Have You Opened Your Gifts?

Fr. Scott Haynes

A Meditation on John 3:34

“For he whom God hath sent, speaketh the words of God:

for God doth not give the Spirit by measure.” (John 3:34)

A grandfather sat in his chair by the window as the late afternoon light poured across the room. His two grandchildren were with him.

One was lively, always laughing, always moving—darting from one thing to the next, chasing whatever caught his eye. The other sat closer, drawn not so much to activity as to presence. He liked to listen. He would lean in when his grandfather spoke, as though every word carried something hidden inside it.

On this particular day, the grandfather called them both over. From beside his chair, he brought out two small boxes, wrapped simply, but with care.

“These are for you,” he said.

The lively child took his gift quickly, smiled, and set it aside. There were more interesting things in the room—games, noises, distractions calling his attention. The box remained unopened on the table.

The quieter child received his gift differently. He turned it over in his hands, studying it. Then he opened it slowly.

Inside were not toys, but small, curious things: a compass, a worn little book, a smooth stone, a candle, a folded paper with a few lines written in the grandfather’s hand. Each object seemed simple, almost ordinary.

“What are these?” the child asked.

The grandfather smiled. “Each one is something you will need. The compass will help you find your way when you are unsure. The book will teach you to see more deeply. The stone will remind you to be steady. The candle—to bring light when things grow dark. And that paper… read it when you feel lost.”

The child listened carefully. He held each item with a kind of reverence, not because it was impressive, but because it was given—and explained—by someone he trusted.

Across the room, the other grandchild glanced over. “What did you get?” he asked.

“Gifts,” came the quiet reply.

“They don’t look like much,” he shrugged, turning back to his play.

And yet, as the days passed, a difference began to appear.

When the quieter child was unsure, he remembered the compass—and paused to consider his direction. When something troubled him, he opened the little book and found a line that steadied his thoughts. When he felt weak, he held the stone and chose firmness instead of surrender. The candle he lit on difficult evenings. The folded paper he kept close.

The gifts began to live in him.

The other child still had his box. It remained where he had placed it—unopened, untouched. It was his, truly his, but it had not yet become part of him.

One evening, the grandfather looked at them both, his gaze gentle but knowing.

“I gave you everything,” he said quietly. “Nothing was held back.”

He turned toward the one who had opened his gift. “You have begun to receive it.”

Then toward the other. “And you will too—when you open it.”

So it is with the gift of the Spirit.

God does not ration His gifts. He gives fully, abundantly, without measure. The seven gifts of the Holy Spirit are placed into the soul not as ornaments, but as living helps: wisdom for seeing, understanding for grasping, counsel for choosing, fortitude for enduring, knowledge for discerning, piety for loving, and fear of the Lord for walking rightly before Him.

But like the grandfather’s gift, they must be opened. They must be listened to. They must be used.

One soul rushes past them, distracted, leaving them wrapped and set aside. Another pauses, listens, receives—and begins to live differently.

The difference is not in what was given.

It is in what was opened.