When God Doesn’t Provide the Money

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I had heard the stories of God’ miraculous provision of finances for outreach, for rent, for plane tickets and for projects. Sometimes it came in a silk envelope. Sometimes a friend gave an amount, and it was exactly what was needed. Sometimes, an offering was taken that mysteriously expanded. But I had lived a safe, well-provisioned life. My parents are very wise with their finances, and we had never lacked. They taught me well, and I knew how to save and how to spend wisely.

When I left to do my Discipleship Training School (DTS), I only had $2000, a third of what I would need for the lecture phase and outreach. But I told my parents I wanted to place myself in a position where I would have to trust God, and allow him to provide for me financially. So they let me go.

I watched, anxious and then delighted, as God provided the money for my lecture phase through donations from friends and family. We came to outreach, and I received some of what I needed. The day before we were meant to leave, I was still $2000 short. I knew God would provide, but the tension of HOW was driving me crazy. To say I was stressed was an understatement. The next day, there was no mail. No miraculous cash in my Bible. I called my parents, wondering what to do. They decided to give me a loan of $2000. I was happy to have the money for outreach. But I was miffed at God. Why did I have to get a loan? Why didn’t He provide?

That was when I realized that God did provide, but not in the way I wanted him to.

Fast forward. I came home from DTS and worked to pay off my loan. Then God prompted me to do the School of Digital Filmmaking also with YWAM. I had less money in my account than when I left for DTS. But knowing that God wanted me to go, and trusting that he would provide, I jumped on a plane yet again. My parents said they were done with giving me loans. That was ok, because I was confident God would provide what I needed this time.

It was a similar story this time. I received about half of what I needed from donations. The deadline to pay grew nearer, and nothing happened. So I went to my sister for a loan, knowing this time that God could provide through loans just as much as donations. Once again, I was annoyed at God. Why was he allowing me to go into debt again? Didn’t he know that debt is bad?

Fast-forward again. I finished the school, and came home. This time I was $3000 in debt to my sister, ready to work and pay it off. That’s when God said, Don’t get a job. WHAT??? Jesus, are you CRAZY?! I did what he said, ‘cause it’s always a good idea to follow what God tells you. Through this time, God taught me a lot about how to trust him with my debt, and to rest.

Then I felt like I should do the School of Acting for the Screen, in the same place as I did my filmmaking school. My family thought I was nuts. I was $3000 in debt and I wanted to do another school? But they were used to me doing wacky things by this point, so off I went. My grandmother gave me a sizable monetary gift, as did a couple I knew, and I received a grant from my hometown council. But I still had a few thousand dollars to go. Maybe, I thought, maybe God will finally come through, and provide everything in a miraculous way. We prayed as a school. Multiple times. I waited, and waited, and waited. It never came in.

After living on the base for a while, completing the School of Acting for the Screen, and doing an internship, I added all my debts together.

It came to $6000.

That was hard to swallow.

Did my experiment fail? Was I foolish for trusting God so much? Was I even listening to God correctly? Didn’t God know debt was unwise??

Frantically, I started planning ways I could work: Picking blueberries or grapes. Getting a job at a restaurant in town. Writing blog pieces for money. But each time I moved in that direction, I felt restless, uneasy and even more stressed than before. It seemed like God was saying “no” to my good ideas to pay off the debt. WHAT?

I began to ask why. Why was I so far in debt? Had I been reckless? Then a friend said something that changed my perspective, “You’re not in debt because you’re irresponsible, you’re in debt because you’re obedient and that’s a good kind of debt to have.” I’m in debt because I was following God. If He got me into this mess, then He can get me out again.

Through this process, I have learned that being in debt is not the worst thing in the world. God can and does work, even when my bank account is below $0. I knew that I trusted God up until there was nothing in my account, but did I trust him enough to go beyond $0? I do now. Even debt is not an obstacle to God providing or working.

It’s still not fun. I would much rather be out of debt. But now I trust that will happen in God’s timing, not mine.

