Kevin Alan Wells

I have twenty-seven dollars in my checking account. A seventy dollar bill needs to be paid. Why am I so poor? I had a full scholarship through college for academics. I’ve earned a master’s degree. Why do I live like I never even bothered to try passing the GRE?

I don’t want to work in an office making money from something I don’t believe in. I want to work in the way my gifts and abilities are best able to teach the Truth. I want to write, teach, preach. I’m trying. But why does that mean I have to be so poor? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should get a full time job. I’m tired. Enough thinking. Food. Eat. This is what I do when I’m upset. I stuff my stomach.

At the store, the bread is three dollars a loaf. I love this bread. Seven grains. Scattered oats. This is my bread. Near it though is a sign. White Bread $.89. So? Why you telling me? This, this is my bread. Not that. This is what I buy. I don’t buy that. I don’t want that.

Sigh.

I take the stupid loaf. It’s in my hand. I’m walking away. The worst of the injustice is over. Moving on, on to the peanut butter, aisle five, where next to the blessed JIF is a different jar twice the size, half the cost, quarter the flavor. No! This is going too far. Not JIF. JIF is sacred. I’ll crush my own peanuts before I buy peanut butter that isn’t JIF.

Sigh.

I hate life. This off-brand jar of peanut butter I’m handing to the cashier, I hate exceedingly more. The receipt says $2.89 at the bottom. It would have said $6.45. Yippee.

I head for the door, head for my car. Outside, under my foot, no one around –

“Kevin, every sacrifice has value to me. The smallest forfeit for the sake of my kingdom gives me joy. You want your bills paid. I want your attitude changed. Let’s talk.”