A couple of years ago, a man whom I hardly knew made my day when he showered me with a very unexpected gift of pure generosity.

He was one of those friend of a friend type of acquaintances, and on the very first day we met, we shared music in a bluegrass jam setting and got to know one another a little bit through the unifying common bond of song. At the time, I was a complete beginner in the world of music, but, like I still do today, I held big dreams and high musical aspirations. Maybe my new veteran musician friend could sense that drive and felt compelled to help me. Whatever his reasoning, as we prepared to say goodbye at the end of the night, I couldn't believe the gesture that this near stranger extended toward me.

Just before I walked out the door, he asked me to check out one of his guitars; I only knew a few chords at the time but I knew enough to be able to tell that it was a nice instrument. After I looked at it admiringly and complimented its quality, he simply stated, “It's yours.”

In my utter shock at such a valuable and unanticipated gift, I probably made it almost hard on him to hand the guitar over. “You can't just give this to me,” I told him. But, with the gleam of selfless kindness in his eyes, he said, “You need a good guitar, and I've got a few of them. I've got to give it to somebody, and I think it should be you.”

I will never forget how, that day, my considerate new friend showed that he was not, like many musicians today, too wrapped up in his own musical doings to remember what the music is really supposed to be about: fellowship, the powerful joy of a shared passion, and the act of passing along wonderful musical traditions to the next generation.

I was reminded of my friend's fantastic gift to me this week, as I read a heartwarming story about a Texas church's response to the tough economic time that our country is facing today. At Cross Timbers Community Church, Pastor Toby Slough has changed the nature of the collection plate a bit. While those congregation members who are able to are still asked to give to the church, other, less financially fortunate, members are told to take what they need from the plate as it is passed around each Sunday. Since he first told members that the collection plate was serving as a “giving plate,” as well, Slough says his non-denominational church has given away some $2 million. The money, he says, has gone to single mothers, people who had fallen behind on their bills, and other struggling souls trying desperately to stay afloat in the harrowing flood of challenges brought on by our current economic woes.

The USA Today article about this phenomenon stated that while monetary gifts to the church had been down for several weeks on that first day that the pastor encouraged those in need to take from the plate, the collection that morning was the church's largest ever.

“In these economic times, we can't be so into church business that we forget what our business is, and that is to help people,” he said.

What a revolutionary concept, that we should remain true to those pure intentions that are at the heart of most every mission we set out to accomplish. But yet, as simple and sensible as that idea sounds, Pastor Slough's charitable spirit helped me to realize that many of us, or most of us, maybe, too often allow ourselves to get so wrapped up in the daily process of achieving our goals that we forget those important reasons why we felt called to pursue them in the first place.

I know that I've caught myself falling time and time again into that dangerous cycle of fruitless struggle. In college, I felt compelled to study journalism because it was a field in which I could use my passion for writing to help others. My dream was to inspire readers, help them with my articles, and shed a published light on their previously untold stories of success, achievement and just pure goodness. And, while I still strive towards those goals, within the confines of the working world, I have found it much easier than expected to lose sight of the forest for the trees, so to speak. Weighed down with the pressures of deadlines, bills, and other responsibilities, I have sometimes lost sight of that greater purpose that I originally felt called to serve.

And, no matter what type of work we do, I think that same lost vision is an unfortunate possibility, and a realistic threat for which we should watch out. Sure, we all have to pay the bills, and we'd all like to see the top of the ladders to success that we so steadfastly climb. But, in the end, it's those underlying greater purposes, the truly important things, that make the work worth the doing.

Like one very benevolent pastor said recently, we should never get so into our business that we forget what we're here for. That, I believe, is a lesson from which we all could learn.

CharLy Markwart is a Princeton Times reporter.