By Faith

A great number of individuals look back to the year they turned 13, 16, 18, 21 as life markers. For me, I think of the academic year 1983-1984, the year I turned 9. The next several posts will cover events from that season of my life.

The first story that comes to my recollection took place a few days after my ninth birthday. It was a pretty warm Sunday evening and, as usual, I attended the local Baptist church. That night, a missionary from the Dominican Republic spoke about his work there. His outreach efforts focused primarily on Haitian families who lived in precarious conditions in the DR. My heart was moved with compassion when I saw pictures of little children who were in serious need of food, comfort, love, and the gospel.

As I sat there and listened to that man, I was enthralled by the energy and passion that radiated from him. His feverish love for the people he served in the DR was so contagious that I simply felt that I, too, needed to help.

But, what could I possibly do? I was just a little boy!

Yet, the story of his missionary work kept me interested and I kept thinking about it throughout the service. At the end of the service, he explained that anyone could help through prayer, words of encouragement, or financial support.

I knew I could pray. 

I got option # 1 down.

Yet, somehow, I felt that I was supposed to do more . . .

I was way too shy to approach the missionary.

What encouragement could a little boy give to a grown man, anyway?

So, I counseled my way out of option # 2.

I had no money.

I lacked valuable goods that I could sell.

I couldn't possibly ask Papi and Manmie to give me part of their meager earnings.

So, option # 3 was out . . .

Or was it?

There had to be a way for me to help this missionary financially. My mind kept playing and replaying the images of those needy children and the more I thought about them, the more convinced I became that I needed to pledge to give.

So, I did.

I took a missionary envelope and promised the astronomical amount of 24 gourdes, which was the equivalent of $5.00 in 1983. A mere sum of five dollars is not a whole lot of money to the average American family but back then, that represented a sixth of my father's monthly income. I had no idea where the money would come from but I simply knew that I had to pledge that amount.

I told Manmie that I had pledged $5.00. She and I prayed that God would provide in His time and in His way.

He absolutely did!

God provided many chores for me to do at home and in the neighborhood -- collecting and dumping trash, fetching water, et al -- for which I was paid. I worked diligently and was always on the lookout for new chores to complete in order to earn enough money to reach my goal. As a result, I was able to collect 3 to 4 gourdes every month and by the year I was able to honor my pledge which represented two-thirds of my earnings. The whole experience taught me a great deal about patience, sacrifice, and hard work.

More importantly, it taught me that my offering to God needs to always involve sacrifice. And to borrow the words of King David,

"I will not . . . sacrifice a burnt offering that costs me nothing." 

1 Chronicles 21:26, NIV

Father, may I follow You in faith and in truth always! May I enter a life of trust and sacrifice throughout my journey!