God's Economy

Tomorrow, T.J. and I embark on another New Phase of our life. One in which we're simultaneously pursuing advanced degrees.

We know it's God because it's really hard and we never would have planned it this way. That's His signature move with us.

It's like that old joke, "You can't live on one income and have a full-time MFA student and a half-time grad student and a 4 year old and a full time job." And God says, "Hold my beer..."

But really, on paper, we can't. We can't. It's not there. Nothing is there. This is seriously fuzzy math. And if God had said, "OK, here's the plan..." I would have said, "Hard pass, God. Hard pass."

But He didn't.

He said, "Savannah, start this master's program. It's OK that you don't know the outcome of TJ's job yet. Have faith."

And so I did.

And then He said, "Hey guys, that job is going away. Just hang on. Have faith."

And so we did.

And the summer was filled with those God moments: Unemployment that was way more than expected. Editing jobs for TJ that just came out of the woodwork. Book sales. The random friend who wants to pay you too much money to video a wedding. A scholarship I received that was only $250 turned out be a "typo" and was really $500.

Evidence of God's Economy.

And then, less than two weeks before classes would start, we got word: TJ had been accepted into the Master of Fine Arts program he wanted. Orientation was a week away. There was paperwork to do, classes to register for, too many books to buy.

And we prayed a Big Prayer. I prayed, "God, you've gotta do this. Bring your unexpected, overwhelming financial help here."

And you know what?

He did.

And when it happened, we both starred at it and said, "This isn't right..." "Something must be wrong ..." And we're a little bit still waiting for someone to say, "Oh, oops! Sorry about that..."

I don't know why we're surprised. In our 8 years of marriage, God has always worked like this for us. It's not a prosperity gospel, by any means, it's more of a "just enough" gospel.

God knows what you need. He promises us that in Matthew 6 (among other places): “That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life — whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?
“And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?

And Matthew 7: “You parents  — if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him."

It's a lot of scripture that everyone knows. And I know it. And yet, how often do we believe that we'll actually be taken care of, that our needs will be met. Our NEEDS. Not our wants. Not our needs as we define them. Our needs as God sees them and will meet to His Glory.

That's where it sometimes falls down. Why is God meeting TJ and my needs, but not others? I can't answer that. I have no lines about how your faith isn't as strong enough, or your calling isn't strong enough. I can't explain why God does what He does when He does. He's never taken my opinion in to account.

But, what I can tell you is this: God hears you. He does meet needs. It might no look like you expect, it may not be on the timeline you think you need. But He's there. And He'll show up.

God's economy is nowhere near ours. His math doesn't match ours. He knows what He's doing. Right now, He's asking TJ and I to do something hard and scary.

Whatever hard scary thing He's asking you to do, I ask you to do one thing: Have faith. Do it.

One thing TJ pointed out to me was this: Our Big Prayers weren't answered until we'd stepped out in faith and said, "OK." We'd signed up for the classes. We'd enrolled. We'd stepped out. And standing out there on nothing, there was a road beneath us.

Have faith. Step out. God will be there. He will not fail you.

He's never failed us.

A Glimpse of Privilege

Today, TJ and I woke up safe in our small apartment in our safe small town. We had our choice of what to eat for breakfast, of what to wear to church.

We went to our safe, small lightly diverse church and worshiped Jesus without a ton of thought.

And then afterward, we drove our too-nice car that we can afford to finance to Applebee's, the epitome of middle class American dining.

We had a friendly waitress who seemed frazzled, probably new, and brought us too many refills and forgot my salad. I was prepared to leave her a poor tip.

And then she brought us our bill.

"I hope you guys have a great day, whatever you are going to do. And a wonderful year. I know things are getting a little crazy out there ... ," she said, and I smiled, because yeah, things are getting hectic in Moscow, it's that time of year. But she hesitated and, almost as if she was wondering whether to say more, but added, "... in the world."

Our eyes met briefly, and I knew what she meant. It wasn't Moscow and the influx of students we'll see this week. It wasn't the craziness of construction. It wasn't even just overall life hecticness she was referring to.

"It's getting a little crazy out there in the world."

She was talking about Charlotesville.

My nice white family sat in our nice, middle class restaurant, where we served by a young black waitress, who went above and beyond to be friendly, in spite of that fact that every morning that she wakes up in this nation lately, she likely feels a little less safe.

We talk a lot of "white privilege," and it gets scoffed and people (white people) complain about the assumption that we're somehow protected, regardless of our backgrounds or upbringings.

I gotta tell ya, sitting Applebee's today I faced my white privilege.

White privilege is being able to wake up and watch the news and see what's happening around our nation and say, "This doesn't apply to me."

White privilege is watching members of your own race do horrible things and ignore it. Because that's not you. That's not your circle. Those uneducated racists don't represent MY white America. This will never impact me.

My waitress might not be paying attention to the news. But I bet she is. I bet she saw it all over Facebook today. People sharing memes about Nazis and confederate flags and hate crimes. Headlines about death, commentary about police reactions and arrests. A president whose voice doesn't seem to extend far enough to protect her life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.

I bet she saw people being treated with hate for no reason other than because their skin is the same color as her skin.

I bet she wonders when those people will show up in Moscow. I bet she has a plan for what she'll do when they do.

As a woman, I do have a running list of things to do when I'm in a situation where I feel unsafe. Typically, if I'm alone in the dark. Or how to respond if I'm cat-called or objectified. But those plans often involve, "find a nice man to help me. Call the police."

I don't have a plan to deal with the police being part of the problem.

I bet she does.

I don't have an answer to any of this. I'm not going to throw out some general "wake up, white America." All we can do is see it, one at a time, for ourselves. How privileged we are. What that privilege gives us access to. And doing what we can to use that power to help people, to stand up against hate groups, to give up the idea that "tolerance" and "free speech" covers white supremacy and domestic terrorism. It doesn't. It shouldn't.

I gave our waitress a much bigger tip than I'd ever intended. It was, quite literally, the absolute least I could do.

I wish I could do better.