Faith is the Reality

Faith is the Reality

“Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

When I was young, maybe nine or ten, I knew my parents’ income. My dad said at one time that he was making $7,000 per year. Now, remember, that is 1964 or 65. A couple of years later my mom announced that she had received a raise of $700 per year. I was smart enough to know we weren’t millionaires, but not quite savvy enough economically to realize we were on the lower end of “middle class”.

In fact, one year my dad bought my mom a car for Christmas. He liked making her search through the house for her main gift. So, he would decorate a box which she would open. Inside the box was another box with a note in it. The note told her to look inside the oven. Once there she found a second box with a note saying, “Look in the hall closet”. This went on for half a dozen boxes. Finally, the note said, “Go to the driveway.” We all followed mom and dad outside to see the car.

It was a Fiat. An old Fiat. A very old Fiat. Indeed, it was even missing the passenger’s seat which dad quickly explained he would replace as soon as possible. Mom’s big gift was an old, tiny, rusty Fiat that cost $50! To this day I’m not sure if that was a result of our economic situation or my dad’s bit of Irish parsimony.

Mom worked three jobs while Dad pastored a church in Pasadena, CA. My brother and I both had paper routes. My sisters, too young to have jobs yet, helped us prep our bundles before we went into the neighborhood tossing newspapers that slid right up to our customers’ doors. Usually.

I really had little evidence of how much money my family had. I knew we went to McDonald’s occasionally and we could each order a hamburger. But, if we wanted a cheeseburger, we had to pay for the cheese ourselves. As an adult I have come to realize my dad was a child of the Great Depression. It has helped me understand his penny-pinching ways.

The only access I had to real “cash” was Dad’s wallet which usually sat on top of the blonde chest of drawers in their bedroom. I was inquisitive, and often looked through the contents of that leather envelope. There were S&H Green stamps, a Gulf gas card, his driver’s license, pictures of mom and us kids. And then I would find the cash. I don’t think I ever found more than $20 in Dad’s wallet. Usually only a handful of $1s. Nope, the evidence told me we were right to get by with a $50-dollar car!

What I didn’t realize, of course, was my dad’s wallet was not the only evidence of the family’s assets. There was the banking account, the savings account, a retirement account and a huge coin collection that, at least in my dad’s mind, was worth thousands!

What if I lived each day in fear that the only assets we had were the few bills I discovered in Dad’s wallet? What if I thought I would drive a $50 Fiat’s with a missing seat for the rest of my life?

But there was something more than the “evidence” I personally discovered. There were two loving, though imperfect, parents doing all they could to provide for their kids. We took in every sight that was free or inexpensive in greater Los Angeles. We frolicked at the beach. We wandered through Huntington Gardens. We drove up to Mount Baldy.

For me, this is an earthly picture of what faith in my Heavenly Father is all about. I know Christ from the Gospels. And I know Him from the witness of His Spirit in my heart. But, I do not see Him, I cannot see His eyes, feel His human hand on my shoulder.

But, my faith in Him is the same as the faith I had in my parents; only so much greater because He is greater. Trials are the opportunity to trust in the bank account of the patience Jesus offers. Failings are a chance to draw upon the sweetness of His mercy and forgiveness. Days of clouds and wildflowers are like looking through Dad’s wallet. They are the dollar bills, but Father-God has so much more prepared for us.

Today, trust the abundant reserves of Father-God. He has more grace, more power, more compassion and comfort than is possible to imagine.