Heart of the Matter

Around the end of summer last year we began to really feel the financial pinch we were in. We had moved into our first home, had a baby (the fourth) and bought a van we had to have in order for our entire family to go anywhere together…all in a span of 1 month. We don’t do credit cards. We had felt the conviction to let go of the governmental ball and chain of food assistance and had lost my pregnant woman’s medicaid due to, well, not being pregnant anymore. The kiddos were still on our state sponsored health care. We had finally found a church, albeit 40 minutes away, and were tithing weekly. We were not quite making $30,000.00 a year and I had not figured out how to save nearly as much money as I’m working on saving right now, particularly in the area of making my own food.

So…the snowball was building. Miss one payment: accrue fees. Miss a payment somewhere else: more fees. Use that overdraft protection: more fees. We were no longer able to dig out. It was not about buckling down, there was nothing to buckle down. It was more like war, send out what little ammo we had at whatever bill collector was attacking the fiercest at the time and then hunker down for the next round from someone else until the next paycheck’s meager reinforcements came through. And we began to fight each other in the delirium of the trenches. We were losing the war.

So, in an attempt to keep our home, water, electricity, and van – we cut out church. We could no longer drive that far. Plus, it was right around this time of year they were taking up food collections for the “needy.” Since we go to a very large church, they had no idea we were one of their “needy.” It really stinks when you fall into a category that you really don’t want to be in.

And you fight your hardest each Sunday to just blend. To not be found out.

And then they sent home with each of our 4 kids a letter that they were not only collecting a canned good, but a box of food. You heard me right. A BOX. That’s more than my family of 6 was eating in a week. Now, let me go a little off-subject for a second – the church does amazing things. Which is one of the main reasons we love being there. And if they had any idea that we were struggling they would’ve bent over backwards to offer help. But one of the down-sides of a huge church combined with living in the boondocks is that we couldn’t be a part of a home-group and we slipped into anonymity. So, we stayed home. And paid bills (and only the most important at the time, mind you) before we made that necessary grocery trip each pay day.

We went hungry. For the first time in my life, I went days hungry. We ate what we had in the cabinets and rationed the food for the kiddos first and then us. And sometimes, my unsuspecting mother-in-law would invite us over for dinner and I would pray that she would buy something bland instead of the pizza dinner that we normally love, because I knew that my stomach and my Middlest’s (who had plenty to eat, but held out not eating because he “didn’t like it” – a side note, kids WILL eat when they get hungry, but sometimes their will-power can rival that of a POW) couldn’t handle the sheer heaviness of a pizza after days of crackers, plain white rice, and some bread.

Our stomachs couldn’t handle the sheer heaviness of a pizza after days of crackers, plain white rice, and some bread.

Unreal, the emotions you have in a time like that. The strain on a marriage. On all relationships. The struggle to stay focused on Him and not on what everybody else has. Hunger, at least what we knew of hunger in American terms, is tricky. It seeps into all areas of your life. You get angry. About everything. You get a sense of entitlement. If they have such a life, then why don’t we have that life too? And it seemed that everything was tied to money. Then there was the guilt. Compared to most nations in the world and even the majority of our own nation we weren’t that bad off. Knowing that was so, why did I feel so low? Oh, the battles that raged within over my desire for more and my guilt for whining when we had so much more already when compared to others.

Even our desire for more children was not even entertained because how could we, if we couldn’t feed the sweet mouths we already had. My honey said, as we donated all our baby stuff we had saved for future babies, “we’d have ten more tomorrow if we had a million dollars.” And my heart was broken anew and more anger. Not at my husband, at all. But at the unfairness of it all.

In the releasing of those “we won’t accept handouts” convictions, dreams, baby clothes, entitlements, the desire for more food, more money, more everything, and not the least- my anger, I prayed that God would give us enough. It became the cry of my heart.

Enough, Lord. That’s all I ask now. That you would just give us enough. And let me recognize what is enough. And be thankful for that. To not want more. To just be provided for with enough. Whatever that is. That we would have daily bread. And be thankful.

The lifting up out of the hole didn’t end with that prayer. In fact, we didn’t get a job that we really thought would happen. We relied on miracles to provide Christmas gifts for the kiddos. But we held on through January as we got our tax return and paid everyone current, stocked our pantry and fridge, and then in February my husband got a new job, and the beginning of March saw drastic changes. We went back to church regularly and even began teaching in one of our children’s small group class. A $10,000 dollar raise with the new job, health insurance, and food. Glorious food! Boy, did we overbuy those first few paychecks. Too much food of every kind. We indulged ourselves. I saw my weight jump 11 pounds in those few short months of excited eating.

Looking back to those gray days, I realize there were so many blessings. Awareness of others. Wisdom. Tolerance. The growing of my character. The desire to learn how to be frugal. I can see that just as my heart was broken for my kids at the time who couldn’t have all the goodies they wanted, my Father’s heart was broken for us.

And just as I rejoiced in the growth of my Oldest in that time: his taste for all foods expanded, he became less whiny, a little more understanding, and obedient – when Mama says eat this now because his body needs it and it may not be here later, he better eat it. now. My Father was rejoicing in the changes that adversity brought about in me. And He was always there, blessing, even when I couldn’t see it. While going through those baby clothes last summer to give away I cried out, “Please God, if you want us to have more babies, then please provide a job with more money.” I prayed that he would make mine and my honey’s hearts one on the subject. Take my desire or give him one. I prayed for contentment whatever decision He made for our family. I prayed that I would not get the baby fever, or if I did that I could contain it. But most of all, I continued to pray for enough. And thankfulness when that was given, whether it felt like enough to me or not.

He provided the job. The money. He held off all chance of and baby-feverness by giving me a baby that is so determined to nurse constantly that I have yet to have the physical ability to become pregnant again. Simultaneously giving my husband the interest in having another. He allowed us a way out from the food stamps imprisonment by giving us just enough money in the new job to disqualify us from them. A mixed blessing it would seem, but definitely a blessing. He placed a desire in my heart to become more self-sufficient in my kitchen – buying less boxed foods and making more of my own. And through all of this His Spirit has softened my heart, not hardened it. Amazing, because left on my own, I was turning into an angry, sad little woman.

Last Sunday at church the worship leader asked us to finish the sentence, “Lord, My Lord, I praise you because You are ____________.” And as I bowed my head and thought of all He was to me the simple word that I hadn’t thought of in months, came to mind. Clearly, quietly I thanked Him for enough.

Suzanne is wife to one and mama to four. The little ones are 2 boys ages 7 and 5, a girl who’s 3, and a baby boy who’s not knee-high to a grasshopper yet. She eclecticly unschools with lapbooks the Charlotte Mason way. In other words, she doesn’t have the slightest clue what she’s doing, but does it anyway. She lives in a world where there are few absolutes. The dishes don’t stay cleaned, the laundry doesn’t stay put away, the children don’t remember what she told them yesterday. But in their chaotic lives they have found joy. And they’d love to share that with you. So, come on over, kick a path through the toys, have a seat on the couch and grab a cup of strong coffee. Just be ready to hone your skills of “interrupted conversation”! And be sure to stop by her personal blog at JoyfulChaos.