February 2, 2013

• Grumpy Thank Yous

  It is a sleepy Saturday, with snow lazily falling outside. I am under two layers of clothing and two more blankets. The e-mail catches my eye.

  THE E-MAIL.

  It is even capitalized in my brain. Because at the beginning of every month, I get an e-mail that lists the donations from the past month for Living Stones. I find out what can/can’t be done the next month for Living Stones. For my children. For God’s children. That is what I have to remember.

  I have fallen into random rituals: hot and cold flashes when I see it in my inbox. That instant thud of my stomach. The automatic prayers to God, “Please make it be at least THIS MUCH MONEY this month—we need THIS MUCH MONEY. The holding my breath as the adobe reader slowly opens to reveal the truth.

  Perhaps I am overreacting. You roll your eyes at my antics. But when we have $400 a month promised by faithful donors, and $1000 a month budget (that needs to be changed to $1500), you are holding your breath for $1,100 every month. Hoping, wishing.

  We are feeding children who need to be fed NOW. Hunger doesn’t wait for me to visit the respectable amount of churches, or write the magic number of letters, begging for support. The money that comes in, comes in—and that is what we have to get to the children (transportation), provide food and love and anything we can—depending on the dollar sign that is on that e-mail.

  Breathe, Rachel, Breathe.

  Last year, I told everyone the biggest lesson I learned was gratitude. Thankfulness creates abundance. Giving thanks builds trust. And yet, with God, I still played the “open the e-mail” game. Every month. Like it was a slot machine and I am yelling at the computer, “Jackpot, baby, come on—Jackpot!!” as it turns to open the document.

  And at the end of 2012, I look back and see we LACKED NOTHING. There were scraping the bottom of the barrel moments, there was frantic writing and calling at times—but we were able to consistently be there for the children when they needed us, and be that faithful light of Christ in the darkness. We walked into 2013 with a surplus to help us get started.

  And now it is February. And another e-mail arrives. And I tell myself to not play any silly games, but there is still a “feeling” lingering. And a thud when I read it. Because it isn’t nearly enough. Half of what we need for February. We will have to dip into the surplus from last year that is diminishing quickly.

  Anger. Worry. Tired.

  Anger at the numbers. I am working as hard as I know how to raise money right now. I am meeting with whoever will have me, multiple meetings every day, finding new ways to get people more involved. I am angry that it isn’t working. I am angry that God isn’t having people give more. I am angry that I have a hard time being direct with people and asking, “This is the need—can I count on you to give?” Because I know they have a million other things in their lives that need that money just as much as I do. Because I don’t want to be just another nagging voice. I am angry there are no results. No fruit in the form of dollars.

  I am worried. If this is how much is donated in a “big giving” month, what about the “dry nothing” summer months? If this is the number when I am dedicated to fundraising, what about the rest of the year when I am in Brazil, dedicated to hands-on ministry?

  Tired. The emotion flows out and leaves me burnt out. Why try anymore? “God’s will done God’s way and time will never lack God’s supply.” BS. I just want to take a nap and forget about it. I am tired of asking for money. I am tired of being a salesman, trying to peddle my ideas and dreams. If it is a good thing—God’s thing—shouldn’t people want to give money?  

  Thank you? It is so hard to say thank you when it isn’t enough. When it isn’t what I wanted. I promised myself I would be grateful for whatever dollar amount was on that e-mail, but I am not. I am pissed off. These children deserve our best. They deserve a chance at life…I am not talking about a new video game or outfit or college scholarship—I am talking about regular food, a safe place to sleep at night, the ability to read.

  Sometimes…it just hurts so much to walk into one more church and see all of the well off people who will spend more for lunch that day than the families in Living Stones make in a week. The  children who are wearing shoes that could feed one of those little ones for a month.  And I say, “Please. Please give.”

  And I could tell you stories to make you feel guilty about everything you have. I feel guilty myself. Because if you went, if you saw for yourself, you would know that I could give more. That I should give more. And I grapple with this. And I hope you do too. But all of those things fade away. God still stands there and asks, “Will you be grateful? What if no money was given? If there was a big zero at the bottom of the page? Would you still thank me? Would you still trust that I will provide? Will you still love all those people who didn’t care—because I do. “

  And sometimes it really sucks that God is perfect, because you can’t argue with that. Gratitude has to be a constant choice. A constant decision that says, “I still trust you God, so I can say thank you for these crappy circumstances, because somehow…You are going to make something beautiful out of them. Something that is Your will for Your glory. And that is what I want. So I guess I needed this crappy circumstance after all.”

  I laugh, because when I do this, it is always in a grumpy voice. But the next moment it becomes a little lighter. And a bit true-er. And then I say it again. I make the grateful choice again…and eventually it happens: I am able to step away from the circumstance and all the emotion flying around it, and put it all at the feet of Jesus. And walk away.  

  God loves every one of these children in Brazil more than I do. He is working in their lives, and will continue to do so. He will provide Living Stones with the resources, in whatever form, that are needed to accomplish His goals in the lives of these kids and their families. And I want no more or less than that.

  • 10:42 pm
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