With no safety net, we start making money the way the Family does in the US, by “canning.” We stand on street corners or stop people in supermarket parking lots, holding up a can and asking for donations to support our volunteer work. We would never have done this in Asia—it smacks too much of beggars on the streets—but I keep my thoughts to myself.
At 5:00 p.m., we drive to a Safeway. I grab my thirty-three-ounce tomato paste can covered in pictures of Family kids. I have a green plastic binder with printed brochure pages of the Family singing in hospitals and teaching Bible classes to teens. I feel a burning sense of humiliation knowing this is not about the good works; all I want is enough money for our little family to eat and a safe place to sleep. We don’t have enough money for a campsite tonight. Mom is afraid to park us by the side of the road or in a parking lot. Afraid the police will come. Afraid bad men or drug addicts will break in.
I pray with my mother. She starts, “Dear Lord, please bless Faithy, help her to do really well today. Make her bold like a lion. Please, please, God, provide for us. You said, whatever we ask in Your name, You would give it to us. So, I ask that You bring some really generous people today.”
As she pleads, I pray silently in my head. Please, please, God. And give me courage.
“Faithy, I’m going to be just over there fixing the camper. I need to swap out the fuses and see which one is making the blinkers go out,” Mom tells me. She gives me an encouraging smile.
It’s a long walk from the camper parked at the far edge of the Safeway parking lot. This is the worst part. My hands are sweaty with embarrassment that I’m holding a can. I spot a middle-aged lady pushing her shopping cart to her car. I open the brochure book to the right page. I have only a few seconds to get her attention, and I have to say the right thing quickly before she brushes me off.
My face flips on the bright, winning smile that my dad spanked into me from an early age. I can do this, I think as I push down the shame and shyness.
“Hello, ma’am, do you have a second? I’m raising funds for our volunteer work.” I have the can awkwardly tucked under my arm so I can raise the brochure high to show her the pictures. “See, this is us singing for orphanages. Here we are working with teens to help them get off drugs. This is us singing about Jesus in prisons.”
“What do you want?” she barks.
“We are just asking for a small donation to support our work.”
“I don’t give to charity.”
“Anything helps.”
“Not interested.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I duck my head as my cheeks burn but hurry to an elderly Black woman I see exiting the store. “Please, ma’am, do you have a minute to hear about the volunteer work we are doing?”
“Hi, child, certainly.” She smiles at me.
Whew, this lady seems nice.
“Here we are teaching handicapped kids in Thailand to pray and ask Jesus into their heart. We are collecting donations to help our work. Would you be able to give just a little something?”
“What church are you with?”
I’ve memorized the line carefully since being in America. In Macau, everyone knew us as the Ho Family Singers. Except for busking on the weekends, I didn’t have to ask for money or answer difficult questions. Still, I know that church people hate us. “We are the Family International, a nonprofit, nondenominational Christian organization.” Please, please.
“Mm, I’ve never heard of them,” the woman replies.
Thank God.
“Here you go, child. You keep up the good work.”
A dollar floats into the can. My smile widens. “Thank you so much! God bless you!”
At the end of the afternoon, Mom and I count the money in my can, $27, enough for a campground for the night and some gas to get there.
I go into the Safeway with Jondy and Nina and grab a box of Weetabix and one of Grape Nuts. I’ve discovered that while Grape Nuts don’t taste as good as Froot Loops, if you let them soak a long time in milk, they swell up and are very filling, so a little goes a long way to feed hungry kids.
A pack of Kraft mac and cheese costs only 79 cents. I can feed the kids on that. It’s also laughably easy. Boil the noodles, strain, dump in the pack of powder, a little milk and butter, and it’s done. All the food in America seems to come premade in a box, not the thirty-kilo gunnysacks of beans and rice I’m used to.
On my way to the cashier, I see something that fills me with awe. Chocolate cake in a box! For sure it has white sugar, but I’m dying to know how it’s possible to make cake just by adding water. What about the eggs, milk, butter? Will it be fluffy like the picture or flat and heavy like our whole-wheat-flour cakes? Back at the Farm, our cakes were made from scratch and cooked in the microwave or the Crockpot, because we didn’t have an oven.
It’s after dark when we finally pull into the campground. Mom jumps out to hook up the sewage, water, and electric. I start preparing the mac and cheese.
The camper shakes as Mom climbs back in, wiping her hands. “Well, I never would have believed it if you told me a few months ago. I never even drove in Asia. Here I am not only driving but fixing spark plugs and plumbing.” We can’t afford to go to a mechanic for these small fixes, so she is learning from guys at gas stations who are willing to help with her repairs.
I smile at her pride.
After we eat, I put Jondy and Nina into their pajamas. They won’t stop crying. Mom picks up Jondy to comfort him, and tears start streaming down her face, her earlier confidence dissolving. “I don’t know how we are going to keep doing this.”
“It’s going to be okay, Mom,” I reply. “God will provide for us. He always does.”
“Oh, Faithy. The camper needs a new alternator. The roof is leaking. I’ve tried caulking it, but the rain just keeps coming through. It’ll rot the roof and destroy the camper. I don’t have the money to get it fixed properly. We can’t go back to the Atlanta Home. I can’t keep dragging you kids across the country looking for a Home that will take us in, and no one from the Family has responded to my requests.”
“God will take care of us,” I insist. “Let’s pray.”
She smiles sadly. “I don’t know what I’d do without your faith. Nothing gets you down.”
I give her a hug. Yes, I think, and I can’t ever let it get me down or who will keep us up? My stomach is in knots at the injustice of it all. How could we get kicked out of the Family? I blame the Family, yes, but I also blame Mom. She wasn’t strong enough to do whatever needed to be done, and now we’re in this mess. But I squash those disloyal thoughts and look for something to help. She is doing the best she can.
“Let’s read All Things Bright and Beautiful,” I say, pulling the worn paperback from the shelf and handing it to Mom.