A Letter to Jesus

"How much do you earn on average, Alex?" I inquired.

He looked at me and kept silent. Then, he took a slow sip from his coffee cup. Afterward, he turned to me and growled:

"How dare you ask me such a question? It's none of your concern. Pack up your tools and go home. You're fired".

Alex was vital to my contracts. He was a seasoned professional in the flooring business and was mentoring me. We installed floors in various establishments such as hospitals, shopping centres, restaurants and other companies. The work was physically demanding, but it was a profitable venture.

I was taken aback by his reaction as we were friends. We were immigrants in Australia and had been working together for a month. We shared much about money and religion; I even preached at his church. Our wives became close as well. With the start of the new business, I wanted to know if I could make enough money to support my family. Alex had all the connections through a referral company; without him, I wouldn't have any contracts.

My wife Erna and I moved to Sydney with our two sons, now 7 and 5 years old, a few years ago. We founded a new charitable organization to support underground churches in the USSR. We didn't accept any money from donations and relied on our jobs to make ends meet. Erna worked part-time at a kindergarten, and I worked various jobs. We were looking forward to the prospect of me earning more money to ease our financial burden and have a few luxuries.

When I arrived home, Erna greeted me with a kiss, as she does every time one of us leaves or comes through the front door. She believes that kissing your spouse leads to a longer life. However, my heavy heart made it difficult to tell her the bad news.

"What's wrong?" she asked upon seeing my gloomy expression.

"I have some bad news. Alex and I had a falling out, and I lost my job," I said.

"I have some bad news too. Someone from the church was here and said we had to vacate the house. They're converting it into a kindergarten," Erna added.

We had rented this old house from the church for two years, and it became our charming home after fixing it up. Now, it was time for us to move on. The positive thing was I could spend more time at Morling College, upgrading my degree to become an ordained minister in the Church Union of NSW, but the cost of the courses and books would also require some money.

During our evening prayer, I felt downcast and in a foul mood. Erna read a passage from the Bible (1 Peter 5:7 "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you"). Afterward, each family member shared something about their day. I ranted about our misfortunes and how unfair it all was.

"Let's tell Jesus about it. He will take care of it," said Michael, our elder son.

"Yeah, let's write a letter to Jesus," said John, always full of energy.

"Yes, let's do that," said Erna taking pen and paper.

However, I had a panic attack. Why not just pray? Writing it down makes it permanent and black and white. What if God decides to ignore us or delay a response? How would it affect my sons' faith in God if they thought He ignored them? What if they think He's not great? These thoughts added to the already heavy burden.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Erna asked John:

“What do you look for in a new place?” She had her pen ready to jot down his answer.

“Hmmm, I like a nice view from the window,” John replied. “And I'd like to have a swimming pool to swim in,” he added.

Oh dear, I thought this was getting out of hand.

“Michael, what about you?” their mother continued, as determined as Napoleon on a conquest.

“I want a room of my own!” Michael laughed. “So I can draw without my brother bothering me.”

“So, we need at least three bedrooms then. And I'd like straight walls,” my wife chipped in. “Solid walls where no mice or creepy-crawlies can come into our home.”

“And you, dear?” Erna turned to me with a smile.

I thought, ‘She’s enjoying this! It’s crazy.’

“Okay, if we’re making wishlists, I’ll say I need a garage to work on restoring my 1965 Mercedes,” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh great, now we’ve written a letter to Jesus. Everyone sign here,” Erna declared.

We all signed and prayed to Jesus to grant our wishes. Everyone went to sleep happily without a care in the world, except for me.

I'm the theologian, preacher, missionary, and realist here. I know the prices in this expensive city and my bank account. I understand how God works. This is going to be a disaster. I take care of my family by relying on hard work and frugality. Praying for straight walls, a swimming pool, and extra spacious rooms doesn't seem spiritual enough. What a load of silliness. I didn't sleep well that night.

