by Dave Jackson
This was terrible! Hadn’t he prayed each time? Thanked God, win or lose? Where was God? He could have done as well by flipping a coin!
Shoving his chair back, Greg paced around the room, his sandwich forgotten. After a few minutes, he fell to his knees beside the living room couch. “O God, what are you doing to me? I trusted you to prosper me, and now you’re destroying me! Why? Why? Maybe you didn’t realize it, but I was going to tithe all my earnings. You know I’ve been doing that faithfully, so why haven’t you rewarded me? This isn’t fair! And it’s not just me. My family is counting on this too. And you know, God, I’ll do anything for my family.”
Greg stopped. What would be a proof of his faith?
He rolled back on his heels, looking over the top of the couch and out the living room window. Was it faith to back out at the first setback? No, he should go forward, no matter what. Getting up, he returned to his seat at the computer.
Slowly, and very deliberately, he placed one more bid for $2,500 . . . and won!
A smile spread over his face. “Not bad. Thank you, Jesus,” he murmured. “And I will definitely give you all the praise and glory. I’ll call Pastor Hanson this afternoon and tell him it works.” Tears trickled down his cheeks. “Hallelujah! I can feel it, and I believe it! I can feel the presence of the Lord right now! And I’m gonna get my blessing. This is it. This is it. No more waiting!”
Greg’s balance was at $15,051. TopOps allowed bids as high as twenty grand. Time to go for it. Greg entered $15,000 for his next bid. But which way—up or down? Call or Put? He watched the ticker as it nudged up and then down and then up again. Overall, it’d been rising all day, but would it do so over the sixty seconds of his next bid? Taking a deep breath, he selected Put for the dollar to fall and waited a moment, his finger above the key that would determine his family’s whole fortune.
“O God, here goes!” And he clicked.
The instant his finger hit the key, a blue rectangle flashed on the screen with the warning: “Your Internet connection has been lost.”
“What? No, no, no!” he yelled. “This can’t be happening!”
Chapter 41
Trying to stem his panic, Greg clicked around on his computer screen without anything changing. He tried refreshing his screen, but the blue rectangular notice remained. O God, he groaned. Why, when he’d just made a go-for-broke bid? By now, the sixty seconds of his bid had passed. He’d either won or lost—won an additional $10,500 or lost another $12,750!
He tried to console himself with the fact that if he lost, he wouldn’t lose everything. But he couldn’t afford to lose 85 percent. Having started the day with over $18,000, he’d be down to a mere twenty-three hundred. The reality of all eighteen thousand being borrowed money struck him like a California earthquake. Whether he’d won or lost, he had to know. And he had to know NOW!
He called his Internet service provider, and after entering his ID, a recording informed him they were aware of problems in his area. “Our technicians are doing everything possible to restore your service as soon as possible. Please be patient.”
Patient? How could anyone be patient with so much on the line?
Greg paced back and forth in the living room, shoulders hunched, hands jammed in his pockets. He was glad he hadn’t told Nicole yet about the money. Maybe she wouldn’t have to know . . . and then it struck him. He’d been telling himself the home equity money was his to do with as he pleased, but actually it wasn’t. It was borrowed money, a home equity loan, secured by his family’s home. If he couldn’t pay it back, they could actually end up losing their house.
He groaned again. Could this get any worse?
“Get a grip, Greg,” he muttered to himself. After all, he still had a 50-50 chance that he’d won the bid.
Every few minutes, he checked his Internet connection or called his ISP, but got the same recorded message . . . until an hour later when the message changed to say they expected the service to be restored within twenty-four hours.
Oh great! Just great! Twenty-four hours of not knowing. He threw his phone across the room and marched through the kitchen, slamming the back door and heading for the alley to walk off his frustration. He gave each garbage can he passed a violent kick and sometimes stopped to pound so hard on their plastic tops with his fists that his hands ached. But just as he got to the end of the alley and was ready to turn the corner that went behind Paddock’s oversized house, he heard someone call his name. He looked back.
