When my family moved from Nebraska so that I could attend seminary in 2012, it was a grand experiment in trusting God’s generosity. Ruby’s dad, Matt, and I had both quit our jobs. She was starting second grade in a brand-new school, and we didn’t know anyone in our new hometown of Madison, New Jersey. Launching out on our own, without old friends or family nearby, gave us ample opportunity to trust in God’s provision.

At the end of her first week of school, Ruby was excited to introduce me to her new friend, Claudia. Claudia had noticed Ruby and approached her, and they quickly became friends. They wanted to have a playdate, so they dragged me over to Claudia’s mom, Diana, and introduced us. A playdate was scheduled.

While Ruby and Claudia played in Claudia’s room, Diana asked me how I was settling into life in Madison. I told her it was wonderful. My classes were engaging and life-giving, and Matt had even gotten a job working for The Trevor Project (an organization that seeks to prevent LGBTQ youth suicide) in New York City. The only problem, I confessed, was that once Matt started his job, I wasn’t sure who would pick Ruby up from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, since my late classes meant I couldn’t.

Diana did not hesitate for an instant. “Ruby can come home and stay with me and Claudia until you get out of class.” When I protested, saying that was a big commitment and that I didn’t want to inconvenience her, she did not budge. She told me, “You are a stranger here who does not know anyone, and we are your neighbors. We will help you.”

And so, Diana and Claudia picked up Ruby from school two days per week for almost all six semesters I was in seminary. When Diana wasn’t available, Claudia’s grandmother picked her up instead. I was awed by this generosity. I couldn’t imagine myself being so quick to jump in and commit to this kind of help.

Only later did I find out that Claudia’s family were Quakers, and that Diana had been raised Catholic in Colombia and had seriously considered becoming a nun before marrying Claudia’s father. Then it all made sense. Welcoming the stranger and loving her neighbor were fundamental to who Diana was.

That day, I encountered Christ in Diana, who offered her time without counting the cost. I learned as much about following Jesus as any seminary class could ever teach me.

Submitted by: Pastor Chris Jorgensen

In 1999, when I was a senior in high school, my dad suffered a heart attack. He was airlifted from our small town in western North Carolina to a large hospital in Charlotte, about 2 hours away. Everything happened very quickly, and our family felt like the rug was pulled out from under us. He had triple bypass surgery and recovered well, but my mom and I spent the next few weeks driving back and forth to Charlotte nearly every day to be with him as much as possible.

My parents both worked full-time, and while they were able to meet all of our family’s needs, they were by no means wealthy. We knew that the expense of such a complex surgery and lengthy hospital stay would be overwhelming. But one thing we were not prepared for was the immediate expenses of what would become our daily 4-hour round-trip trips to the hospital—gas, meals on the go, parking, and occasional overnight hotel stays. These were the sorts of things that medical insurance would not cover. These were also the sorts of things that, at that time, often had to be paid in cash.

On our harried drive to Charlotte on day one, my mother, through tears, confided in me that as she was rushing out of her office, a co-worker had stopped her and pressed a few hundred dollars into her hand, saying simply, “You will need this.” This co-worker and friend had experienced the same situation with her husband and knew the toll it took. It was a small gesture that wasn’t really small at all. That money saved us during those first few days while we were getting our bearings. It was given out of simple generosity and understanding. This woman had been in our shoes and knew what the situation required, and she gave in a way that was likely a financial squeeze for her. But she knew in that moment that it was what we needed to get by. My mom, who valued financial independence and was loathe to take money charitably, accepted the gift and was so grateful for it. These events were more than 25 years ago, but I remember them well. I remember the generosity of the giver, giving because she knew what was needed. I remember the gratitude of my mom, accepting a gift she knew that she needed. Provision can be a two-way street. Sometimes we are the ones relying on it, but other times, we are the ones being used by God to provide. May we have the discernment to know how to heed God’s call when each of those scenarios find us.

