"plastic Baggies full of dimes"

Tonight I was reminded of God’s provision. Of how He has given us a church family, and through them we are cared for. Now I’m not going to pretend that we, as a church, never let people down. We do. We do it often. I, too, have been hurt by the church. That's part of the reality of living in community with each other; you have to learn how. But that’s not what I want to write about right now. Tonight as I read through more of Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, I read this:

When I announced during worship that I was pregnant, people cheered…And then almost immediately they set about providing for us. They brought clothes, they brought me assurance that this baby was going to be a part of the family. And they began slipping me money…Now a number of the older black women live pretty close to the bone financially on small Social Security checks. But routinely they sidled up to me and stuffed bills in my pocket – tens and twenties. It was always done so stealthily that you might have thought they were slipping me bundles of cocaine. One of the most consistent donors was a very old woman named Mary Williams, who is in her mid-eighties now, so beautiful with her crushed hats and hallelujahs; she always brought me plastic Baggies full of dimes, noosed with little wire twists.

I remembered emotions that I had felt when my mom would tell me about life when she first moved to Harlingen, a small city near the border of Mexico in Texas. A lot of the feelings were empathizing with my mother, knowing her fears, insecurities, and that she was alone in a new place and deeply hurt. She had grown up in a Presbyterian church in Illinois, but hadn't really been much since the marriage. Once the divorce was final, my brother and I accompanied my mother to the "The Valley" as the area where Harlingen is called. My mom started attending church again. The members soon realized the strain on my mother and knew what little money she had, and a miracle happened. This little church of people that barely knew us started to gather food and pampers and clothing to make sure that my mom had less to worry about. But I don’t know if that was why they gave. Maybe it was seeing her holding an adorable blonde haired, blue eyed girl named Sara. I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t think that they gave because they felt they had to. I think they gave because they knew that was how to love us at that moment. And though I was not old enough to remember this miracle, I’m humbled to have been a recipient of such compassion at such a young age.

Reading about Anne getting “plastic Baggies full of dimes” cut straight to my heart. And I want to say that phrase makes a statement about what our life together should look like. We are moved to serve others and love others. And it's in the sacrifice of giving when it means the most. Like the story of the widow's offering in Mark. God’s provision is consistent and always enough. It doesn’t mean that we will not suffer or won’t be in situations where we’re not comfortable. But it's the fact that we're present and we see what ways we can love the other.