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Maybe it’s because I’m an American.

Not an American from the early colonial years facing winter hardship and starvation . . .

Or an American, circa 1776, fighting for freedom in the revolutionary war . . .

Or an American, circa Civil War, risking much to help free slaves . . .

Or an American, circa 1929, enduring the Big Crash, eating lard sandwiches . . .

Or an American, circa 1945, sacrificing for the war effort . . .

No, I am an American, circa 2007.

Born and bred, not in a briar patch, but on superstores and microwaves, MTV and American Idol, moon landings and computers, smart houses and garage door openers. I pace in front of my microwave, developing a business plan in my head, while talking on the cell phone, as I brainstorm client ideas in my subconscious. I’ve elevated multi-tasking to an art form. TV Preachers expound if you obey the Lord, you’ll live a blessed life. Wealth and prosperity are the mark of a life well lived in the eyes of God.

Maybe that’s why I wasn’t prepared for what happened.

In the spring of 1998, I clearly felt the push, pull and tug of the Lord on me to take action. It was “a calling.” Firmly believing that God was capable of doing anything, I plunged ahead, my faith flying high, like a banner in the breeze. At first, it was amazing. I saw the Lord open doors and provide everything we needed and more. But then, the opposition found us.

Financial provision slowed, volunteers were almost impossible to find, and prayer warriors were few. Many nights would find me face down on the floor in tears, pleading with God to rescue me, and this ministry He had called me to.

As soon as the ministry work began to become difficult, some people (Americans, circa 2007) advised me to quit. Some offered advice based on worldly business principles. Some attacked my leadership abilities. Some would suggest that, “There must be sin in your life. That’s why God isn’t blessing you.” Modern day Job’s Friends were in abundance.

Then, like a cool cup of water, there were those who understood the intensity of spiritual warfare. Some would truly pray and encourage me. Some would offer practical hands on help. Some would give financial support. I am forever grateful for these brave souls who went against the tide. You know who you are. And so does God. Letters from around the country by those grateful for the work of the ministry made it worthwhile and kept me going.

But eventually, when I lost my house due to financial pressures, my banner of faith fell to the ground. I knelt beside it in the dust weeping. “My God, my God. Why have You forsaken me?” In my head I knew differently, but in my humanness, it felt like He had dropped me like a discarded toy.

Soon sadness turned to anger, anger to depression. I had believed that if I were doing what God had asked, I would be protected and provided for. Now here I was, secretly living in a cold, wet unfinished basement of a commercial building where I had my office. No washer or dryer, no yard, no garage, no stove/oven, no windows, no bed, no bathtub or shower, and often little or no money. But I was thankful that the rent was cheap and that I had a roof over my head. It could have been worse.

From that cold commercial basement office, I would finish up on transferring the ministry to the branch in Illinois and hand over the last project I had been working on over my founding partner in California. I was too beat up emotionally and spiritually to continue. How could I lead or be involved in any ministry with this frame of mind and spirit? For a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to step foot into a church, listen to a “Christian” song, or pray. I was angry. Why should I give or do anything for this God who abandoned me?

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