Stewardship of the financial resources God has put into my hands involves making plans for both now and the future...

Mules and Cadillacs

by Bill Evans as told to Brenda Evans

A ravine divided east from west in the North Texas town, but it separated more than geography. The east side was a lower-class community; the west was middle-to-upper-class. The east was dotted with modest white, beige, or green homes, modular units, and house trailers set on rectangular tracts of dusty soil. The west sprawled around low hills patched here and there with ranch-style houses set on irrigated green lawns, concrete driveways lined with flowers or shrubs.

I had two visits to make in the town—one on either side of the ravine. I had no idea that I was about to learn three important lessons on that hot summer day in 1983. I was new, really new, to the business of fundraising for Christian ministries. I didn’t yet know that you don’t learn everything you really need to know from a telephone conversation.

I had decided, based on those phone calls, that the two visits would be duplicates—what fit one would fit the other, so to speak. After all, these were both widows in their 70s who wanted to support the Gospel ministry I worked for. They went to the same church and had the same vision for world evangelism. This would be simple, a one-size-fits-all kind of thing.

On the Eastside

Maud and her mule Bill were eastsiders. I visited them first. Maud had a horse trailer (or in this case a mule trailer) hitched to her short camper truck when I arrived because she and Bill were headed out for a three-day trail ride early the next morning. Maud was a tall, big-boned, rangy woman in her early 70s, single all her life and not looking for a husband. Though not pretty, she had a pleasant outdoorsy look and, above all, she was an avid trail rider. Next to the Lord, Bill the mule and trailriding were her highest pursuits, she affirmed.

“I tried horseback riding, but horses are too high-strung and nervous. When somebody said I should try a riding mule, I found Bill and that was that. He is graceful, obedient, and surefooted—nothing like a horse. Plus he is big, strong, and beautiful.” She grinned at me on the “beautiful” part.

“He is smart, too, much smarter than any horse I know, and most of all he’s smooth-gaited,” she added, just in case I was skeptical about her other accolades for all things mulish. I was convinced.

In addition to her devotion to Bill, Maud was a fixer, someone who could take care of herself and others. Attached to her house trailer was a metal-roofed carport for her camper truck and beyond that a small free-standing outbuilding with its doors wide open—a small, but magnificently organized workroom, the center of which was a tall, six by three-foot red Sears tool chest, every drawer and shelf lined with home repair tools and equipment.

“I can do about anything around here,” she said, pointing to her supply of tools and implements. “I know I’m not going to live forever, so I try to keep things in order, including my money. Come on in, and I’ll tell you what I think I want to do for the Lord’s work.”

We sipped iced tea at her kitchen table and went over her options for making final financial plans. She already gave a monthly donation to our organization, but she had to be frugal since her retirement income was small. At her death, however, she wanted all of her assets to go to our ministry. Before I left, she decided on a revocable trust that gave her immediate income plus unlimited access to her money. Then, at her death, any residue would go to the ministry.

Moving West

Across the ravine on the west side of town, the widow Ava, likewise in her 70s, was what I would call a lady. By that I mean dainty, refined, and a lover of beauty. Her home was not palatial, but quite lovely and comfortable with fine walnut and mahogany furniture and a Cadillac in the attached double garage. She had two married daughters.

Financially, Ava had abundance. Frugality was neither a necessity nor a practice. She and her husband had been ranchers in their early days, and after selling out before his death, they moved to the west side. Ava was gracious and decorous. Her home was her refuge, a place of balance, symmetry and beauty that was restorative and comforting. She commented on the pleasure she received from her collectibles like the Hummel figurines strategically arranged here and there, spotlighted to show their best features and beauty.

Ava was financially sophisticated, savvy, and articulate about what she wanted to accomplish with her financial resources. In the end, she established an irrevocable charitable remainder trust. The plan would be set in stone, so to speak, since it could not be revoked. It would also give her a steady income for life and, at her death, benefit the ministry with a substantial gift—a gift that was only a part of her estate because she wanted to leave some assets to her daughters.

I liked Ava and Maud. Both were good Christian women who loved the Lord and His work. They lived in the same North Texas town, went to the same church, shared the same concern about stewardship, and both had a vision for world evangelism and their roles in it.

But the similarities ended there. One was an outdoorsman who could also fix the plumbing; the other a gentlewoman who would call a plumber. One rode a mule, the other drove a Cadillac. They moved in different circles of friends, lifestyles, and each had a unique financial need as a result of God’s leading.

That day I learned three valuable lessons I’ve never forgotten. First, in giving and financial planning one size does not fit all. Second, whether I am an eastsider or a westsider is not as important as where my heart is, for where my heart is, my money will follow. Third, stewardship of the financial resources God has put into my hands involves making plans for both now and the future. I must purposefully plan ahead, as Maud and Ava did, to faithfully take care of both.                   

And that’s what a mule and a Cadillac taught me one hot summer day in North Texas.

About the Writers: Bill Evans, former director of the Free Will Baptist Foundation, lives in Cattletsburg, KY, with his wife Brenda, a retired English teacher. They are proud grandparents of seven.