Generosity rarely begins as instinct. Instead, it begins as a quiet, inward struggle, a gentle tension between holding on and learning to let go. Beneath the tension often lies a deeper poverty—not of resources, but of spirit—a heart that has learned to guard itself, unsure if there will be enough.

But God, in His tenderness, meets us there. Through moments that shape us, people who challenge us, and needs that awaken us, He slowly teaches us a different way to live. What follows is a story of that quiet transformation—a journey from clenched hands to open ones, discovering along the way that in trusting Him, there is always more than enough.
—Marcus Jacob, Development Director

Generosity has not always been in my genes. I saved everything, just in case. But the longer I lived, the more of poverty I observed. And it was not just poverty of funds, but of immaterial things like a poverty of spirit, poverty of thinking reflectively, and poverty of spirituality. From childhood, I was shaped to be a missionary. Many of my ancestors had gone overseas or established institutions that would influence people Godward. I, too, wanted to join my family in sharing Jesus.

Learning another language seemed like a good way to start, so I studied Spanish in academy and French in college. Then, I decided to study at our school in Collonges, France, where I met my husband, a European who had himself grown up in difficult circumstances and poverty. Yet he was rich in other ways: He had great mental capacity and a heart for the lost.

We applied to go as overseas missionaries at the same time as applying for the Master of Divinity program at Andrews University, then prayed that whoever answered first would be an indication of God’s will for us. And so began our journey in North American missions: to French-speaking Quebec after the M.Div., then to Alberta’s SDA college, back to Quebec for his PhD, and then back to Andrews University to serve. My husband traveled around the world, speaking and teaching, while I tended to my mission field, raising our two sons and working in the Seminary and at Adventist Frontier Missions. The lost were never far from my mind.

Today, they still weigh heavily there. Though I cannot go abroad to live now, I can do two powerful things. I can pray, and I can give. And after seeing the way much of the world lives, I now realize that I can be generous, praying often and fervently, giving regularly and more than I thought I could. My husband is gone. My sons are far away. But the God who has watched over me throughout my lifetime has provided all that I need and more. The more I share, the more I have to share. What a privilege and joy!
—Brenda Kiš, AFM donor

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