Harry Bentley was coming up the alley behind him with his black dog. Greg felt mortified. His neighbor was far enough along through the alley that he’d obviously seen several of Greg’s tantrums, and now that they’d made eye contact—Harry was giving him a wave—there was no chance to pretend he hadn’t seen the man and slip around the corner. Stuffing his trembling hands deep in his pockets, he strolled slowly back toward the older man, resigned to face whatever music his neighbor chose to play.
“Hey, how you doin,’ Singer?”
“Uh, okay, I guess. How ’bout you? You off work today?”
“Had a late run last night, so I get comp time today.” Harry looked Greg up and down. “But you don’t look so happy.”
“Oh, I’m good. I’m good.”
“No kiddin’?” Harry gestured toward his black Lab who was sniffing each garbage can. “Even Corky knows that’s a crock.” As if on cue, Corky trotted over, tail wagging, and gave Greg a sniff. “Be straight with me, man. What’s up, anyway?”
“Ah, it ain’t nothing.”
“Of course not. That’s why—being such a little thing—you can tell me all of it. Now bleed!”
Greg choked out a laugh, feeling like if he said one more word, he’d end up blubbering like a schoolboy.
“Come on, now.” Harry put a hand on Greg’s shoulder. “We’re just a couple of brothers with different mothers. You can talk to me.”
That broke Greg. The idea that a black man would count him as a brother, that their relationship in Christ was greater than history, broke down all his efforts to hide. “I . . . I’m afraid I really screwed up.”
“Yeah, we all got a tendency to do that from time to time.”
“Ha, not like this, I hope.”
“Oh yeah? What?
Greg blurted out a sketchy summary of how he’d worked so hard to make a killing with his bidding, how his wife had walked out on him, and how he just might’ve dug himself into an impossible pit of debt. Harry listened as the two men slowly strolled around behind Paddock’s place, and down the other alley to Bentley’s two-flat.
“So you have no idea whether you won or lost, huh?”
Greg shook his head.
“Well, doesn’t sound like there’s anything you can do about it at the moment. Why don’t you come on up for a cup of coffee?”
“Ah nah, I gotta get back, and—”
“And what? You said the Internet’s down. Your wife and kids aren’t home. Ain’t nothin’ you can do but pray, and we can do that together—you know, ‘where two or three are gathered together’? Besides I got the air on, and it’s too hot to stand out here.”
Upstairs, sitting at Bentley’s kitchen table with a cup of coffee that had turned bitter from sitting in the pot too long, Greg began to shake his head. “I just don’t understand it. Don’t understand where God is in all this.”
“Oh, I reckon he’s around, but what’d you have in mind?”
Greg found himself telling Harry how inspiring Pastor Hanson’s Sunday messages had been over the last few months, especially since he’d lost his job with Powersports Expos. They’d convinced him a crisis was just an opportunity for God to bless him financially, not just to meet his needs, but to give him an abundance. He recounted several examples Pastor Hanson had offered, including the pastor’s own luxurious lifestyle. “If others can end up so outrageously rich, I don’t know why I can’t make it work for me. But now . . .” Greg’s shoulders slumped. Recounting the story aloud to another person
made him realize that everything he’d tried since Powersports had been an utter failure.
“Humph!” Harry muttered. “When I was comin’ up, they used to say those kind of preachers were fleecin’ the flock.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Harry’s comment riled Greg. “There are some very wealthy people in that congregation who testify that their prosperity came by applying the very methods the pastor preaches.”
Harry shrugged. “And yet, look what it’s done for you. You think there might be other people in your same fix?” He leaned forward. “Look, I’m not against wealth honestly earned. God gives each of us different gifts. But it’s also possible to manipulate a group of people, even a congregation of poor people, to make a preacher wealthy.”
