I was sitting in church last Sunday, listening to the music and attempting to sing along. (For the record, I'm a terrible singer. I may be the only person ever to be kicked out of the youth choir of First Baptist Church in Childersburg, Alabama, because my singing threatened to break the stained-glass windows. Of the Methodist church. On the other side of town.)
Anyway, the music soon ended, and we prepared to take up our offering. My four-year-old son, Colin, was sitting between me and Kristin, and as usual, he wanted a dollar to put into the offering basket. I got my wallet out and pulled out a dollar to give to him. The basket was heading our way, and I was about to shove my wallet back into my pocket, when God spoke to me.
"Put the twenty into the basket," He said.
I looked around a moment, to see if it was somebody near me that had said it, but nobody was paying any attention to me. I looked into my wallet, and sure enough, there was a $20 bill. The only money I had left after I gave Colin the one. My money for the week.
"Hold up here, God," I said. (Not out loud, of course. I said it in my head. People who sit near me in church already know me by my Indian name, He Who Should Never Sing But Does Anyway. I don't want them also calling me He Who Talks To Self.) "This is all the money I've got for the week. I won't be able to buy Diet Cokes or peanuts or Snickers bars if I put the twenty in the basket. I think you meant to say that to somebody else."
Having put God in His place, I kept on stuffing my wallet back into my pocket. And God spoke to me again.
"Put the twenty into the basket," He said.
I shot a quick look to my right. Colin was taking the offering basket from Kristin, and was about to put his dollar in. He would hand me the basket next. Whatever I was going to do, I had to do quickly.
"You sure, God? You want this twenty? I mean, isn't there another twenty, in somebody else's wallet, that would serve Your purpose just as well?"
And God didn't say anything, because He'd already told me what He wanted me to do.
Colin handed me the basket. I yanked my wallet out of my pocket with one hand and fumbled the twenty out as best I could, dropping it into the basket and almost dropping the basket in the process. The elderly lady sitting to my left looked at me a little strangely as I fumbled the basket in her general direction, my twenty riding serenely in its wicker embrace.
"I hope you're happy," I said to God reproachfully. "Now what am I supposed to do all week when I need a caffeine fix? How will I get my mid-afternoon sugar rush with no money to buy candy bars? This isn't fair."
God didn't say anything. Soon after that, the preacher talked about how Jesus died on the cross for our sins, and I felt pretty crappy for worrying about a stupid $20 bill when I thought about everything God did for me. He sent His Son to die for me, and I was too caught up in monetary worries to appreciate what I'd been given. So I had to sacrifice a little money, a little earthly pleasure. What was that compared to what He had sacrificed on my behalf?
I have no idea what God did with that twenty. I'm sure it was put to good use, and it furthered His purpose in some way I'll never understand. And yes, it was frustrating during the week, when I wanted my Diet Coke, or Snickers, or peanuts, and I couldn't buy anything, because I didn't have any money. But it was a sacrifice I made willingly, to be obedient to the command of my Heavenly Father.
So I definitely learned an important lesson that Sunday: Never bring cash to church. Also, now I'm praying my church never accepts credit cards.
(c) 2013 John Puckett
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