The Hope Jar

II Corinthians 1:8-9 -- "At that time we were completely overwhelmed, the burden was more than we could bear, in fact we told ourselves that this was the end. Yet we believe now that we had this experience of coming to the end of our tether that we might learn to trust, not in ourselves, but in God who can raise the dead."

 

Walking into my little brother's room when he was eight years old could be something of an adventure. Having shared a room with my sister nearly my entire childhood and already ten years into this female environment when my baby brother popped into our lives, David's surprise arrival put a new and interesting perspective into family dynamics. At eighteen years and old semi out on my own, I poked my head into my brothers room on a short break between college classes. Seeing the den in which a young boy tucks away during the night was in unique contrast to the very girly room of my childhood. But it always made me smile.

In the ever growing collection of Lego bricks, the models of war-time air planes and antique cars, hotwheels and nurf toys, one consistent and never-changing contribution to the little-boy clutter in David's room was an old mason jar. Salvaged after all of my great grandmother's blackberry jam had been eaten from it, the jar had transformed into a piggy bank. Truly not very interesting to look at, when I was eighteen years old my little brother's piggy bank took on a brand new meaning. No longer the unassuming glass jar with a few coins that smelled like blackberry jam - it was the hope jar to me.

During routine travel from point A to point B on the familiar Kingsley Avenue in Orange Park, my little red 1986 Chevy Sprint Hatchback was rear-ended in my very first automobile accident. I had stopped at a red light. The guy behind me - speeding at 41 miles per hour - did not. The little car suffered some pretty rough damage and the back bumper had to be pulled off the tires with a rope attached to a large pick-up before I could even drive it to the nearest repair shop. Which, by the way, was where it sat as I stuck my head into my little brother's room. He smiled at me, then got right back to building a new model.

Making my way into the kitchen where I would share a cup of Joe with my Mom, I realized for the first time since my accident the evening before - that my muscles were very, very sore. I hurt everywhere and gingerly lowered myself into a chair at the table as my mother joined me. I could hear my Dad in the next room on the phone - more than a little irritable as he worked things out with the insurance company. A copy of the police report in his hands, Dad was loath to learn that the guy who "bumped" me did not have insurance. He didn't even have a driver's license. While elbow deep in ear-to-ear combat with the insurance adjuster, my Mom and I broached the topic of the total bill for this little fender-bender. I was more than a little nervous about coming up with the $500 deductible. Fresh off the mission field with one daughter a freshman in college and the second a senior in high school - I think my mother was thinking the exact same thing. Our conversation lulled into a deep silence and we both sighed heavily.

Then, in a timid and quiet gesture that I will never forget, David put a little arm around my shoulders and placed the mason jar on the table in front of me. He looked me straight in the eye and said "It's not much but it's all I have. Maybe it will help."

In his words and fruity smelling thirty-seven cents - there grew a giant hope.

I had just started to give the coins back when a subtle shake of Mom's head drew me to a halt. Attempting to keep the tears in check, I hugged my baby brother with every sore muscle I had and told him thank you from the bottom of my heart. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes I could not imagine a moment in which I would ever be more grateful. Deep from the glass well of the old mason jar, the blackberry permeated aroma of pure encouragement spilled into the room. Suddenly, the situation didn't seem so dire. And it was all thanks to the tender, giving heart of an eight year old boy.

I STILL have those coins. They are tucked away in a sealed envelope - hidden in the bottom of a photo box. 

During the chaotic moments in which we find ourselves completely overwhelmed and thinking "this is surly the end", God's got our backs. It might be in the kind word of a friend, it might be in the silent fervent prayers of loved ones - or it might come from the bottom of an old mason jar in the cluttered room of a young boy - but God does, indeed, have everything under control. He's God. He's our Creator. If He can make the lame to walk, make the blind to see, cure cancer and raise the dead - he can handle our right now. It's time for us to accept His gift and offer up a sincere thank you.