They sat silently for a while. Greg had an uneasy feeling Harry might be right. Sometimes even he’d chaffed under Pastor Hanson’s arm-twisting for people to give more and more to the ministry. But he’d always dismissed it because of the promise that God would pay him back many times over. But it hadn’t happened.
He finally shrugged and held his hands out, palms up. “So what’d I miss? What’d I do wrong?”
For a long moment, Harry still didn’t say anything. Then the older man straightened himself up in his chair. “I want you to know that I do believe in a miracle-working God. He can move mountains or calm storms or make the blind see. That’s actually a very personal one for me since I lost my sight awhile back—but that’s a story for another day.” He waved a dismissive hand. “And because he’s a miracle-working God, I know he can take care of you. I’ve never been to your church, but from the way you describe what your pastor’s been teaching, I’ve seen some of those preachers on TV. And they’re right about some things. God’s a big God. Nothing’s too hard for him. He loves us and wants the very best for us. He has a perfect plan for our lives. Also, they’re right in saying we can’t outgive God. God will provide our every need for the work He’s called us to do. But—”
Harry suddenly stood up, frowning at the cup in his hand. “This coffee’s terrible. Here, let me throw yours out. We’ll make some new.”
As Harry went over to the sink and began making fresh coffee, Greg said, “So why won’t it work for me?”
“Ah, now there you go. Remember that question, because I think it’s a very important question.”
While the coffee brewed, Harry returned to his chair and rested his elbows on the table. “You remember when you wanted me to sell that energy drink for you?”
“Yeah, SlowBurn. I’m still a distributor. I could cut you in.”
“No. And my reason’s the same today as I told you then. If I took up something like that just so I could get rich, I’d be penny wise and pound foolish.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t understand you then, and I don’t now.”
Harry chuckled. “My mama used to say that to me. ‘Boy, don’t you be penny wise an’ pound foolish!’ What she meant was, when you focus on the small things—the pennies—you can easily overlook the big things to your detriment.” Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Greg as if to say, “Whaddaya think of that?”
Greg snorted. “Believe me, Harry, I haven’t been pinching pennies, and I have been focusing on making the big bucks. That’s the point. I’ve been trying to go all out for the prosperity God’s supposed to have for me, but I haven’t received any of it.”
“Uh-huh.” Harry got up and went for the coffee. “You mean you haven’t been bugging your wife about whether she saved fifty cents on the latest sale?”
“Not at all, never.” But she’d still left him. The thought of it stabbed his heart.
“I believe you, because I’m sure you’ve been focusing on what seems like big things—stuff like a new house, fancy car, nice boat, maybe a couple of cruises every year, and all the bling you can wear. Right?”
Greg shrugged. “I don’t go in much for bling, but yeah, I want real prosperity. I want to be the head and not the tail, the lender and not the borrower. I want to be on top. That’s where I’ve kept my focus, on the big things.”
Harry handed him a mug. “Here’s your coffee. I forgot to ask, you take anything in it?”
“A little milk, if you have it.”
When Harry returned with the milk and sat down, he repeated Greg’s comment. “‘Head and not the tail . . . lender and not the borrower.’ I seem to remember that’s from the Bible, but wasn’t that a promise to Israel if they would obey God’s commands? But then I’m no theologian, which is why I focus a lot on what Jesus taught, because he was pretty clear when he said, ‘Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.’ That’s what I meant about penny wise and pound foolish. All the necessities of life—where you’ll live, what you’ll eat, the clothes you’ll wear—those aren’t the pounds. They’re actually just the pennies. If you focus on them, you might miss the pounds, the really big stuff.”
