Beyond

 Walk with God long enough, trust Him, and depend on Him long enough, and you’re bound to see some miracles. Yes, I said miracles, and no, I did not misspeak. I’m not about to get into a war of words with people over anecdotal experiences or whether we can still expect miracles for today because I know what I know, and you can’t shake my confidence when it comes to such matters. It would be akin to staring at the midday sun and having someone insist that the sun doesn’t exist. But it’s right there. That burning ball searing your retina, that’s the sun; can’t you see it?

“No, it can’t be the sun,” they answer, “because I don’t believe the sun exists.”

When you continue to hold to a position despite evidence to the contrary, it’s no longer faith; it’s a delusion. Delusional people will go to great lengths to try and prove their point, sinking deeper into absurdity with every turn of phrase. There are examples a plenty outside the household of faith, but one would hope that those within would be more reasonable and wise.

Yes, I believe in miracles, not because a particular denomination or preacher told me I should, but because I’ve experienced them firsthand and in ways that confound human intellect. God is able to do beyond anything you can envision and in ways that were heretofore unimagined.

In case you haven’t noticed, the truth is not a big seller anymore. I don’t know that it’s ever been, but it certainly isn’t today. Speaking the truth is akin to self-sabotage when it comes to growing a ministry, but the purpose was never to grow a ministry; it was to be faithful to the calling and Word of God. As though that wasn’t hard enough on its own, we were also responsible for the livelihoods of some 80 children and the people we’d contracted to care for them in Romania.

There was never an abundance, but we always managed to pay the bills. The orphanage was built on faith and sustained itself through faith because we knew it wasn’t our work. It was His work.

Shortly after my grandfather died, the jackals came out of the woodwork, and they all wanted to take a bite. That’s what jackals do. They are scavengers and opportunists. It was all my mom could do to keep the kids at the orphanage fed, nevermind fend off the jackals. At the time, I was still young and naïve enough to think that Christian was synonymous with noble, good, decent, and honorable. It was an orphanage, not a fortune five hundred company; why would anyone try to sabotage, double deal, lie, cheat, and attempt to steal something they’d had no hand in building and had no monetary value? They did, though, and they went about it enthusiastically and without regard for the children in our care.

We knew the only thing we could do was pray and cry out to God, but we also knew that it would be enough. When we cried out, He heard, and He intervened. That was the way the ministry had operated since its inception, and it always would. Not that there was anything we could have done anyway. The operating budget back then was close to thirty thousand dollars per month, and with no money coming from the States because former ‘ministry partners’ had hijacked the bank account, there was nothing to be done but pray.

You have to give credit where credit is due; it was a well-thought-out plan and brilliantly executed. Before we got a hint of something being amiss, the jackals had already reached out and poisoned the minds of our biggest givers, hijacked the bank account, and made it, so we had no resources to combat the fanciful lies.

We were half a world away, feeding the poor, clothing the naked, and caring for the children entrusted to us, while they cemented their control over a work they’d had no hand in building up.

It was getting desperate. The funds had run out, the food was running low, and there was nowhere to turn to but God. Early one morning, my mother’s phone began to ring, and it was someone who had previously given on and off but who hadn’t been part of the ministry for some time.

“Virginia?” the voice asked. When my mother said yes in her accented English, the man on the other line continued, “your children didn’t let me sleep a wink last night.”

“My children are sleeping upstairs,” my mother answered, confused and put off at the same time.

“Not your boys,” he answered. “The children in the orphanage. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I’d see them telling me they were hungry. I need wiring instructions. I’m sending you some money.”

Within twenty-four hours, fifty thousand dollars was in the account, which carried us through the time we needed to remedy the situation. God knows what He’s doing, and anyone who tells you differently is a liar.

I understand that it’s not as exciting as being blessed with a McLaren or a Bentley, but seeing those children get fed and the employees paid so they could go feed their families, in turn, meant more than any car would have.

My mom never reached out to the man who sent the money. There was no e-mail, telegram, or carrier pigeon informing him of our situation. My mom prayed, and we, along with her and the children, along with us. We cried out to God, knowing that He would hear, and once He heard, He would do as only He could.

It wasn’t the last time the jackals tried to feast on what they presumed was our carcass, and it wasn’t the last time God intervened.

Why talk about this now? Because the season is upon us when faith alone will carry you through. Every safety net, precaution, plan, and preparation will be shaken because the Word tells us it must be thusly. In the midst of what is to come, remember whom you serve, how He loves you, and what He can do. That should help give you peace and hope when they will be at a premium. 

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.