What am I gonna do with Him?

I woke up at 8:30 this morning with the sun shining through a crack in my curtains. I rolled over and snuggled under the blankets, very smug with myself that I didn't have to get up yet. It's Saturday after all.
I lay there a little while longer, thinking happy, sunshiny thoughts like, "Isn't this such a perfect day to be alive?"
I got out of bed and made myself a Tori version of a cinnamon dolce latte (compliments of yummy Caribou coffee from my Par) and got back in bed with my Bible and journal and laptop to check my email.
I fluffed up my pillow and put it behind my back, pulled up my blanket and took a sip of coffee. My inbox opened and the very first email was from ChinaAid. The subject line said, "Burmese Refugees Need Emergency Help."
I opened the email and almost choked on my coffee.

"Ongoing armed conflicts in north Burma’s Kachin state have left as many as 40,000 Burmese refugees homeless on the China-Burma border without food, medicine or warm clothing!

The majority are Christians of the Jingpo minority group and about 25,000 have fled into China side of border with Burma to seek shelter and refuge. But, the Chinese local government refuses to help!

And, there appears to be little chance for a ceasefire of the armed conflict between Burmese government troops and the KIA that first broke out on June 9, 2011, leaving them without proper clothing or sufficient food to survive!"

I read to the end of the email, feeling sad and sorry for the people that were going through such terrible things. Then I looked down at my coffee cup.
And my blankets.
And my laundry basket full of clothes.
And my cupboard full of food.
And my desk stacked up with books.
And my own sink with clean water.
And carpet, pictures, and pretty things to make me more comfortable.

Why did I have this when they barely had life? Why can I choose to eat what tastes good to me when they don't even have the choice of eating anything? Why do I get to decided that I don't want to wear pink because it makes my skin looks weird when they would give anything just for a shirt to wear?

"To whom much is given, much is required."

What was that, Lord?

"Freely you have received. Freely give."

Oh right. I get it. Freely give my money. Sure, I understand. After all it's really Your's anyway. (feeling very much like, "oh yeah. Me and God- we get each other.)

"What good does it do, My child, if YOU say you have faith but no works to show it? If YOU see a brother or sister naked and destitute of daily food, and you say, 'Peace unto you, be warm and full!' but YOU don't give them the very things they need, what good is that for either of you? Your faith lives in your works. Did I freely give you money? No. I freely gave you ME. Myself. My blood. My love."

A very humbled, ashamed me rolled over and stared at the ceiling. I'm not rich- not by any stretch of the imagination. I live in a dorm room. I don't own a car. Heck, I don't even have a driver's license! But do I need any of that to give what I have boundless, unlimited amounts of?

Dear Peter says it this way. "Silver and gold I do not have. But what I DO have, I give you." Peter had God.

And He gave God.

I have God.

Do I give Him?

Do I keep Him all to myself? Do I horde His affection and blessing like there isn't enough to go around? Do I spend myself in Him for those He spent Himself for? Do I see the ones He would seen? Do I go where He would go?

He gave Himself to me. So what am I gonna do with Him?