When I was in high school we lived in a house that sat between a lake and a golf course. I grew up skiing, tubing, knee-boarding, and generally getting in the water as much as possible. My parents were never golfers, but the proximity of the course lent itself to some fun family runs at night. During that time I had a good friend that became the brother my sister and I always wanted but would never have. He knew how to get to our house by lake and would routinely break in to walk our dogs when we weren’t home. And eat our Nutragrain bars with several inches of whip cream on top. We never knew when he might pop by and he rarely failed to push our buttons, as befitted his role as our “brother.” Regardless of the button pushing, he was part of our lives in a meaningful way.

I don’t have much contact with him anymore. The natural course of life flowed different directions for all three of us, and without the blood link of real siblings he’s now more of a memory than anything else. One of the memories that consistently comes back to me when I think of that period of my life involves the multiple conversations we had sitting beside the golf course watching the players come and go. We wondered about our futures and feared being without. We were both raised in families that weren’t rich by American standards, but were well off. He never worried about money and neither did I. Our parents made sure that our needs were met, many wants were met, debts were paid, and the financial security of the family was a given. We were well aware that our parents weren’t of the old money variety, but had worked long and hard to provide for us the way they did. We both wanted to maintain our cushy lifestyles, but we didn’t know how to do it or if we could do it, and that was the source of our concern. So our conversations ended with only a small measure of comfort that someone else held the same anxieties, and the fears remained.

Finances and trusting God in a job that doesn’t have a set paycheck is by far the most difficult aspect for me about our family’s choice to be in PNG. By growing up the way I did I was never forced to develop the spiritual maturity to see my family’s total dependence on God. It took joining a mission organization and devoting that aspect of my life to Him to truly appreciate that the provision I credited my parents with as a child was actually from God. I didn’t understand until living month to month that “financial security” in any tax bracket is a false god. He purposed my parents with that money and has expectations of them in how they use it, and they are constantly praying for His direction in spending it. I witnessed that my entire life. They’ve always believed that He may choose to change the direction of how they serve Him which may mean “giving up” what they’ve had.

So my parent’s gave me a solid foundation to work with in this area. They enjoy how they have been blessed, but with an open hand. And they don’t treat it as “their” money, but as God’s money. Even though they spoke that into our lives, I still struggle. There are the months I find too much security in the monthly donation statement we receive because it’s a good month. Everyone that said they would give, did give. And then some extra unexpected gifts came in. Those months I sigh in relief and feel content. And then there are the other sorts of months. The bad ones. The ones where five people forgot and that lapse was fifty percent of what we “needed.” I find myself in the depths of despair lashing out at God for not coming through. I am discontent and sure we’ll have to come home from the field when (not if) this trend continues. Both reactions are a reflection of distrust and an indication that I still see those numbers as “mine.”

The reality is that every year since we were married our final tally of donations has exactly matched our total need for the year. Unfortunately I spent more time in each of those years worrying than I spent praising God. Not praising God for providing money, but praising God because He is. Last year was up and down, per usual. I’m getting better with the unknowns and am often able to take captive the extreme reactions to the constant fluctuations of our monthly donation statement, but I still fall in the trap. Despite my constant failure to truly trust God, God is always faithful to us. Our year-end statement came recently and we were astounded with the outpouring of support that will more than carry us through the impending medical bills of the birth and the unknown increases in our health insurance premiums that will start in March (and that I’ve already been anxious about). He knew our needs and through His people met them before we hardly asked.

I have so many questions about “God’s economy” and how it all works, but I know that as He has expectations for my parents, He has those same expectations for our family. Looking at our socioeconomic statuses from a worldly perspective would say that more should be expected of them than of us, but it’s simply not true. He expects all of us to trust in Him whether we have a fixed income or not. He expects all of us to give when He says to give whether rich or poor (missionaries not excluded!). Most importantly He expects us to see our money as the temporal, burnable thing that it is. Necessary to living life, but totally within His right to move around as He wills. Essentially He wants us to hold it with open hands.

Money and where it will come from month to month will always be my thing. My weak point. My enemy. I feel ashamed at how shocked I was at the end of the year when He prompted and people gave, meeting needs we hadn’t yet expressed outside our family unit. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being surprised when He provides, but as each year ticks by I feel that old childhood fear slowly losing ground to a profound and peaceful trust.