My grandma once told me there are two types of people in this world: givers and takers.

Be a giver.

Most people are hypocrites in one way or another, and typically the terms is used to describe Christians who advocate one thing and do something entirely different. So, instead of fighting this, I'll go with it.

I grew up in a church full of people who loved being Christians but didn't know Jesus very well. Sure, they could probably quote more lines of scripture than Star Wars fans can recite movie quotes, but they didn't understand how to love in a community, which was one of Jesus' key teachings. Hence, love your neighbor.

A lot of my time at this church was marked by a few friendships that existed within the institution but not out of it, and social activities that knew more about containing people's faith to the church than how to encourage it in life.

I left a school in Portland during my freshmen year, and upon my return to a community college, I found this church to be my only social outlet. One would think me being in a place full of 2,000 to 3,000 people with the same worldview as myself would be an ideal place to make a few friends. But it produced the loneliest year of my life, followed by a genuine hunger for authentic friendship, the type that lives past an interest or an institution.

The church encouraged community and organized small groups of people to meet weekly and socialize. We were taught about what a community was supposed to look like and taught about all the benefits we'd receive from being involved in one.

Little did they know, their message about the benefits of community was destroying any chance of anyone actually receiving from a community.

What I've learned since is that a good community isn't made by people understanding that they need to be open to receive from their community, but is made of people willing to give to their community, to love it without expectation or thought of receiving.

Last summer, I worked a two-month internship in Port Townsend, which is just far enough from home that I'm isolated from everyone. Here, I experienced an ideal community for the first time.

It was clear that any friendships made would be for the sake of that summer. "Investing" in a friendship with me — as disgusting as the economic term is for describing relationships — would produce little in the end. I would leave faster than I came, and so there was little to gain from me. Yet, I found a community of Christians who didn't seem to care.

I wandered into two Port Townsend churches that summer, and both of them were full of people who embraced me with arms wide open. By the end of the first month, I had a group of friends, was invited into three people's homes, had a weekly tavern/coffee night and we had started reading Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz.

I tell people I met Jesus in Port Townsend. No, I didn't see a vision or anything, but his message of humble love was alive in them. I think talking with them would have felt like a little like talking with Jesus back in the day.

The church I grew up in knew a lot about community, but they didn't understand that giving — and not organization and doctrine — was at the center of a healthy one. I watched my friends pour their love into me and they let me pour my life into them. We all gave and — without asking — we all received.

Giving isn't just kindness and the occasional meeting; it's real time, love, counsel, encouragement and even physical provisions. It's the attitude that material goods and success aren't more valuable than relationships and people.

I find it's easy to meditate on what we need to receive, and from there, judge what relationships we should build. This world is too full of takers, myself among them, and it's so fundamentally wrong. The best friendships don't start with a need: they start with someone willing to give.

We're in the season of giving, so it's natural to think about the topic as far as what instant gratification or the growth of a friendship we can receive from giving, but I recommend giving with no strings attached.

Maybe if we did, the world would look a little bit more like Jesus this Christmas.

[Reach columnist Celeste Flint at opinion@thedaily.washington.edu.]