Dear Frank,

I was listening to a magazine article this morning, while in the car. It was about a woman, a writer, who poured herself into caring for a dear friend with a terminal illness. She adored her, and because of that love she leaned into her every request, every single need. Hardly any sleep, lack of any semblance of normal living— it became rather dramatic, the more I heard. Wow. Once the article was finished, I gripped the steering wheel, wide-eyed with thoughts about what this sort of situation can do to one’s spirit, at any level. At any level!  Mine. Yours. Lord have mercy.   

Back to the story: As the sick friend’s needs deepened, her demeanor grew more negative and controlling. The devoted companion leaned in so far that what began as joy-filled giving turned into something so, so heavy, and she surrendered her steadiness in the process. That loss of self is the risk when we cross the line from healthy love into self-erasure.

I thought about it all, and how, at various levels, we can find ourselves doing somewhat the same. We’re often taught that “doing” for others is not only a mark of love, but what we are called to do as people of faith.

“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4).

And that is true. But faith never calls us to share of ourselves in ways that leave us burdened instead of uplifted. The kind of giving God asks of us is meant to bring life, not slowly drain it away.

Jesus said, “These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11).

That story stayed with me so strongly on my drive – how giving of ourselves, if it goes too far, can quietly dim the spirit. It can creep up on us: we begin to lose our self-respect, or our joy, or simply the sense of what we want our lives to be about. When working to please others and do good, we may become so immersed in our mission that we slip into a place that is hard to crawl out of.

The work is to notice. To pause and regroup. To nurture ourselves enough to stay steady, self-aware, and whole.

Here’s the difference, Frank:

·       Self-giving flows from abundance. It is rooted in freedom and lightness, so it adds life to both the giver and the receiver. Think of those moments when helping someone you love feels easy, even renewing—you leave just as full as they do! Preserving that sense of aliveness truly is part of the gift we bring.

·       Self-erasure springs from compulsion, actually. That’s hard to swallow but it’s true. It asks us to give past our limits, to prove devotion by pushing aside our own well-being. It can look noble from the outside, but inside it drains vitality and turns love into heaviness. And when this rules your life, those around you begin to see not devotion, but depletion.

I think we can focus on this simple thought:

Keeping our spirit strong, our presence whole, and our dignity intact, is part of the very gift we offer. 

It’s a balancing act — doing for others while also doing for ourselves. In that balance, we honor both God’s call to love and His desire for us to remain whole.

Frank, let’s make a pact together: to give generously of ourselves, but not lose the aliveness that makes giving what it’s meant to be. That isn’t selfishness. It’s a kind of stewardship—an honoring of the fragile, miraculous life we’ve been given. And when we give from that place, it flows from freedom, not from burden. Hallelujah!

Right, Frank?

Right!

Love,

Jane