"You're welcome," Mike sputtered as he squeezed his way between the bushes. "I just cleared out some spider webs for ya." His hands waved dejectedly at nothing in the air.
"Thanks," I offered, my eyes squeezed shut to pretend all the moths and giant spiders weren't all around me. I'm really quite a pansy about such things.
He held the main door open for me and I leapt inside. I walked up the steps ahead of him while he got the mail from our box. Keyless at the security door, I waited; Mike handed me the mail as he passed. I flipped through it quickly and saw a letter I hadn't expected to come for weeks.
"It's our grant!" I said, breathless. A few weeks earlier, on a long shot, I applied for a missions grant online. Why not? I thought. I began ripping at the envelope furiously. I felt like I was a high school student waiting to hear from a top school. And, just like that, my eyes skimmed the letter to see "We regret to inform you..." Oh.
I sighed deeply, focusing with intent on keeping a good attitude. It's in your hands, God, I prayed half-heartedly. "We didn't get it," I told Mike. Upon another look at the letter, it sounded like the economy had hurt the organization significantly.
"It's okay," he said with a smile.
"I know," I said with no sincerity whatsoever. But, when I breathed again, I felt God's peace. "I know." And I did. We'd learned too much so far to get down about something like this.
The next envelope we opened was a handwritten note from a good family friend. And it was a very, very generous gift for our ministry. My breath caught.
See? God said. I've got you.
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