My mother taught me the importance of giving whatever you can, and now I give in her spirit and memory.
My earliest memory is of my mother reading. She read voraciously; she wanted to understand everything. It was a window on worlds she would never experience. My father was a mailman, and I was the youngest of four kids, so there wasn't money for anything as luxurious as travel.
Which is why it was then confusing, but later profound, that I would see my mother writing several checks every year to a handful of carefully chosen charities or organizations whose work she supported: Greenpeace, Southern Poverty Law Center, Planned Parenthood, Doctors Without Borders, Habitat for Humanity, the Humane Society. The checks were sometimes only $10.
Later, when she couldn't see or hold a pen, she would ask me to write checks for her, including one that had come to matter deeply to her: Meals on Wheels. We were both grateful for how much easier those always-there, always-cheerful volunteers made our lives, bringing hot meals to her door, chatting companionably, giving her a window on the world.
Now that my mom is gone, I still give to Meals on Wheels. I want it to be possible for those volunteers to help someone else's mom.
My non-religious mother didn't have many traditions, but she did tithe. Even when she had little to give, she believed in giving.
Review from #MyGivingStory