by Cheryl L. Miller

It had been another long, tiring day. Standing behind the lunch counter, I fretted over how we would pay our bills. We were about one hundred dollars short this month. My husband  and I, newly married, were struggling to make ends meet. He was working at a funeral home and I was waitressing at a local diner. He worked days while I worked the evening shift. Even though we both worked full time, we had barely enough money to pay the bills with very little left for food. Thankfully, as part of my pay, I was allowed some donuts and coffee each day as well as a sandwich. Each night I would bring home the sandwich , and we would share it for supper.

Adding to my mountain of worries, the neighborhood we lived in was broken-down and dangerous. The local drug dealer lived in the apartment beside us and the street we lived on was littered with bars. It was the only place our meager salaries could afford.

I had been brought up in a comfortable, middle class home and had never before been exposed to such circumstances. I felt very small and freightened. Still, young, proud and determined to make it on our own, we foolishly did not let our families know how needy we were.

I had been brought up with a deep faith in God and I knew that He would never forsake me.; but I must admit, there were days when I felt pretty forsaken. This was one of those days. I stood behind the counter, my worries hanging over me like a thick, dark cloud. Where would we get the extra hundred dollars. I started to imagine ways. We could acquire the needed money. Wouldn't it be something if my husbqand were to be "tipped" the hundred dollars? What if he were to service a wealthy family and they appreciated his care so much they would present him with a one hundred dollar bill? But then, that was rediculous! Employees of a funeral home do not receive tips. What a silly notion. I awoke from my daydreaming and chastised myself for thinking such utter nonsense. When my shift ended, I went home with my worries still tagging along behind me.

Two days later, once again standing behind the lunch counter, I looked up to see my husband walking through the door. He had a huge grin on his face. "Guess what I have", he said, and proceded to pull a one hundred dollar bill from his pocket. He then told us how he had helped with the service of a very wealthy individual. When the service was over, he was approached by a middle-aged man. The man said how appreciative he was of the care given to his family and that he wanted to do something for him. He handed my husband a one hundred dollar bill. My husband protested, saying that it was his job and he was glad to help them, but the man was very insistent. He said he knew the employees of that funeral home were not paid much (true enough) and he insisted saying  he would be offended if the tip was not accepted.

I stood there in amazement. A feeling of relief, mixed with a healthy dose of awe, washed over me. In His own special way, God was providing for our need and reinforcing my flagging faith. He was showing me that He had not forsaken me, but was in fact right beside me, aware of my every feeling ... and thought. Even the one I dismissed as rediculous.