There is a story in Acts 3 that I have returned to several times. It is easy to remember it as the story of a man who could not walk and got a miracle that astonished everyone who witnessed it. But I see something deeper about human need and the things I carry without realising their value.
A man who had been unable to walk was carried daily to the temple gate, where he asked those entering for alms. His need was visible, his request was simple, and his dependence had become part of his routine. He knew what to ask for because he knew what people were usually willing to give.
Then Peter and John came along, and he asked them for money. They looked at him and said, in essence, We do not have what you are asking for, but we do have something to give you. And what they gave him changed the direction of his life.
I find something deeply human in that encounter. The man asked for what he thought would help him survive the day. Peter and John offered what they believed could change his life. I do not think the lesson is that money is unimportant or that people should stop asking for material help.
There are real needs that require money. But the story confronts me with a question: When someone needs help, do I only think about what I can afford to give, or do I also consider what I actually have to offer?
I have sometimes looked at generosity through the narrow lens of possession. If I have money, I can help. If I do not, perhaps there is nothing meaningful I can do. But that way of thinking quietly reduces generosity to wealth and turns many of us into spectators whenever our pockets are empty.
The truth is that I may have more to give than I realise. I may have knowledge that someone needs, a connection that could open a door, a skill that could solve a problem, time that could relieve someone’s burden, a listening ear that could keep someone from feeling invisible, or simply the courage to stand beside someone when everyone else has walked away.
What troubles me is how easily I can become so focused on what I lack that I overlook what I possess. I may say, “I can’t help,” when what I really mean is, “I can’t help in the way you asked.” Those are not the same thing. The first closes the door; the second invites me to look again.
Peter and John could have walked past the man because they did not have silver or gold. They could have concluded that his problem was beyond their capacity. Instead, they recognised that while they could not give him what he requested, they could still give him something of value. Their generosity began with attention. They saw him before they served him.
That, to me, is one of the deepest challenges of goodwill. Sometimes helping people requires more than giving what is convenient. It requires understanding what is actually needed.
I am learning, then, that the question is not simply whether I have enough to give. The better question is whether I am willing to give what I have. There will always be people who possess more money, more influence, or more resources than I do. If I compare myself with them, I may convince myself that my contribution is insignificant.
But the man at the temple gate reminds me that impact does not always begin with abundance. Sometimes it begins with awareness, compassion, and the willingness to use what is already in my hands.
Ready to turn goodwill into action?
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