this church; it contains names and photos of the members, a sample bulletin, and special notes about local customs. She reviews the names and quizzes me.

“Let’s see, Rita is that short woman who’s married to the tall man, right?”

“Yep, that’s her, and she really knows her Bible.”

As we enter the auditorium, Sharon breaks off from me and heads for some of her favorite people. She works the room like a bee in a rose garden, hugging and being hugged.

On the way home, Sharon seems exceptionally happy. “The ladies really liked my dress! These people are so nice. I just love them.”

Her words remind me that the word philanthropy originally had nothing to do with money. It simply meant “one who loves people.”

Halfway home, I pull off the road and park under a large oak tree overlooking the Missouri River valley. I roll down the windows while Sharon opens our sack lunch and hands me a sandwich, some chips, and a cookie.

We eat in silence, enjoying the breeze, and then Sharon says what I have been thinking.

“Someday we will look back on these ministry trips as the happiest days of our lives.”

In that moment, as I study her smiling Irish eyes, I can honestly say there’s nothing wrong with Sharon’s vision. She sees farther and better than anyone I know.