Generosity
Meet the Man Whose Generosity Changed My Future
“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans for good . . .”
Let’s be clear from the start: God is continually caring and active in the life of a not-yet-believer often years prior to her or his awakening — BEFORE they surrender and welcome a vital personal relationship with Jesus Christ.
His word says, “He wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth,” (I Timothy 2:4 NIV), which we know can feel like a slow, slow process.
Moreover, we know whenever God makes promises “. . . he always keeps his promises.” (Psalm 145:13 NLT).
Such was my own not-yet-believer status when I was a senior in college working 30 hours a week at Sentinel Soap Company in Minneapolis.
There I was, standing on a ladder stirring a large vat of liquid industrial soap with a motorized paddle when the company’s owner, Jim Gilbertson, walked up and asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in class, John?”
“Not today, Jim. I’m skipping.”
“But I thought you needed to register for your final 12 credits to graduate.”
“Not today. I’m not even sure I’m going to, actually.”
“Wait, hold it. You’re not sure?”
I shrugged.
“Well, I have to insist you go back to campus this minute and register for those credits.”
It was January 1968, during what should have been the final months of my final semester just shy of getting my bachelor’s degree.
Jim Gilbertson was a savvy entrepreneur yet always an ordinary guy, married, in his late 30s, and the new owner of Sentinel Soap Co. He was also a man of noble character and my all-time favorite boss.
I stepped off the ladder and declared, “It doesn’t matter, Jim. Getting a college degree is all crap. I’m done with ‘higher education.’ Working here is better.”
“Are you crazy? You have to get that degree. You’ve worked so hard for it. Listen, I will pay you to leave right now and get your butt to campus to register.”
Pay me? What an extraordinary offer. How could I refuse?
“In fact, I will give you a raise, John. How about another dollar an hour to five bucks an hour?” (In today’s dollars, $5 in 1968 is equivalent to $39/hour — for a part-time job).
I was speechless that Jim was offering such a whopping incentive, but I just wasn’t ready. Or willing. I held my ground. Despite good grades, I was determined to act on my feelings of frustration, futility, and self-will:
Frustration due to the accumulated months of commuting daily in my rattle-trap Volkswagen “bug” ten miles each way in traffic to and from the University of Minnesota campus, plus regular National Guard meetings, and managing rent for an off-campus apartment.
Futility because my paycheck seldom stretched far enough to cover car expenses/insurance/gas, plus meals and groceries, plus a few bucks of fun money left over for dates with my girlfriend, let alone any savings.
Self-will because I was tired of doing the predictable things parents and educators had expected from me since childhood (pursuing their goals, ones they thought I should still share) rather than claiming my own priorities and pursuing my own goals on my own schedule as I pleased.
My father had also died three years earlier. Months in the hospital, paying bills as his health declined, had left my Mom, two brothers, and me nearly insolvent — and forced us boys to fend on our own as adults.
Now, here stood Jim Gilbertson acting in my dad’s place, perhaps more like an uncle because of his 15 years’ seniority, yet definitely talking like a father who was extending fatherly advice and encouragement.
“Do we have a deal?” Jim asked. “Because that’s an order. Your raise starts now, John. So get going.”
The Lord must have been really focused at that moment on keeping his promise to activate his “plans for good” in my life because it took no more than a split second for my brain to comprehend the sensational return-on-investment of accepting Jim’s generosity.
My feet moved quickly and then faster — out the door, into my car, driving to campus, standing in line at the registrar’s window with my checkbook and catalog of classes, and paying $10 per credit to the clerk.
Four months later in May 1968, my mom watched the graduation ceremony from her seat in Northrup Auditorium while I walked across the festooned stage to applause wearing a maroon-and-gold robe and mortarboard toward the provost, who extended his hand.
We shared a handshake as I heard my name announced. Then he handed me the fancy folder containing my Bachelor’s degree.
Right then, I stole a glance toward the audience hoping to spot Jim Gilbertson, although I knew he was busy back in his office cheering for me.
Because of his above-and-beyond generosity — in collaboration, I believe, with God’s own generosity toward me as a not-yet-believer — I soon stepped into the future of what would become opportunities for professional employment with commensurate-level pay, perks, and benefits.
Nowadays, as a full-fledged Christian, whenever I look in the rearview mirror at those youthful years, I see the Lord’s purpose and dynamics clearly, dynamics he made happen on my behalf that I did not/could not see then.
My “come-to-Jesus” moment came 12 years later in the autumn of 1977 when my heart opened wide to His saving grace.
But that’s another story.
Stay tuned.
