Nowhere but Up (13 page)

You can imagine my surprise when I got a call from a local day care saying I needed to enroll Justin soon because someone had dropped off a check covering an entire year of day care. I almost dropped the phone. Who would do something like that? I knew my mom and Bruce couldn’t afford it, and, well, I didn’t know anybody who had the extra money to be so generous.

Somehow I found out it was Mike. When I thanked him, gushing my appreciation, he was bashful. His generosity was huge to me, but he didn’t make too big of a deal out of it. As I thanked him and promised to pay him back, Mike interrupted my babbling gratitude. He had only one stipulation for giving me the money: “One day, help someone else go to school.” In other words, pay it forward.

Mike told me someone had helped him when he struggled financially in college. Instead of paying back the money, he promised to down the road help someone else finish school. I am eternally grateful for his act of kindness. His generosity is nothing short of a blessing, a miracle.

I was surprised how much fun it was going back to school. I made a ton of friends quickly, an incentive to enjoy and not dread my classes. My friends and I had a blast, and I even maintain a few of those relationships to this day.

I was hesitant about going back to school at first, however. Unsure of what to expect. My life was radically different from the last time I had walked the halls. I didn’t sit in class stoned this time. My mind wasn’t a million miles away while teachers droned on and on about math or literature. This time I paid attention. I hung on every word. And after school, I studied hard while little Justin slept.

As a new mother, I had grown up. I was more mature than the other students. I worried about my future, about the well-being of my son, about creating a stable life where I could give him the best possible chance of being successful. Most high school kids don’t need to think about stuff like that. They have partying on the brain. They spend their time playing video games, picking out cool outfits, or just hanging out. They’re more interested in Friday night’s football games than figuring out ways to pay the bills. And they should be carefree to a certain extent, not having to juggle responsibilities far above their maturity level.

Though my life situation was nothing like that of the typical high school student and some of the kids knew I had a baby, no one knew how old I was. Because I looked young and was young at heart, no one even questioned my age. It was assumed I was seventeen, just like everyone else. Except, of course, I wasn’t. I was twenty. There were no extracurricular activities for me. No sports, dance recitals, or choir practices. As soon as the last bell of the day rang, I hurried to day care to pick up Justin.

That day care was such a gift. I appreciated that each day his teachers would write details about his day in a notebook. There aren’t many earth-shattering things a one-year-old does in a matter of a few hours, but every now and then I’d read something that would make me smile . . . or shake my head.

For the most part, each day listed a different rendition of “Justin ate well” and “Justin took a great nap.” Every now and then they noted Justin doing unusual things, like biting. I was embarrassed to read “Justin is biting his friends again” or “Justin did better with biting and only bit one boy.” Other than that, though, my son was a pretty happy-go-lucky kid.

When I recently reread the notations in that notebook, I was blown away at how many of Justin’s personality traits and quirks back then are still the same today. The teachers always (and I mean always) made notes of how energetic he was, how he was always on the “go-go-go,” and how he loved saying “hi” to everyone he passed (Justin was a ham and loved the attention). As anyone who knows him today will attest, he is still very much energetic, busy, and friendly. Justin’s love for music was also evident early on. His favorite time of the day was circle time, when the kids sang songs led by a teacher who played a keyboard. One entry especially cracked me up: “Justin’s pants keep falling off, so we tied them with a string.” Some things never change—I’m still telling Justin to pull up his pants, to no avail.

I can’t begin to count the number of nights those first couple of years when I’d lie awake in the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning from worry. Most times Justin would be up not long after to eat, so there was no point trying to get comfortable. I’d stare at the red numbers on the alarm clock, my body exhausted but my mind racing. So many questions cluttered my mind, weighing me down.

Will I be able to finish high school?

How many diapers does Justin have left?

How will I pay for day care next year?

Will I ever go to college?

On and on my mind would spin in never-ending circles. The worry was incessant, like a salesman who refuses to walk away until he seals the deal. I couldn’t live wrapped up in a razor-sharp bundle of nerves. My head would have exploded. So I prayed.

Don’t think for a minute, though, that I looked at God as a vending machine, where I’d pop in a prayer and out would come a miracle. I do believe God will come through for us when we pray; I just didn’t expect Him to magically supply my needs while I sat back and watched TV all day or wasted the money I had on stupid things. From the day Justin was born, I was either in school, working, or looking for a job. My prayers were always birthed out of situations that were beyond my control, and the answers to prayer always seemed to come at the eleventh hour. Though I believed in miracles, doubt wasn’t totally off my radar. And I won’t lie: last-minute provisions aren’t fun. They’re frustrating.

Provision came in the craziest of ways. Random people at church, some of whom barely even knew me, would slip a check into my Bible when I wasn’t looking. One time a group of ladies pulled up to my apartment and stocked my refrigerator and cupboards with groceries. Another time a man on a bus, a total stranger, walked up to me and said, “I really feel I am supposed to give this to you.” He handed me an envelope full of cash, just enough money to cover my expenses that month.

Coincidence? Happenstance? Sheer luck? I don’t believe that for a second.