The morning dawned, and breakfast was filled with lively conversation about how Jesus will look after our needs. Erna drove off with the boys to take them to school and then to her work, and I went to my study desk. I sat for a moment, looking at the thick commentary books of holy scripture written by long-dead men, all seeming to have a strong faith and a close relationship with the Man upstairs. But I live in a modern world, with bills to pay and a secular environment. What can God do for me here and now?

I did not desire to read the Bible or other religious texts or pray. I felt like a stranger in this land. The church wanted us out, a friend had ended our business relationship, and I was making myself depressed with negative thoughts. I believed everyone was too busy with their lives to pay attention to me and my needs.

Once again, I was worried about Jesus' reputation. I knew that we were doing everything right, theologically speaking. You're supposed to pray and tell Jesus all your worries, and as a family, we prayed and wrote a letter to Jesus, even letting our children express their wishes because we taught them that they could tell Jesus anything. But now I was uncertain if Jesus could handle this specific problem. I knew the cost of living in Sydney, and I knew my bank balance, and I knew that they didn't match. I couldn't rely on anyone else; I had to rely on myself to provide for my family. And now we had entrusted that to Jesus, but how could he fulfill that? I didn't want to give Jesus a bad reputation, nor did I want my sons to be disappointed in him. They still had a childlike trust in God, believing that God could do anything. But I wasn’t sure. The facts and prayer seemed at odds in this case. What would I do if Jesus didn't come through? Would my sons grow up not trusting in God anymore?

I was sipping my coffee and pondering how to resolve these problems when the phone rang. It was still relatively early for a call, and it was Norm.

"How are you today?" he asked.

"Fine," I lied.

"I was praying today, and God told me to call you," he said.

"How nice of Him," I said, trying to hide my sarcasm.

"So, I was wondering if you need anything," he continued.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you need a place to live?" he replied.

"Actually, yes," I admitted reluctantly. "But how did you know?"

"God told me," he said. "And now I'm calling you to see if you need a place to stay."

"The church asked us to leave the house," I said.

"Perfect," he replied. "I have a vacant apartment. I want to offer it to you."

"Wow, thank you for thinking of us," I said, astounded. "Tell me more."

"It's a penthouse on the ninth floor with a roof terrace just for you, where you can barbeque and sunbathe. It has a stunning view of the city, the ocean, and the airport. It has three bedrooms, a garage, a swimming pool, and a gym, and it's close to all amenities."

I was speechless. I couldn't believe it. I thought about everything we had written in the letter to Jesus the night before.

"How much is the rent?" I asked, knowing that we couldn't afford

"No worries, mate. The renters have left, and the place needs some updates. You're handy, so if you install a new kitchen, replace the carpets, and paint the walls, you can stay rent-free for a year."

I swallowed hard. There was an awkward silence.

"Don't fancy it?" Norm asked, taken aback.

"No, no, that's not it, Norm. I have to tell you something. Last night, my family and I prayed to Jesus, and my sons suggested we write a letter to him with our wishes for a new place. And everything you just mentioned matches exactly what we wrote in that letter. Mate, it's frightening!"

Norm was quiet. Australians are practical people and don't get too emotional. They might come across as harsh and sarcastic at first, but underneath, they're helpful and kind-hearted.

"You're making me nervous," I heard Norm say shakily. "It's so unbelievable. Being used by God is humbling. Think about it and let me know what you decide. I have to go, or I'll start crying.” And he hung up.

Jesus knows how to work things out!

Later, I told Erna and the boys about the call. Erna said it's beautiful that God answers our prayers quickly and gives us exactly what we ask for. He loves us. Michael and John nodded and went to their room with their school bags as if they expected God to do just that.

I learned a lesson: Jesus listens to my children and wife. As a preacher, missionary, and charity worker, I thought my faith was strong, but it did not match my family's faith. I learned I don't have to defend God, worry, or doubt. He knows what to do and when to do it.

Late at night, I wondered what would have happened if we didn't write that letter if my children didn't have childlike faith, if Erna did not balance my negativity with her faith or if Norm didn't listen to God that morning. Everything could have been different, but it wasn't. I learned that I could pray about anything and trust God to listen and care for my family's big and small needs. I can write a letter to Jesus with confidence.