Walking the Fire: Poverty Hits Home

Feeding the world’s hungry had been my vision, but Treva and our two children were dragged into the effort. When Treva and I first met, I was interested in buying better cars and clothes and living in bigger homes. I wanted to become a billionaire. I would return from my travels with expensive gifts for family and friends.

The vision changed everything. Material things didn’t matter to me anymore. Trees for Life had now become my total focus, and I did not know how I would go about feeding my family. My strong sense of responsibility resulted in many sleepless nights. Fear would freeze my chest, so I could hardly breathe. 

The mere idea of not being able to put food on the table for my children, buy their clothes or books, or provide money for vacations would leave me in a cold sweat. Not being able to give a dollar to the neighbor children for a charity drive was humiliating. Such humiliation was not a part of my plan. In my life dream, poverty was not an option. I felt as if my prayers were not being heard. It was a bad dream in which I was lost and couldn’t wake up.

I had no choice. Something far, far more powerful was pulling me. I was driven and had to complete the journey. On a few rare occasions, when I thought of quitting, I could immediately see the consequences. If I did not follow this journey, I might end up as a wretched alcoholic or worse.

In that dark period, there were two sources of strength: Treva and whatever the force was that was guiding me. 

Treva, whose focus was our children, was far more worried and concerned than I was. With an empty bank account, she had no idea what each day would bring. I did not know how she managed. Hearing her laugh while talking to her friends on the telephone, I wondered where she mustered her strength. She did not look down on me because I was no longer the breadwinner. Scared, still holding on to the last knot on the rope, she continued to encourage me. She did not entertain the advice of some close friends to divorce me.

I have no idea what I might have done without her, or what the future of Trees for Life might have been if I’d had some other woman for my wife.

During this period, many unusual events took place. Money would appear at the last minute in exactly the amount that was needed. I would be left in a state of wonder.

But the money would run out quickly, and the gripping fear would return. What if the miracle does not happen this time? Then another miracle would occur, proving once again the prediction of Sacha Baba: “If you take this path, God will provide.”

Sometimes, in our leanest days, there was hardly anything in the house for us to eat.

One night, Treva cooked two eggs and toast for me for dinner. It was the last food in the house. I had my fork in my hand and was starting to dig in when the doorbell rang. I dropped my fork. Instinctively, I knew who it was.

In our flush days, we had served as “parents” to several foreign students, including a Nigerian student attending Wichita State University. He had gone on to graduate school in Missouri, and recently had called asking me to loan him $500. The Nigerian government was holding up a transfer of money for all its students in the United States. Our friend needed that money urgently. I told him I didn’t have five dollars, let alone $500. I could hear in his voice that he didn’t believe me.

He was at the door at 8 p.m. in brutally-freezing weather, having driven 350 miles from Missouri.

“You came at just the right time,” I said, pointing him towards the dinner table. Without saying a word, he sat down and ate the eggs and toast and told me he hadn’t eaten all day. He was living with two other friends from Nigeria, and there was no food for them. He told us the five-hour trip had taken him 12 hours because his car was malfunctioning. He had come to us as a last resort. 

Treva left us alone. After a while, I went looking for her. She was in the bedroom crying so hard that she had buried her face in a pillow.

“Here we are, so financially strapped we can’t even help someone in need,” she said.

I was at a loss for words. Anything I wanted to say would come out wrong. However, I believed our capacity to give had not even been tested. 

The next morning, our friend’s car wouldn’t start. The engine was frozen. A neighbor we had never had good relations with came over and asked if he could help. At the same time, a friend stopped by. The two of them worked on the car for two hours until it ran perfectly.

Meanwhile, Treva called a few of her friends. Soon after, people arrived with enough canned goods to literally fill up the inside of our Nigerian friend’s car. I called another friend to see if he would loan the young man $500.

“I can’t guarantee that the money will ever come back,” I told him. 

“Just come on over,” this friend said, without questioning. It was two or three years before the debt was repaid. He received a check in the mail.

“I never expected to see that money again,” he told me.

Often at times like these, food was provided unexpectedly and sometimes in unusual ways, exactly when we needed it. One summer day, a friend from out-of-state gave us a surprise visit, along with his family and parents. It was almost lunch time. Treva and I exchanged glances. We had limited food to serve them. Our friend explained they were in town to see their parents, and it was such a beautiful day, they had all decided to go on a picnic. On the way to the park, they realized we lived nearby, and it might be more fun to have a picnic in our backyard. Would we mind? They brought a huge amount of food.

They saw a handmade rug from China in our living room. I had tried several times to sell it, for a fraction of what it had cost me, just to get some cash. I couldn’t find a buyer. 

“Is there anything we can do to make you sell this rug to us?” they asked. “It would go perfectly with our furniture.”

One time, Mother Nature came to our assistance when a windstorm blew in overnight. The next morning, the neighborhood was unscathed, except for our home: our wooden fence had been blown down. We filed a claim with our insurance company. We used the money to buy a much cheaper wire fence for our dog, and there was money left over for essentials.

On another occasion, our son Keir’s bicycle seat broke. We didn’t have $8 to buy him a new one, which was a very painful experience for Treva and me. Riding his bike was Keir’s favorite thing to do. But once again, we were taken care of. Treva’s brother, who knew nothing of this situation, called to ask Keir if he could help out in their print shop for one day.

We were moved nearly to tears when Keir donated $20 out of his $40 wages that day to Trees for Life. When Treva and I talked that night, we agreed that though we didn’t have money, what we were giving to our children was beyond comprehension.

During this tough period, we had a morning ritual, performed before the kids rushed off to school. We lit a candle, and the four of us said a short prayer together. Then each of us dropped a dime in a jar, so that if anyone came to our door raising money, they would not leave empty-handed.

We lived on this razor’s edge for nearly seven years.

Only much later did I realize what this was all about. My fear of poverty was the driving force of my life. Growing up, my family owned a restaurant near a university. We were an island surrounded by a sea of poverty. Being a sensitive person, even at the age of three I could feel the poverty of people around me and its terrifying consequences. 

I was pained and wanted to help “them.” However, I never wanted to go through that pain myself. I wanted to make enough money so the next 100 generations of my family would not have to go through the pain of poverty.

I thought I could live with this dichotomy, but it was tearing me apart. Some force that was guiding me in this effort knew I would not be able to complete the journey with this thorn in my side. I sensed there was someone holding my hand as I walked through the fire of poverty to be rid of the debilitating fear that had gripped me subconsciously since childhood.

After that, the trajectory of my journey changed. I was no longer trying to help “them,” for “they” no longer existed.