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Today, church happened at work. And if you have followed this journey for any amount of time, you already know I have learned not to put God inside four walls.

I have found church in sanctuaries and living rooms, beside graves and around kitchen tables, in conversations with strangers and moments when I was simply trying to make it through the day. Today, I found church in a place I genuinely love being, doing work I once prayed God would allow me to do, while wrestling with a question I wish I didn’t have to ask…

How do you keep doing what you love when you also have to make a living?

Because this job has been an answered prayer for me. I get the privilege of sitting with families during conversations most people spend their entire lives avoiding. I get to hear about husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, children and grandparents. I get to listen to love stories. I get to help people make decisions that may spare their children from having to make them while standing in the middle of grief. I get to walk beside people on some incredibly difficult days, and somehow God has taken pieces of my own story, including pieces I never would have chosen, and allowed me to use them to love somebody else.

What a privilege.

There are days I drive home and think, “Jesus, You really let me do this.”

And then there are days like today. Days when I work all day and, financially speaking, I worked for free. And I would be lying if I told you that didn’t hurt. Because loving your job doesn’t make the electric bill disappear. Purpose doesn’t pay the mortgage. Passion doesn’t buy groceries. And apparently telling the bank, “But this is an answered prayer!” is not considered an acceptable form of payment.

I am also struggling with moments when you made sure others were taken care of, the times you covered something because it needed covering, the times you gave the extra without being asked, the times you spent your own money or your own time because you believed in the bigger picture and then life hands you a moment when you realize that perhaps you were operating with an expectation of mutual consideration that really wasn’t actually mutual.

WHEW.

And I don’t believe Christianity requires me to pretend it does not sting.

I don’t want to become a person who keeps a little notebook of every little thing I’ve ever done and waits for somebody to notice it. That’s not love, and that’s certainly not how Jesus has loved me.

Maybe that was part of my church today too.

Because boundaries aren’t bitterness. Wisdom isn’t revenge. And changing how much of yourself you give after somebody has shown you what you can reasonably expect in return doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving people.

Sometimes it simply means you listened. And today I listened.

So I found myself caught between gratitude and reality.

Because I am grateful.

My clients are the BEST part of my job, the reason I love my role, and I always want to make sure that is BEYOND CLEAR.

I don’t want anybody to mistake my struggle for ingratitude. I know what a gift it is to wake up and care deeply about what I do. I know there are people who have spent years asking God to show them where they belong, and I recognize the privilege of feeling like maybe I finally found a place where so many pieces of me make sense.

But I also have bills. I have a family. I have responsibilities. I have a life outside of the work I love, and that life requires an income.

So what do you do when the prayer God answered and the practical reality of your life start sitting across the table from each other?

I don’t know yet.

We Christians love testimonies once they’re finished. We love, “I didn’t know how God was going to do it, BUT THEN GOD…”

We clap at that part. We shout at that part.

But there is usually a whole lot of living between “I don’t know how” and “but then God.”

And I think that’s where I am.

I am in the I don’t know how.

I don’t know how to reconcile loving this work with needing this work to provide for my family. I don’t know how long you keep pouring into something before wisdom says something has to change. I don’t know how much “extra” you continue giving when you’ve learned that extra isn’t always valued. I don’t know where faith ends and foolishness begins when you’re spending your own time, energy, and resources trying desperately to make something work.

And I don’t know if God is saying, “Keep going, I’m building something,” or preparing me for a different answer than the one I want.

Today, I wanted to cry. Because I don’t want to lose something I love simply because I cannot afford to keep doing it.

There it is. That’s the sentence underneath everything.

I love this work. I love these families. I love getting to serve people. And I don’t want money to be the reason I eventually have to walk away from something that feels so much like an answered prayer.

But then I remembered something Jesus said in Luke 10:7:

“The worker deserves his wages.”

Jesus said that.

The same Jesus who washed feet. The same Jesus who told us to serve. The same Jesus who taught us to give. Service and provision were never enemies. Maybe I needed to hear that today because somewhere inside me I had started believing that if I really loved what I did, money shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

Not because money matters more than people. People will ALWAYS matter more to me. My families that I serve will always get the extra phone call. They will always get compassion that isn’t measured by a clock. They will always get the extra explanation, the extra patience, the extra effort, and whatever little bit of myself I can give that makes an unbearable season slightly easier to carry.

They are not where I am drawing the boundary. If anything, I want to protect that part of myself. Because if I keep giving my time, money, energy and “extra” everywhere else without wisdom, eventually there won’t be much extra left for the people I actually came here to serve.

And THAT preached to me today.

There is a difference between giving people my heart and giving away my livelihood. There is a difference between serving and disappearing. There is a difference between generosity and constantly absorbing the cost yourself.

And maybe somebody else needs permission to hear this today…

You are not less called because you need to pay your bills.

You are not less generous because you need your work to provide an income. You are not bitter because you finally noticed that reciprocity matters. You are not selfish because you have reached a place where you have to say, “God, I cannot keep pouring this much out if nothing is coming back in.”

Maybe asking God for provision isn’t evidence that we don’t appreciate the opportunity. Maybe it’s simply another prayer.

The first prayer was, “God, please give me somewhere I can make a difference.”

And He did.

Maybe now the prayer becomes:

“God, please make a way for me to keep doing it.”

That’s where I am tonight.

Not threatening to quit. Not declaring that everything is terrible. Not forgetting for one second what a privilege this has been.

Just standing in the uncomfortable middle with Jesus and telling Him the truth…

“Lord, I love this. I really, really love this. But I have to be able to live too. And I need wisdom about where I keep giving the extra.”

I don’t know what happens next. But I know I’m not going to let disappointment change the way I love the families God puts in front of me. I’m going to keep serving them. I’m going to keep showing up for them. I’m going to keep giving them the heart God gave me for this work.

What may change is everything happening around that calling. Because perhaps stewardship isn’t only about what we give. Maybe stewardship is also knowing when something God gave us is valuable enough to stop giving all of it away.

I can trust Jesus with that.

I can trust Him with the income I need. I can trust Him with the reciprocity I haven’t always felt. I can trust Him with the doors that remain open and the ones He may eventually tell me to walk through.

And after all these churches, all these unexpected sanctuaries, and all these times Jesus has met me somewhere I never expected to find Him, I know this much: I can trust Him in the I don’t know how.

Maybe one day I’ll get to write the but then God part.

For now, this is the prayer…

Thank You, Jesus, for the answered prayer. Please don’t let the hurt change my heart for the people I serve. Give me wisdom about where I pour the extra, and please make a way for me to afford to keep doing what I love.

And THAT was church today, and I can’t wait to see where the Holy Spirit leads next week.

Love you all so very much,

Annie Stewart Lambert