In 1981, when Jan and I journeyed to Montana with our children to plant our first church, we had no idea what we were doing. We simply had a word from God and decided to act upon that word in faith.
After a few months went by, my parents came for a visit. Mom and dad grew up living the rough and scrabble life of working-class America during the Great Depression. They knew what tough times felt like. They could see that we were struggling.
It’s strange how we can be “all grown up” as adults and find ourselves responding to our parents like we are still twelve-year-old kids. Most of the time, we can manage to hold this child-in-an-adult-body response inside, but sometimes it comes out. During my parents’ visit, my inner twelve-year-old spoke out a few times in frustration.
When mom and dad visited, less than ten people—including our family—attended our church. To me it felt like I was being put on display as a pastoral failure. When my parents visited, I seemed to let more emotions out. I felt afraid, alone, and worried about my first attempt at public ministry.
The day mom and dad departed, Jan and I stood on our porch and waved goodbye as their Oldsmobile pulled out of our driveway and disappeared down our dusty Montana road. I felt the sorrow of saying goodbye to two people who brought me such a sense of security.
I went back into the house and sat at my desk which was located in the corner of our bedroom. When I picked up my Bible, I found a hundred-dollar bill lying underneath. I knew my parents had left the money for us. We were living from one meager offering to the next. As I held that bill in my hand, I broke down and began to cry like a baby. All the emotions I had carried for months began to puddle on my desktop.
A single act of unsolicited love can be powerful. That hundred-dollar bill had no note or condition attached to it. The bill just sat there, but it spoke deeply to me. It said, “We love you, son, God is in this. Don’t give up.”
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