Today’s devotion in Good Courage invited readers to consider times we have been given a gift of hope.
I was in my last year of university, living in an “apartment” in the attic of a tiny house. The kitchen, actually the landing between 2 small upstairs rooms, was home to a bar fridge that doubled as the food prep surface, and the place I put the hot plate, when I needed it. Accomodations were simple, but adequate, and pretty much all I could afford.
I worked the night shift on the front desk of a downtown hotel, and did my homework after the bar closed and the place got quiet. I was careful to only take afternoon or evening classes, so I could go home after each 11-7 shift, and catch some sleep before school. I was grateful to have a job, and be able to study. I needed to complete an undergraduate degree as the pre-requisite to study theology.
I also needed to apply to seminary, by a certain date. There was an application fee. I didn’t have it. There were scholarships and bursaries I later accessed, as a candidate for ministry enrolled in a program, but none for those about to apply.
The women’s group at my home church, which included several of my former Sunday School teachers had said they’d help, but it was going to take a week or so to pass a motion, and issue a cheque.
A person I’d met at church function, who was on a teacher exchange from another province offered to help. We’d known each other only a few days- but he handed me the cash. I told him I’d return it when the church ladies came through. He told me not to worry.
It was good, to not have to worry.