What You Have

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I graduated from Acting School a couple months ago.

My classmates and friends have gone home.

I have no job, blueberry picking fell through.

I'm $6000 in debt.

And I don't know what to do with my life.

My parents are wondering when I will get steady work, income.

My friends are wondering "What's next?"

And I'm freaking out about the future.

It's morning. I take out a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, and crack one into the fry pan. Now there are ten spaces. I'm running out. My brain starts turning: I don't have a car. How do I get to the store to buy more eggs? How do I pay for more eggs, with my account so low? The egg sizzles in the pan. I look back at the carton, and then I realize. There are still two eggs left.

Sometimes, I get so caught up in planning for the future, I miss the present. I get so worked up about what I don't have that I miss seeing what I do have.

I resolve to eat breakfast and enjoy the egg in front of me, without thinking about those ten empty spaces. I start to see the blue sky and the green vineyards behind the place that I'm house-sitting. Tall, yellow flowers separate the back yard from the rolling green hills. I breathe deeply.

I have a house to stay in. I have warmth, a roof over my head, and internet to stream endless music. I have cupboards and a fridge with food in them.

I have friends all over the world, and I have Skype and Messenger to talk with them.

I have books to read. I have imagination, creativity, and skills in sewing, writing and acting. I have eyes that can see beauty. I have hot showers and legs to walk me places and parents who care about me. I have time.

It's evening, I open the cupboard. Instead of looking at the empty spaces on the shelves, I look at what's in front of me. Black beans. Canned tomato. Rice. I find a whole bunch of spices, and there's cilantro in the garden, so I make chili. It tastes great, and I don't feel nearly as stressed as I did that morning.

I've learned something. Real creativity and satisfaction starts with acknowledging what you have.

After all, you can't do anything with what you don't have.

Why So Serious? Part II

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Why am I so serious?

Like I said in my previous blog post, I like to ask deep questions that get to the heart of things. I like to discover what lies beneath the surface of people, of issues, of ideas. I have a hard time with things that I perceive as superficial. I want real meat, not meringue fluff. I probe, I question, I consider.

And sometimes I obsess. I don’t like that about myself, because people often find it annoying. For example, when I was 11, I became obsessed with goldfish. I read books about them. I saved up money to buy a fish tank. I talked about them at the dinner table so often that my family banned the four-letter F word. That’s just one example of my obsessions. I’ll get distracted reading internet articles about emotional and spiritual abuse for days on end, simply because it’s something I’m interested in. I fixate on a specific area of my life that I want to improve on, and it occupies like 90% of my brain space for months. It annoys other people when I’m always repeating the same things, so I’ve learned to not talk about my obsessions and simply keep them to myself. I’ve often wondered why I just can’t let go.

Why can’t I just CHILL? Sometimes I obsess so much about relaxing, that I get worked up while I’m supposed to be resting.

Why do I get so worked up about things?

Because I care.

I care deeply about things and people. When I do something, I do it 100%, all in. I don’t like doing things halfway.

I take things seriously because I care.

And that is a beautiful thing.

I think the reason it bothers me so much when people would tell me to calm down, to relax, to chill, is because that translated to “stop caring”. When people were acting frivolous or shallow, it annoyed me because I thought they “didn’t care”. I’ve been deeply hurt in the past because I care a lot about something that the other person flippantly throws away, or doesn’t care about to the same degree as me. Group projects were torture to me, because often my partner wouldn’t approach the assignment with the same amount of energy, enthusiasm or caring as I did.

All that caring makes me tired. I burn out quickly when I give all of myself, but don’t take time to rest. Or allow myself to be cared for. I can tell when I’ve reached the danger zone and my tank is empty, because I don’t care about anything anymore. That’s when I know I have to stop and recharge.

How do I relax? How do I chill, if I care so much?

The answer is knowing that God cares even more than I do. He cares more about the people I love than I do. He cares more about hard situations and problems than me. He cares about smaller details than I can ever see. He cares about things I don’t even care about, like the hairs on my head and sparrows and bringing rain to far-off places.