The local food banks like House of Blessing greatly blessed Justin and me (as well as hundreds of other local families). We also benefited from the Salvation Army, which had programs where they would donate grocery store gift certificates to needy families. Those charities were lifelines for us. And today I’m proud of Justin for donating to various charities, including the ones that had helped us.

Financially giving back to God, or tithing, was important for me. Money is the only area in which God directly challenges us, in the Bible, to put Him to the test. “Bring one-tenth of your income into the storehouse so that there may be food in my house,” He says. “Test me in this way. . . . See if I won’t open the windows of heaven for you and flood you with blessings” (Mal. 3:10). So every Sunday, I gave ten percent of my income back to God. No matter how little I made. No matter how little I had left over.

A friend I’d known since we were five years old questioned my deep conviction. She knew me both before and after I was a Christian and had watched how I lived my life. She knew I gave to the church, and it was a difficult concept for her to comprehend. “Why do you do that?” she asked me many times. “Why do you give your money to the church when you can’t afford it? I see your struggles. I know you don’t have enough. If the God you believe in is real, why isn’t He providing? Where is this provider of yours?”

I just smiled. “I’m not giving to the church,” I said. “I’m giving to God and trusting in Him. God promises that He will multiply what I give. Watch what happens. Just wait and see.”

Today, that same friend has seen what has happened since I accepted God’s challenge. And it just about blows her mind. God has blessed me not only financially but in a whole host of ways.

You see, tithing isn’t really about money. It’s about being free from its control and trusting God will take care of you.

While Justin and I lived in that first apartment, John called one day and asked me for a favor. He had found a fourteen-year-old runaway named Liz on a park bench. She was homeless, cold, and hungry. He had talked to her for a while with one of his social worker friends. And though John wanted to help her out, he couldn’t do much for her overnight. He wasn’t in the business of taking home random teenage girls, so he asked for my help.

“Because I’m the director of the youth center, Sue and I can’t take her home with us, but she needs a place to sleep,” he said. “I’ll figure out how we can help her tomorrow, but can she spend the night with you and Justin?”

John reassured me Liz wasn’t a bad kid; she was just lost, literally and figuratively. Lost, hurt, and broken. He had a feeling the two of us would connect. Liz had a troublesome past and needed emotional safety. He hoped she would find it in me.

My heart jumped. Of course she could spend the night. Just imagining this young, helpless girl sleeping outside in an unfamiliar city broke my heart. God only knew what dangers lurked around and what kind of trouble she could get into. I told John to bring her right over.

I was surprised when Liz first walked through the door that night. She looked much younger than fourteen. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled to the side in two neat ponytails, and freckles dotted her face. She didn’t look directly in my eyes when she uttered a breathy “Hey.” I knew she felt uncomfortable. I was a stranger, a stranger she had no reason to trust.

John was right, however. We instantly bonded. She was one of the sweetest, brightest girls I had ever met. The next morning I asked John if I could keep her. I was serious. Liz had nowhere to go. At the least I could provide her with a roof over her head.

I wasn’t sure how the logistics would work out; I just figured they would. John thought my offer was sweet but didn’t think it was possible. Who would allow a twenty-year-old single mother to take in a fourteen-year-old runaway? It was a ridiculous thought.

After a few weeks, though, John and I found out Liz had been in and out of so many foster homes that her social worker was at her wit’s end. She was desperate to find a home for Liz where she’d stay put. At that point, I don’t think they cared where she stayed. So one day I got a call from the exasperated social worker. “Here’s the deal, Pattie. If Liz agrees to stay with you, we’ll interview you, check out your apartment, and then make a decision.” It was as simple as that.

When Liz moved in, we quickly discovered our apartment was too small. The addition of Liz to our household meant it was time to move. But how? Where? And, oh yeah, there was that little problem of money. I barely had anything left after using my assistance checks to pay for rent, utilities, and food. But I wasn’t too worried. I gave my notice to the landlord. We couldn’t stay much longer in an apartment where the three of us would literally bump into each other just about every time we moved.

I had two months to find a place I could afford. More than enough time, or so I thought. The waiting list for rent-geared-to-income housing was so long that we would need to look elsewhere. (By the time we got to the top of the list, Justin would already be in kindergarten.) I started looking for an apartment that would fit my measly budget. It wasn’t the easiest house hunt. I searched in the paper, asked around, and browsed online. I prayed and I waited. Nothing.

At the end of every church service, I asked my friend Tim for prayer about my apartment search. We did the same thing each week: I’d ask for prayer and he’d pray. Sunday after Sunday, I prayed the same prayer with no resolution in sight. Three weeks before I was supposed to move out, anxiety set in. I prayed louder, stronger. Still nothing. A week later, I had a full-blown panic attack. Where would we live? It wasn’t just me I was responsible for. I had to provide for a baby boy and a teenage girl!

Though he had watched my prayer go unanswered week after week, Tim didn’t seem a bit discouraged or disappointed. He tried to settle my nerves. “I really believe God is going to teach you a lesson in faith through all this,” he said.