I don’t remember the exact moment he told me, but I do remember being surprised. Things were very lean, and when I say lean, I mean, I actually remember sitting down one day in our third-floor apartment and crying because I was hungry, and, if I ate the food we had, there would not be enough left for supper.
Being hungry wasn’t generally a big deal to me. I tended to work right through meals and not eat until I was famished, or someone forced me to sit down and eat. Nor was missing one meal going to lead to my demise. But to be hungry and not have enough food available, well, that was new. The feeling of uncertainty was harder to bear than the hunger.
It was 1981, and we were working in a fledgling church plant. I recall reading an article in the Toronto Star, giving the current poverty level that year. We were under it. As was the senior pastor and his family. We served and starved (so to speak) together, wholly committed to the cause of Christ.
