Can Stewardship Be Scary?

Growing up in Upstate New York was rough, but I didn't know any better. As a kid, I remember riding bikes with my friends, being a part of Boy Scouts, and never really feeling like there was something we couldn't do financially. I had no idea my parents were horribly broke. They wanted us to have amazing Christmases and would max out credit cards to fill presents up under the tree. We just assumed it wasn't a big deal as kids, because we really didn't know the cost. Then, the summer after my 4th grade year, I learned about how tight things really were. My father was part of the Empire State Evangelizing Association of churches. We were part of a church plant called the Cortland Valley Church of Christ. My dad's income was mostly from fundraising through the association. We would go to church camps, VBS’s, and other churches to raise funds to keep the church going. One day, I went to the E.S.E.A. office with my dad to pick up his check from fundraising. I remember him opening the envelope, looking at the check, and the expression on his face dropping. The check, our income for the month, was $30. That day, my dad shared with me how hard it can be sometimes.

I remember the ride home vividly. I don’t remember how long it actually was, but it felt like a year. Dad didn’t say a lot, which was really odd. My dad was a talker. He was one of the most social people I’ve ever known, and he remembered everyone’s name. To this day, that is the hardest part of ministry for me. I don’t remember names well. It’s my Kryptonite. It was Dad’s superpower. He was also one of the most disgustingly optimistic men on the face of the planet. Today, however, that wasn’t the case. I think we listened to a mix of Kenny Rodgers, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and various Motown artists as we drove home without speaking a word in our self-made, brown-on-tan, conversion van with the name of the church on the side.

At one point we had to stop for gas, and that’s when Dad finally talked. He looked at me, and with a touch of despair said, “Johnny, God is still good.” I had no idea at the time why he was saying that. I just knew it looked like it took a lot for him to say that. For the last part of the ride, he started explaining how we pay for bills, where the money comes from, and how tight our finances were going to be for the next month. He also told me that Mom may not be very happy when we get home, but that’s ok. Sometimes life is hard. 

My dad was my hero. I believed everything he told me. If he said we were going to be ok, then I knew we’d be fine. When we got home, though, I was a touch less confident. We got home, Dad pulled Mom into their bedroom to talk in private. There wasn’t any yelling, but I distinctly remember hearing my mother raise her voice. It wasn’t so much in anger, but more panicked sounding. “How are we going to pay the bills?” She tried to sound controlled, but I could tell she was struggling to keep it together. My mom is not someone who panics much. She’s a farm girl from the mountains of Virginia. Not much phased her. This, however, seemed to take her somewhere I hadn’t seen. She was nervous. She was a little scared. The closest family we had was over 8 hours away. We didn’t have cell phones back then. The internet hadn’t been invented, so no one was going to Venmo us some money. My parents had to figure it out.

For dinner that night, I think we had smelt. Smelt are tiny little fish that you fry up and eat with the bones. They were some of the cheapest food we could find at our grocery store, so we ate that a lot. As kids, we just assumed everyone ate food like this.  We had no idea that it was “poor people” food. As my brother, sister and I ate and talked like nothing was wrong in the world, Mom and Dad both ate silently. My siblings were still really young, so they weren’t picking up on how our parents were acting. I knew something was up, though. We usually took turns around the dinner table talking about our day; what we’ve learned and experienced. Instead, we kids talked about toys and cartoons and kid stuff. Usually, Dad was always the first one done eating. On this night, I don’t remember him finishing his meal. It was such a strange night.

My parents pulled me aside later to talk to me about what was going on. Dad had told Mom about our conversation driving home, and she wanted the three of us to talk. They explained to me that we weren’t rich people, but God had never let us down. Even though our pay for the month was abysmal, we would be fine as long as we continued to trust in God. One of the ways we do that is by being a good steward of what God has given us. Even though we only got $30 that month, we were still going to tithe from it. God would always get our first ten percent, regardless of how big or small our paychecks might be. That Sunday I watched my father put several bills in the offering plate. Looking back, I know it was more than three dollars.

And he sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the offering box. Many rich people put in large sums. And a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which make a penny. And he called his disciples to him and said to them, “Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
Mk 12:41–44

That story is one that has deeply shaped my life. My parents raised three kids three states away from where either of them had grown up trusting God to provide while still being faithful in their giving. Was it scary at times? Absolutely. That didn’t cause them to be unfaithful. They were the epitome of good stewards. We never lived lavishly, but as kids, we didn’t know any different. A dinner of rice, gravy, and a slice of bread was a delicacy to us because our parents had provided it. My mother and father were grateful for what God had richly blessed us with: a home over our heads, clothes on our backs, shoes on our feet, and food to eat. We never starved. The electric was never cut off. God provided. I genuinely believe that God takes care of the faithful.

Better is the little that the righteous has than the abundance of many wicked. For the arms of the wicked shall be broken, but the Lord upholds the righteous. The Lord knows the days of the blameless, and their heritage will remain forever; they are not put to shame in evil times; in the days of famine they have abundance.
Ps 37:16–19

When it comes to being good stewards of God with what He has blessed us with, have no fear. God protects and defends His children. We just need to remain faithful.