Two days ago, I checked my bank account because I needed to get my oil changed and tires rotated. I needed shampoo and Jack needed toothpaste. Basically, we needed the normal stuff that everyone has to buy. As we are sitting in the car waiting for my report to print, I tell Jack, “I hope there’s at least $60 in here because we gotta make it to Friday.” He asks what we were needing to get, so I rattled off the list to him. My report finally printed, so I exited the ATM system, rolled up my window, and pulled forward before reading it because there was someone waiting behind me. I glanced down at the paper before pulling out of the bank.
“What?!” I was sure that I had somewhere around $40 in my account, so I went online to make sure. Yep. I had forgotten about a gas purchase and another small purchase and had let my account get down to $3.94. Wonderful!!
Because I was already 4,000 miles overdue for an oil change, I couldn’t put it off anymore. I drove to the shop and paid the bill with Christmas money from my “boss.” This left me with $20 given to me by Mama and Deddy for Christmas. At this point in my thoughts, I decided to text Deddy. “I need money because I don’t have enough for gas for the week because I HAD to get my oil changed.” I already had plans for what I wanted to use my Christmas money for. I had planned to use it ($80 total- $17 had already been used for a much-needed sweater for the Christmas Eve service at our new church) for The Adventures in Odyssey dinner table devotion book for me and Jack to do together, and use the rest for winter clothes (which are a necessity) and as offering for church since I have only given about $5 since attending Fusion. I wasn’t going to use money given to me to get myself something I wanted for something I need. Gas isn’t what that money was for!
While I’m driving home and waiting on Deddy to respond a quote by Wilbur Rees, which I’ve mentioned in a previous post, ran through my mind.
“I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please, not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but just enough to equal a warm cup of milk or a snooze in the sunshine. I don’t want enough of Him to make me love a black man or pick beets with a migrant. I want ecstasy, not transformation; I want the warmth of the womb, not a new birth. I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack. I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.”