Submitted by: Erin Brumm

I moved to Omaha a little over a decade ago, fresh from very significant life changes. I felt God’s call to move here after a lifetime in metropolitan Chicago. Faced with considerable debt, I only had myself to rely upon. Talk about having to trust God for everything!! A small voice in my mind (definitely the Holy Spirit) asked me to put God’s work first and the rest would come together. I stepped out in faith and made the first “bill” I paid each month be my tithe to church. It wasn’t easy and, believe me, I doubted how things could work out. But God honored my effort. I magically didn’t overcome all my debts, but God faithfully gave me enough to meet all obligations. I’ve learned that trusting God in ALL things really means ALL things!

Submitted by: Patty Corwin

If I’m being honest, giving has never been my spiritual strong suit. I want to be generous. I like the idea of generosity. But actually giving? That’s where my inner accountant wakes up, opens a spreadsheet, and starts asking very unspiritual questions like, “But what if we need this later?” Because giving requires trust. And trust, at least for me, doesn’t always come naturally.

Scripture tells us, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6). That sounds beautiful, doesn’t it???… That is until it asks me to loosen my grip. Trusting God’s provision and providence means admitting that I am not, in fact, the one holding everything together. Which is humbling. And inconvenient.

I learned something about generosity during one of the hardest seasons of our lives. When our middle son was born fourteen years ago at just 1 pound, 12 ounces, he spent his first four months in the NICU, three hours away from home. My wife stayed there full-time. I worked during the week, cared for our older kids, and drove back and forth every weekend. The emotional toll was heavy. The financial toll was heavier.

I didn’t tell anyone how tight things were. I figured that was my responsibility to manage. But then, out of nowhere, the worship team at our church, the same one I played guitar for, took up a collection for us. They sent it in a card with handwritten encouraging messages.

Yes, the money helped. We needed it. But what stayed with me was the generosity itself. The reminder that we weren’t alone, that people saw us, that God was providing through the hands of others. In that moment, generosity felt less like charity and more like grace.

That experience still challenges me. Because when I give, I’m not just funding a budget line, I might be becoming the unexpected card, the quiet provision, the tangible reminder that God hasn’t forgotten someone.

Giving stretches our trust. It asks us to open our hands instead of clenching our fists. And maybe that’s the point. Because open hands are better at receiving, too.

So, here’s the challenge for me as much as for you: What might God do if we trusted Him just a little more than our spreadsheets, our personal preferences, and our carefully curated sense of control?

Submitted by: Chris Smith

When I was in 3rd grade, my dad was my minister, and my mom was my Sunday School teacher. Before receiving our Bibles that year, we were supposed to memorize the 23rd Psalm, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed, etc. The “carrot” was not the Bible with my name in gold on the front; it was a prize bucket. Truly, I am as motivated today by tootsie rolls and bubble gum as I was 50+ years ago. I had those words down pat in two weeks flat! But insofar as I could recite each by heart, they didn’t mean much at 9—especially the 23rd Psalm. Lying down in green pastures? I barely went outside. Restoring my soul? From what? And “death” was a grown-up word I felt uncomfortable uttering.

Fast forward 20 years. My marriage was in trouble; my heart and finances were troubled. Suddenly, “I shall not want” seemed like a cruel joke. I wanted for so much and couldn’t find a place to get it, except at work. I adored my students and was good at my job, but I had little else. Home wasn’t a happy place: it seemed like I was always holding my breath, waiting for some other proverbial shoe to drop. Church was a lonely place. I could walk in, worship, and walk out without ever exchanging one word with another person. It’s hard when you grow up in a parsonage, front and center in a church family, and then suddenly you’re a grown up, and nobody knows your name.

Fast forward another 20 years. As always, my parents were there to pick up the pieces, financial and otherwise, in the passing decades. I now have a different community, a different marriage, a different church, and a lifelong commitment to justice. When I began my journey for social change, guided by the National SEED project (on which JEDI is based), I started seeking people, places, and experiences that fit my core values, purpose, and beliefs. I started living my life as God calls me to provide, protect, guide, and comfort–especially those who have less power, money, safety, and support. Lest this look too “list-y,” this is the “path of righteousness” for me. God calls all of us in different ways–sometimes loudly and sometimes quietly–but always with the promise that “goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Submitted by: Kim Samuelson