The Rich Poor

THE RICH FAMILY IN CHURCH

By Eddie Ogan

I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy was 12,and my older sister Darlene 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had died five years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise and no money.

By 1946 my older sisters were married and my brothers had left home. A month before Easter the pastor of our church announced that a special Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially.

When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. When we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill. Darlene got as many house and yard cleaning jobs as possible, and both of us babysat for everyone we could. For 15 cents we could buy enough cotton loops to make three pot holders to sell for $1. We made $20 on pot holders. That month was one of the best of our lives.

Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80 people in church, so figured that whatever amount of money we had to give, the offering would surely be 20 times that much. After all, every Sunday the pastor had reminded everyone to save for the sacrificial offering.

The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all our change. We ran all the way home to show Mom and Darlene. We had never had so much money before.

That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the sacrificial offering. We could hardly wait to get to church! On Sunday morning, rain was pouring. We didn't own an umbrella, and the church was over a mile from our home, but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart, and her feet got wet.

But we sat in church proudly. I heard some teenagers talking about the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their new clothes, and I felt rich. When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the second row from the front. Mom put in the $10 bill, and each of us kids put in a $20.

As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mom had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled Easter eggs with our fried potatoes! Late that afternoon the minister drove up in his car. Mom went to the door, talked with him for a moment, and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope and out fell a bunch of money. There were three crisp $20 bills, one $10 and seventeen $1 bills.

Mom put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to feeling like poor white trash. We kids had such a happy life that we felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our Mom and Dad for parents and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether we got the spoon or the fork that night. We had two knifes that we passed around to whoever needed them. I knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd never thought we were poor.

That Easter day I found out we were. The minister had brought us the money for the poor family, so we must be poor. I didn't like being poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes and felt so ashamed--I didn't even want to go back to church. Everyone there probably already knew we were poor!

I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew that we were poor. I decided that I could quit school since I had finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time. We sat in silence for a long time. Then it got dark, and we went to bed. All that week, we girls went to school and came home, and no one talked much. Finally on Saturday, Mom asked us what we wanted to do with the money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never known we were poor. We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mom said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way. Mom started to sing, but no one joined in and she only sang one verse. At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how churches in Africa made buildings out of sun dried bricks, but they needed money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church. The minister said, "Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?" We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week.

Mom reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed it to Darlene. Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put it in the offering. When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected such a large offering from our small church. He said, "You must have some rich people in this church." Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that "little over $100."

We were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary said so? From that day on I've never been poor again. I've always remembered how rich I am because I have Jesus!

I've read this story a few times in the last few years, and it makes me think something different every time I read it. I have all the usual thoughts--joy for the family's sacrifices in order to give, shame for the 'rich folks' who gave so stingily, sadness for the overall situation.

But when I read it this time, I had a new thought. While visiting with a friend recently, she commented "Why is it always the same people who are in need? The same people are always asking for help and never seem to get to a place where they are helping others."

For some reason, reading this story today made me think of her quote. And I feel blessed and encouraged by the mother in this story. She didn't have the attitude that she was one of the poor, even though her husband had died and she had seven children to care for alone. She didn't teach her children that 'everyone else' should give, or that they were the poor family and entitled to receive the offering.

She taught her children to be faithful stewards of what they had--whether it was a little or a lot. She taught them to sacrifice and serve with a spirit of JOY. Not with resentment for what they didn't have. Not begrudgingly while looking at what others 'should' be doing. She taught them to sow generously, to plan to give and to do so cheerfully (II Corinthians 9:6-8).

I can't help but imagine what a similar situation might look like in today's culture. A young, innocent child is motivated and excited by an announcement of an upcoming offering for a poor family. He goes to mama and asks if he can do chores to have money to give, and wonders how his family is going to come together to bless the poor family.

"Hush, silly," the mama might say. "Don't you get it? WE are poor! Look at the clothes other people wear, and the vehicles they drive. WE are the poor ones. They are probably going to give that collection to US." In her head she might think about all the cheap chicken they've been eating and how every meal she cooks has been from scratch because they've been trying to save money on groceries to pay for the work they had done on the car. She might plan that if people are generous enough and they get enough money to pay for the car work, then she can buy some frozen foods so she doesn't have to spend so much time in the kitchen.

It never occurs to her to give. It never occurs to her to give up the chicken and eat potatoes, beans, and pasta in order to sacrificially give. She is entitled to receive that money because so many people have more than she does.

Reading the original story again, I feel humbled. I am filled with respect and admiration for that mother. What a brave, brave woman. She didn't view herself as poor, and she didn't teach her children that they were poor or owed something. They knew they didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but they didn't know they were poor. And indeed, they were rich. They were rich in character. They were rich in service and contentment. They were rich in generosity and love.

This mother taught her children that doing without can be honorable, not an injustice. She taught her children to give, not to take. She taught her children to think of others, not themselves. She taught them to minister, not to expect service.

If there were more mothers like this, I daresay my friend would have no need to ask that question. "Why is it always the same people who are in need? The same people are always asking for help and never seem to get to a place where they are helping others."