This fall I raffled a quilt for charity: water. There was a corporation that offered matching funds for every donation, thereby doubling the amount we collected. It felt great to see the numbers climb to 3,400, which resulted in water for 100 people. While I was peripherally aware of the match, I tended to hop over it when I thought about what was raised. 

"How much have you made?" a friend inquired mid campaign. 

"Three grand!" I crowed. Technically, the number was half that. Details. 

Then one of my kids wanted money for a trip. While it would be possible for John and I to loan the money, I wanted to see evidence of engagement. 

"Work for it, and we will double your efforts," I thought. Suddenly the match made sense. Handing over cash to someone who only has one foot in the project seemed imprudent. I wanted to see sweat, not moderation. 

A few months ago I was in two relationships that felt flat. I sent up mediocre requests that God revamp them, like helium balloons after a party. Then I chose to put effort into them. It felt risky, but I jumped. With both feet.

In each case the return was better than I deserved. Much better. It was as if Someone was poised with matching funds, waiting for me to want it badly enough.