As I lifted the overstuffed bag from my doorstep a pungent waft of citrus caught my senses. The gift of fresh-picked lemons was part of a weekly ritual of food and encouragement delivered by a spry single mother named Fina.

One evening I saw a chance to reciprocate her kindness.  Fina was dropping me off at my apartment in Murcia, Spain late one night. Thinking aloud, she mumbled that she didn’t have any milk to give to her children the next morning. I raced upstairs to grab a carton of boxed milk to tide her over, and feeling indebted by her boundless generosity, I threw in another for good measure. I knew that she provided for her children alone and that often money and time were in short supply. She sincerely thanked me and jetted away in her tiny hatchback, down the winding cobblestone street.

A few days later I realized the extent of her eleemosynary nature. She rushed up to me ecstatic about the milk I had given her. As she drove away that night, she explained, she thought of a struggling immigrant family with which she could share the extra box of milk. She had driven it out to their remote home, despite the hour and despite her own shortage.

Fina lives a simple policy: anything excess, she gives away. Her possessions are merely part of a clearinghouse to distribute to those in need. I thought of the many presents left at my door and realized they were likely intended to be just one link in a continuing chain of generosity.

I serendipitously observed a similar approach from perfect strangers a continent away. As I walked down the two-lane Thai costal highway I attempted to quicken my flip-flop sandaled pace. My anxiety over being late for a Tsunami relief-coordination meeting in town caused me to fret, contrary to the evidence that I had tested every day and night for two months–that it would never take more than 200 yards of walking to get a ride. Dead of night, crack of dawn, torrential rain, I had never walked the 5 mile stretch to town.

My unfounded fears were quickly quashed. A mere 50 yards out of my hotel door a moped zipped up behind me and skidded to a stop. The scooter, whose tires were nearly flattened under their burden, a family of three, looked like an unlikely vessel to add a foreigner to its load. The young couple moved their preschool-aged son to a squatting position on the floorboard at the front of the scooter and beckoned to me. With only a slight moment of hesitation, I took his place on the back end.

I tried to condense myself to take up as little space as possible, primarily to mitigate the risk of a crash, but also so I didn’t make the ride unbearable for my generous carpool. Throughout the duration of the ride the driver would cut the engine and coast down hills to conserve precious fuel he clearly didn’t have to spare. Upon arrival, I feverishly offered 200 bhat (about $10) to the young father. He shrugged off the gift and I offered again, almost with desperation. With a face wrinkled with puzzlement, he refused. “You help Thailand, I help you” he explained. It seemed to be his nonchalant way of conveying, “We have transportation, and you needed a ride. That’s how it works.” He clearly didn’t understand my compulsion towards monetary compensation. I had insisted because I felt that if they went on with nothing of mine I would not be able to dull my sense of duty, and throw a token into the chasm between his innate generosity and my convenient giving.

Back in the United States, it was in between frying 35 pounds of bacon slices on an industrial size grill and mixing up a gargantuan batch of blueberry pancakes that I would catch glimpses of Brent. He seemed to play the part of a non-profit director perfectly, with his disheveled business-casual jacket and slacks, constantly scurrying in and out of the old rented building. I greeted him while preparing breakfasts that often included day-old doughnuts. It seemed he was always busy trying to run one step ahead of the next grant ending or to find the next donor for the holiday meals.

As a weekly breakfast volunteer I didn’t have much face time with the administration of the Food and Care Coalition, but I clawed my way into his busy schedule for an interview while completing my senior thesis. As the director of an agency that serves the homeless, I had a hunch he would provide me useful information about why there is no homeless shelter in Utah Valley, the crux of the paper.

While he shied away from the politicized topic of the lack of shelter available, he seemed to be bursting with ideas for programs, services and improvements, all sharing a common theme. He explained that while many non-profit organizations focus on monetary donations, he views donations of time and talent as something that can truly revolutionize a community, empowering both the giver and the recipient. When one of his patrons is desperately in need of a car repair, Brent turns to the community as a storehouse of resources. If a mechanic is found who can contribute his know-how and skills to solve the problem, he as the donor feels a sense of personal investment he would not get from writing an annual check to the Red Cross.

I have learned from dear friends and complete strangers the transforming power of treating seemingly personal skills and resources as contributions to the greater good. I have had the privilege of witnessing the selfless donation of possessions from Fina, the gracious contribution of service the Thai family offered and the sharing knowledge and commitment as exemplified by Brent.

I have seen this generosity in my local community and abroad because I too wish to give. I believe that inaction in the face of current social inequities invites moral censure on each of us individually. I want to chip away at the burden of social accountability I feel. The essential step for me remains the connection between idealism and authenticity. I will continue to give in small everyday ways, but I am seeking a more substantive way to contribute. The study of law will help me bridge the divide between wanting to do good and being an effective steward over my intelligence, opportunities and assets. It will help me gain the analytical expertise needed to understand the macro structure of problems and how best to solve them. I feel confident a legal education will provide me with the skillset I need to more competently contribute to society in a powerful and unique way.