By Jill MacDonald

“Give me, give me, give me!” I hear that a lot. It feels like we live in a “give me” society, where so many people are focused on what they can get—what others owe them, what life owes them. Hands out, expecting to be filled. But here’s the thing: when that’s the lens we see life through, it actually robs us of real happiness. Why? Because when we're constantly in receiving mode, we grow dependent on the next “thing” to keep us feeling satisfied. And eventually, it stops working. We need more. It becomes a bottomless pit.

But when we shift our focus to giving—when we look for ways to help and serve, without expecting anything in return—that's where fulfillment lives. Ironically, that’s also when the blessings come. God notices.

I didn’t always understand this. Years ago, I used to give expecting something back—from the same person I gave to. I thought that was how it worked. I didn’t realize that the reward doesn’t always come from the person I served. It might not even come in the same form. But it does come—often in unexpected and multiplied ways. The key is giving with no strings attached, because God isn’t just looking at what we do… He’s looking at why we’re doing it.

True giving—real, heart-driven service—not only helps others, it heals us. Sometimes in ways we don’t even realize.

A long time ago, my brother died. It was sudden and tragic, and it hit our family hard. We all grieved in different ways. I remember people saying, “time heals all wounds,” but for me, that wasn’t true. (And honestly? I don’t believe that phrase anymore. Time doesn’t heal. That’s not its job. Jesus heals.)

One day I was talking to my mom about the loss and sharing my heartache with her. I asked how she was doing, expecting her to be in the same heavy place I was. But surprisingly, she told me she was doing pretty well, all things considered. I was stunned—how?

She explained that service was helping her heal. She and my dad were serving a church mission at the time my brother died. My first instinct had been to think they should come home. I mean, who would blame them? I’m sure many people would’ve agreed. But they stayed. And according to my mom, staying on that mission saved her.

She told me how serving others helped her get outside of her own pain. She began to notice that every time she gave, she was filled back up—even more than she gave. It didn’t take away the grief overnight, but it changed her heart. That service gave her access to the healing she needed. And just hearing about it gave me healing, too. Her story softened something in me and gave me a deeper understanding of what giving really means.

Since then, I’ve tried to embrace service more fully—not just for what it might do for others, but for what it quietly does in me. Serving is giving and receiving. It blesses everyone involved.

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