The Gift of an Open-Handed Faith

What is the best gift you’ve ever received? Personally, I am surrounded by thoughtful and creative gift-givers. Receiving gifts is one of my love languages and one that I used to try to repress. I wrongly associated my delight in receiving gifts as self-focused instead of acknowledging that God had wired me to love getting presents, which are just tangible tokens of love. As much as I once tried to deny it, my heart leaps when someone hands me a gift, whether that gift is jewelry or a crooked flower in the hand of a toddler.

When I think of the gifts that have touched me the most, two come to mind. For my thirtieth birthday, my husband contacted friends and family from across the country to write letters about how I had impacted their lives. He compiled the messages into a book and presented it to me at a fancy dinner. I cried into my expensive plate of food, I was so moved by the words of my loved ones.

A few years later, during a warm Florida Christmas, my parents presented me with a sleek, black box containing a slim, delicate gold bangle bracelet. The bracelet was made from melted down gold once belonging to my grandmothers and mother. I do not wear much jewelry, but that bracelet is a staple piece, reminding me of the strength and love of those three women each time I place it on my wrist.

It’s hard to believe we have already arrived at another December, another Christmas season. Modern Christmas is without a doubt hyper-commercialized, but the tradition of giving gifts to remember God’s greatest gift to us still has value to me.

In many ways, I am glad this year is nearly over. The past twelve months brought many challenges. I started a small business, one of my children entered the middle school years, and we faced uncertainty with my husband’s job. Part of me is ready to turn the page of the calendar straight to January and a fresh start.

The uncertainty within our family this year paled in comparison to the wrestling in my soul in recent months, though. Many years ago, when I reclaimed my relationship with Christ, I was presented with a mold of the Christian faith. For over a decade, I tried to fit myself into the mold, but the cracks showed from the beginning. This year, the shell finally crumbled, and I was left trying to pick up the pieces of my faith to see if they were worth fitting together again.

What I failed to realize was that it was man who gave me that mold, not God. Just as I tried to fight my love of receiving gifts because I thought it didn’t reflect proper Christian values, I kept squeezing my way into that mold because I thought it was the only way to be a Christian. I was clenching my fists around a way of life that denied how and who God made me to be.

I am sure I will receive lovely gifts this season from people who love me, but God gave me the greatest gift this year by giving me the freedom of an open-handed faith.

Believing with open hands allows me to receive what God has for me and release what pushes me further from him. An open-handed faith chooses people over doctrine, always. I love how Barbara Brown Taylor puts it in her book, Holy Envy: we are called to love our neighbor, not our religion. My doctrine will never be the factor that allows someone to experience resurrection, but my relationship might.

When I live with open hands, I release my death grip on certainty and welcome the mystery of faith. I am reminded by Jesus over and over that certainty is an idol. He often disrupted the confidence of the religious leaders of his time with the simple words, “You have heard it said . . . but I tell you” (Matthew 5:43 NIV). Each time he uses this phrase, the common understanding of faith was flipped on its head. I am convinced he would speak that same disorienting phrase to us today, upsetting our ways of thinking and living.

This gift of open-handed faith has allowed me to see the beauty in focusing on the main elements of the gospel and allowing room for discussion and disagreement on the rest. The Apostle’s Creed has become a guiding principle for me. I love that Christians whose opinions on politics, right to life, and LGBTQ+ issues vary wildly can be united by the ancient statement of faith that has stood the test of time. These days, I hold fast to the beliefs expressed in the creed and the greatest commandment (Matthew 22:34-40 NIV ), and very loosely to all else.

When I released the need to be right or good, and the need to fit into someone else’s mold, I found more time and brain space to focus on Jesus alone. The more I study Jesus, the more I am convinced his radical message of love, inclusion, and redemption is worth fighting for, even at significant cost.

If your faith is feeling fragile this season or if you are weary from trying to squeeze into that mold one more time, I am here to tell you the mold is a lie. There is no one right way to be a Christian. Conformity is not the same as unity. We don’t notice the beauty of leaves on a tree when the canopy is a monochrome of green. It’s when each leaf becomes a unique mix of color and shade that we remark at its beauty. When the individual leaves are viewed together, they form a masterpiece.

God is creating a masterpiece within you. Break free of the mold and of the lie that there is one way to be a Christian, trust God with the process, and open your hands to receive his abundant grace and mercy.

Lindsay Hufford is a small-scale farmer, home educator, chicken chaser, kitchen dancer, and mediocre knitter. Her favorite things include spending time with her family, exploring the natural world, reading, eating spicy food, and singing loudly in the car (to the embarrassment of her children). Lindsay believes sharing our stories will change the world. She writes about farming, homeschooling, faith, mental health, sobriety, and living an unconventional life. You can follow her adventures at peckandpetalfarm.com.

Photograph © Tim Mossholder, used with permission