Greg just sat there bewildered. The things he’d been reaching for certainly didn’t seem like pennies. He’d been imagining big-ticket items, things like Pastor Hanson’s Escalade or a condo in Florida. But what was Harry saying—that Escalades, thousand-dollar suits, and personal bodyguards shrank to mere “pennies” when compared to the kingdom of God? He had to admit, Jesus clearly placed the kingdom of God and his righteousness at the top—though if asked to define the kingdom of God, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Pastor Hanson made it sound like the kingdom of God was kinda like Disneyland with all its riches and glory. But maybe that’s not what Jesus meant.
Harry leaned back. “Does any of that make any sense to you?”
Greg sighed. “Yeah, when you put it that way, I guess. But I’ve still got fifteen grand hanging out there, and if I lose it . . . well, it might seem like small stuff to you, but to me—”
“No, no, no. I know it’s not small to you, and it wouldn’t be small to me, but it’s small to God. Remember, he’s a big God. He would have no trouble taking care of you, even if this situation threw you into bankruptcy. Hear what I’m sayin’?”
Greg snorted and shook his head. “Bankruptcy!” He hadn’t even thought of that. Was that where he was headed? “I still don’t want to go through it.”
“None of us would. But remember a few minutes ago when I told you to remember your question, Why won’t it work for me?”
“Yeah.”
“What were you expecting to work?”
“Oh, I don’t know. God, prayer, believing in faith—all the stuff Pastor Hanson talks about.”
“That’s what I thought. But seeking God and his kingdom isn’t a program you can work like a politician shaking hands to get votes. There may be a connection between faithful and generous giving and God’s blessing on our lives, but he’s no ATM machine where you can key in a prayer with your ‘faith believing’ ID and out comes the money. That’d be like me saying, ‘I talk with my wife so she’ll cook me a good meal.’ Huh. If she thought that was the only reason I talked to her, she’d let me starve.”
Greg laughed, releasing a little nervous tension.
Harry grinned too. “I’m not sayin’ God’s gonna let you starve. But the reason I talk with my wife is because we have a relationship, and we both want it to grow and deepen. I don’t do it to get something, even though I know she’s gonna take care me because she loves me. Same thing with God. We can’t work him like a genie. The question, Why won’t it work? presupposes some kind of a formula or system you can work. God’s not like that.”
Greg heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I hear ya.” The truth of what Harry had been saying was sinking in. “But, man, I still don’t know what to do. I’m in a pretty big mess right now. Even if I agree that trying to twist God’s arm so I could live large wasn’t right, I still gotta think about my family and how to keep from losing my house. I don’t have a source of income right now, you know.”
Harry shook his head. “Can’t offer you any easy way out on that. This whole
idea that the Christian life is supposed to be Easy Street forgets that some of the people in the Bible who were the most qualified to receive such supposed benefits didn’t receive them, at least not in this life. Jesus lived a perfect life of faith, yet he died on a cross. And from what I’ve read, all his disciples except John were martyred. Fact is, a lot of faithful Christians have suffered down through the ages. No, it’s not about ease and luxury. But God did promise to be with us. And he did promise to take care of all those ‘penny’ things we might need to do his work.”
Greg grasped onto Harry’s last words. “So you think he’s still going to take care of me, even though I’ve made such a mess of things?”
“Yep, but I don’t know how or what that’ll mean.”
Greg leaned over the table, head in his hands. “I still don’t know what to do.”
“Well, if Estelle was here, she’d tell us the first thing to do is pray. You okay with that?”
Greg nodded and closed his eyes as he felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder. His voice shaking, Greg told God he was sorry he’d made such a mess and asked him to show him what to do to get his family back. Then Harry prayed, asking God to make his presence known to Greg in a powerful way, and especially to restore the relationship between Greg and his wife.
As they got up from the table, Greg said, “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
Corky got up from where she’d been lying under the table and walked with them as the two men headed slowly toward the front door. At the top of the stairs leading to the lower level, Harry stopped. “Greg, you keep sayin’ that you don’t know what to do. I hear ya. That’s a man thing. We always feel we gotta do something. But right now, what’s done is done, right? As far as you know, no way to undo that bid?”