Because HE cares so much, I can relax, knowing things are being taken care of. I can rest in His care, for me, and for others. 

Why So Serious? Part 1

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“Let’s go around the circle and tell each person something we like about them.”

We were halfway through the ‘game’ my friend had suggested, and now it was my turn in the hot seat. My heart started to beat a little faster in anticipation of what people would say. When my vibrant actress-friend praised my ability with words, the way they’ve brought her comfort and wisdom, my heart swelled. Then the next person, a fun guy who everyone loves being around, turned to me. He said “I really appreciate your seriousness.”

I was bummed.

Outside I smiled, but inwardly I was annoyed. Of all my character traits, why did he have to focus on the one I like the least? Why couldn’t he talk about traits I like: sweetness, vulnerability or intellect?

I have long hated my seriousness. When I was in my early teens at Drama or Choir rehearsals, it was the people who could crack jokes, tell funny stories or do magic tricks who would attract crowds of people. Very few people were attracted to the deep thoughts and questions I had to offer. My comments about random facts I found interesting would fall on deaf ears.

I wanted to really get to know people, hear their stories and learn what their big dreams were and discover what makes their eyes shine and their hearts tick. But others were more interested in making quick-witted comments about one another and laughing at ridiculous jokes. So I learned that if I wanted attention, wanted to be part of the group, I’d have to play along.

This gave me a kind of split personality. Some days, I would fake being funny, joking and laughing along with the others. But it wasn’t MY kind of humour; it was theirs. Other days, I would look at the group with disdain. How immature they were, laughing about the ridiculous, not talking about Important Things or ideas of Real Substance. So I became both overly serious and fakely funny.

This continued until my college years, where I let the fake funny mask drop. Funny wasn’t working for me, so I devoted all my energy to being a Serious Responsible Person.

My hypothesis that nobody likes a wet blanket and people like being around those who are the life of the party seemed to be further confirmed by more interactions with friends who were charming and amusing. Those friends seemed to always have people around them, like bees around a pool of honey. That kind of humour seemed far out of my grasp. Nobody seemed to find me charming or interesting, and I reckoned that’s because I was so serious. So I’ve worked on trying to relax, to be more chill, to not always direct conversations toward deep topics and to be cool with the superficial. I’d come a long way. But I still felt like my seriousness was a curse and a crutch.

And yet, here my friend was praising me for the very character trait I’ve tried so hard to get rid of. I was ticked off. But I smiled and said thank you anyway.

It wasn’t until later that night when my friend’s words finally sunk in. He LIKES my seriousness. What?? That blew my mind. He appreciates the very thing that I have despised for years.

I had such a hard time believing this was true, that a week later I asked him if he really meant what he said. Of course he did. And then he said something that I’ve been pondering ever since. “Lyndall, you need to own it.” Own my seriousness. Don’t try to play it down or ignore it or get rid of it.

This article is part of the process, part of me owning my seriousness. As I write, I realize things. Humans have incredibly fine-tuned BS meters. We can detect the tiniest hint of inauthenticity on a subconscious level. For years I have been trying to squeeze myself into boxes that I don’t fit into, either the Funny Person box or the Super Serious Person box. But people are most attracted to those individuals who are comfortable in their own skins, who are most fully themselves.

It wasn’t my lack of funny that turned people off. It was the masks I wore. If they were attracted, it wasn’t ME they were attracted to. It was a mask. When love or attention or affection is dependent on how well I can keep a mask in place, life is a hellish prison. Every move must keep the mask in place, or else I risk losing everything I’ve worked for. I know this is a bad idea, but I didn’t realize I was doing this with my personality until my friend somehow saw through the mask and said he liked my seriousness.

So I’m ditching the Super Serious Person mask, and I’m ditching the Funny Person mask. I’m going to be me. I am serious. And I’m not going to hide it, despise it, or push it down any more. I’m gonna own it.