Sometimes I stare at the ceiling at night, thinking about bills.
“You are totally in denial,” I say to myself. “Property tax and homeowners insurance are due in weeks.”
But when I talk to God about this he just smiles and shakes His head.
“Haven’t you learned anything about me, after all this time?”
And so I give Him what I hope is an apologetic, and not a doubtful smile. (God heard Sarah laughing, in the tent, after all.) And night after night, I go to sleep.
Last night, I put a figure on that black hole in my bank account.
“Three thousand dollars,” I think. “I will need three thousand dollars, tomorrow.”
There are places I could turn to get that money that I don’t want to think about. But there is also a car in my driveway this morning. I think it might be that couple who asked, Sunday, if our basement apartment will open up any time soon.
They call me.
Would it be okay if they wrote me a check for $3000 so they could reserve the apartment for the next six months it is available?
Yeah. Yeah, that would be more than okay with me.
But then, it always is, isn’t it? More than okay? When we put our trust in the God of not just the big things, but the pathetic little things like our bank balances and the food we hope to put on the table for our children?
God hears and answers prayer, even when we’re guilty of laughing within the door of the tent. He can sense the faith we occasionally permit the avalanche of our days to conceal from our own view–and he does the impossible. Over, and over, and over.
And I am humbled beyond belief. Softened toward those who tell me that I cannot do the impossible, or who doubt my love or who outright defy me.
Because how can I not?