Is this better than money?

I’m sorry.

No, at first; at first I was sorry. I’ve been sorry.

Sorry for having turned out to be ‘the faller’, as I heard in a movie.

I’ve been sorry for a long time because I can’t seem to find something big enough to save my home, or to make mom smile, at least. If not return us to our heights. I travel none of those by the way, accompanied or alone.

I’ve done the math one too many times, trying to figure out how things have to play out for us to survive, to reach the other side of the ocean we’ve been exhaustingly swimming. I’ve never succeed; answers never come and hard as I try…

Smiles don’t, either. We’re still defeated, every day and night; maybe ‘fallers’ is all we are.

It’s been going on for years:

because of our circumstances, mom’s birthday comes and I can’t give her anything, nothing that I know would be of substance besides being present. When dad used to give me money, years before, I always put some aside and tried to plan as best I could something that would delight her heart. As the years passed, I had to start looking for cheaper stuff because he had closed his hands, and in doing so he emptied mine. Then I figured I could just cook something, but when my health failed I was left with just running to her room to congratulate her knowing my hands were almost empty and our coffers following the same path…

When God ignored my every call to be freed from this, jobless, weak, and never to be considered… I had to stop trying and dreaded every bit of it; one more thing to add to my list of lost things. I knew the drill by then, so I just inhaled and straightened, accepting it the same way I’ve done with everything else.

Today I should say God stopped me back then, it would be foolish of me not to fully acknowledge this by now. And there they began, these ever-present…

Years of drought.

Years of yearning.

Years of drowning.

Years of doubt.

But then, one morning at ten, I heard;

One fountain pen for your mom.

I beat the thought as best I could, knowing this must have been my own treacherous heart. How could I do that? Every penny I own comes now through her hands and I was already so grateful because she had just filled my account that, after some instructions earlier this week, had lost some funds. It’s a very small account, by the way. So small I don’t really use it. I was grateful because this way I’d be able to use some of it to buy stuff to fill my old pencil case and a notebook; things I will need come November. Still, after having heard about the pen I did the math, once again, and indeed it seemed like I could afford a small gift for mom. I hadn’t thought of this before I had heard about the pen, and even though it seemed possible I somehow reduced the thought to my own wishful thinking, setting it aside as a result just like every time.

Then, the next morning something happened:

She came and told me about a minister who had given fountain pens just last week to some of her friends. Of course she wasn’t invited, but I didn’t dwell on that… instead I remembered:

One fountain pen for your mom.

I hate dreading my not-having-listened-right-then-and-there. I do every time I reduce His voice to my own, deeming it as an error in the meantime.

I ran from her room that instant and ordered the pen and two pots of ink, because this time I heard a soft and sweet, You still have time…

They arrived last Friday, and life changed once again. (Forever)

I couldn’t wait for her birthday to arrive on Monday and making her laugh about it I went and adorned her gifts with bows, before returning to her room and presenting them. She laughed again, surprised when opening the small boxes. And then she cried while I told her how I believed God had instructed me to buy this for her before she had even told me about her friends, acquaintances, really, and how I not only believed that now, but had been sure because of the story she had heard that morning and told me, making me run and obey His call.

She looked happy, you know? Not because of the pen but because we could both see this certain trace of God’s hand all over the fact, it was undeniable. So much so, I know myself failing on this attempt to explain how it all went down. She knew herself loved by Him, considered, treasured, accepted, cherished, and all because I just listened. I was so, so happy… God has told me it is Joy what will help us swim the remaining miles, and I felt it when I understood what had just happened:

my Dad and I had gone out to find her a birthday gift. The first gift I have been able to give in years, came to the sound of, ‘it is a far better thing to give than to receive’ and I was amazed. There’s truly nothing this could ever compare to, I had never experienced something like that, not even when I used to have an earthly dad.

And right there, my soul wondered,

could this be better than money?

And I looked unto Him, obviously, my Father, because for the first time in my life I saw it, at the touch of my hands, the chance to make both of them happy for the right reasons… not because of anything other than the fact of my being able to listen when paying attention and walking by faith, towards Life.

I hold no earthly riches, nor success or fame… but this, could this be better? Higher?

I don’t know if I’ll ever be all these things the world deems as good and right, but could it be better if I said that maybe one day, not because of me, never, but because of Him, I will be a true fountain? And one that overflows with rivers of living water?

How I want to get to that day when I get to be His delight. I’m sure it will be better than all the riches of this world.

Maybe then I’ll see: because He lives, I live too.

Yes, I still have no money, but I’ve also learnt recently that I’m no entertainer, nor a content creator or anything of the like… I’m only here to deliver a message and this means life will forever be different for me and for my home, too. We have always struggled, but He has always been faithful and He does work in higher ways than anything we could ever ask for or imagine. And as a result, in the place of poverty, captivity, darkness, prisons, mourning, grief, ashes and despair, there’s always Life for us, Goodness, Light, Hope, and many true riches: