By Heather Gillon

Ever since I was little, I knew God was all around me. At five, I remember looking at a tree and thinking, "That's God," and feeling the same thing in a flower, in the rain, in the sky above me. God was everywhere — God created this huge, beautiful world and gave it away to me, to everyone. Even then, I was learning something I wouldn't have words for until later: that God's presence and generosity are the same thing.

Nowhere did I sense God more than at church. Sermons carried that presence; Sunday school held God's fingerprints. I served in every role that pulled me deeper in: as an acolyte, a lector, a eucharistic minister, in youth group, through retreats. Even in preschool, I'd sneak toward the sanctuary whenever I could, since my classroom sat just past the narthex stairs. I'd ask for the bathroom just to climb up there instead. Church didn't just teach me about God's love, it placed that love directly in my hands, until the building and the feeling became impossible to separate.

Scripture says we are created in God's image. This isn't about appearance; it means we are like mirrors of God's character – character that is defined by generosity. Creation and giving happen in the same breath: life, peace, beauty, all poured into the world, and into us, by a generous God. And then there is the most generous gift of all, Jesus Christ, sent to show us how to live. If generosity is who God is, then we can see the divine image in ourselves when we live generously.

That's why giving to the Fig matters so much to me now. I'm trying to help build the same kind of place that built me, somewhere others can feel God's love the way I did as a child. Without that first church, I wouldn't be the person I am today. Without the Fig, I wouldn't be the person I'm still becoming.

We're invited to give of our time, talents, and treasure. The word that matters is give. It's staying instead of rushing home on Sunday. It's coming back midweek. It's joining people further along, or a bit behind, on their own faith journey. It's making sure the church is equipped to keep reaching others the way it reached me.

The more generous I become, the more I want to give, because generosity is how I feel closest to God. A branch doesn't hold onto what the vine gives it; it gives its fruit away – freely, to whoever's hungry – and the more it gives, the more the vine pours into it. Giving works the same way: God's generosity reaches through me to someone else, and somehow, the more I give away, the more I find I've been given. That's what it means to be made in God's image: not to hold tightly to what I have, but to keep giving it away.