Make a Deal with the King of Kings

From the book — The Deal with God

Check your counterparty.

The worst deal of my life came with paperwork.

It was Antwerp. Belgium — the diamond capital of the world, where more rough stone passes through one square mile than anywhere on earth. I was young in the trade. Hungry. I had scraped together twenty thousand euros, and it was not only mine. Some of it was my sons’. It was every euro our family had.

The jeweler was smooth. Certificates on the desk, letterhead, seals. Natural diamonds, he told me. I did not just take his word — I asked him again. And again. Are these natural? Each time he looked me in the eye and swore they were. He handed me the papers to prove it. Natural. Certified. Signed.

I bought. All of it. Everything we had.

The stones were synthetic.

Lab-grown. Worth a fraction of what I paid. The certificates were paper. The seals meant nothing, because the man behind them meant nothing. When it came out, I did not curse. I cried. I had not just lost money — I had lost my sons’ money, and I had failed the people I was supposed to protect.

Here is what that day taught me, and it cost me twenty thousand euros to learn it:

A certificate is only worth the counterparty standing behind it.

I tell you this before we go one step further into God’s offer, because I am asking you to do with Him exactly what I failed to do in Antwerp. Check the counterparty.

The rest of the story — the drive back to Antwerp with my sons, and what happened in that showroom — is in Chapter One. The book is coming soon — get Chapter One before anyone else →

From Chapter Eleven — The Last Banknotes in My Pocket

Faith is the currency.

It was early in my walk, back when my tithe started at one dollar and grew month by month as I learned to trust the deal. One day I earned some real money — good money, for me, at that time. So I did what a responsible man does. I filled my tank. I paid my bills. I bought myself something. And there were still a few banknotes left over, folded in my pocket.

I went to church that day full of gratitude. God, how can I thank You? You let me earn, I paid for everything I needed, and I still have money in my pocket. Your deal really works.

And into the middle of my thank-you, I heard the voice.

What is left in your pocket is not yours. That is exactly My part.

Right then, as if God had timed it, they began passing the collection basket. I did not come from money. I came from the poorest family in my town. And here I was, being asked to drop the last cash I owned into a basket and walk out with empty hands again.

I reached into my pocket. I took out the whole wad. And I put all of it in.

Then I dropped to my knees and I wept, because this was not a light thing — it was the poorest boy in town giving away his last money on purpose. And the voice came back one more time: I saw what you just did. And because you gave it, I am going to bless you in a way you could not even dream.

Faith is the currency. Obedience is the signature.

Count that day again. I earned the money. Before I ever knelt at that basket, the ninety had already blessed me — a full tank, every bill paid, something for myself. God only ever asked for the ten still folded in my pocket, the part that was His the whole time. The tithe will always ask you for the exact part you are most afraid to let go of, because that fear is the test. If it were easy it would not be faith; it would just be spare change.

What came back — and how long it took — is in Chapter Eleven. The book is coming soon — get Chapter One before anyone else →