I Was Today Years Old When I Learned My Wallet Is a Revival Tool

There I was, standing in the middle of the supermarket, debating whether to buy the good cheese or the one that tastes like rubber. And it hit me: not the cheese, thankfully; but the revelation.

Maybe my fridge says more about my faith than I thought.

You see, I’ve always treated money like that friend you want to keep around but are too polite to ask to contribute to the group bill. I loved God. I tithed. I occasionally gave someone a ride. But I hadn’t realized that God wasn’t just peeking at my worship playlist; He was reading my M-Pesa statements too.

Turns out, love isn’t love until it swipes: or clicks; or pays for someone’s data bundle. All those scriptures about generosity, stewardship, and wise financial decisions weren’t metaphorical riddles; they were Kingdom strategy guides. From Luke 16:11’s mic drop (“If you can’t handle shillings, forget about spiritual treasures”) to Moses Mukisa’s friendly uppercut (“Being broke is not holiness”), I was starting to see a pattern: revival might just look like topped-up electricity tokens.

And let’s be honest: for many of us, the issue isn’t our hearts; it’s our spreadsheets. We care. Deeply. But caring doesn’t cook dinner. And compassion that stays in the group chat is still neglect.

That’s where The Blessed Life came in swinging with its golden punchline: if God can get money through you; He’ll get money to you. I had spent years asking God for more; while hoarding what I had like it was end-of-days and I was the last granola bar on Earth. But here’s the plot twist no one warned me about: stewardship isn’t just about giving; it’s about managing. Time. Talent. Thoughts. The whole trilogy.

Moses Mukisa laid it out plainly: you’re not broke because you’re cursed; you’re broke because your systems are broken. Ouch. I’d been praying for open doors while leaving all my windows unlocked to time thieves. Endless scrolling. Unplanned errands. Unbilled skills. And don’t even get me started on procrastination; a personal favorite that somehow manages to be both exhausting and unproductive. Then I met income mapping. If that sounds like a safari, that’s because it is: through the wild savannah of your bank account. Divide your yearly income into monthly, daily, even per-minute value. Suddenly, every Netflix episode feels like a heist.

“Wait: I just spent 480 bob watching someone else live their dreams?”

That’s when it clicked: time is currency. And I’d been making expensive donations to YouTube every night.

Financial Stewardship by Andrew Wommack backed this up by reminding me that money doesn’t change who you are; it exposes who you already were. You give more when you have more? Nope. You give who you are, whether you have a little or a lot. So if I couldn’t give when I had 100 shillings; I probably wouldn’t give when I had a million. Generosity, it turns out, is a muscle. You don’t wait to feel strong; you train. And that training started with tracking. Savings wasn’t just a smart move; it was a spiritual one. Moses called it the Joseph principle: save 20 percent; give 10 percent; and live on the rest. If you spend everything you earn, you’re not the owner; you’re the courier.

I laughed. Then I cried. Then I opened a savings account.

Slowly, discipline began to replace desperation. I started thinking beyond the now: not just surviving the month; but preparing for the mission. But even this wasn’t enough. I still had ideas: big, juicy, God-sized ones; trapped in my brain’s draft folder. The book I hadn’t written. The business I hadn’t launched. The mentor sessions I hadn’t offered. Fear was pretending to be wisdom.

“Now’s not the time,” I’d say. “I’m just waiting on God.” But what if God was waiting on Google Docs?

Mukisa’s model made it clear: incubation; production; multiplication; dominion. Your idea is the seed. You act on it: that’s production. You build systems: that’s multiplication. You influence culture: that’s dominion. Coca-Cola has gone farther than the gospel in some places; not because it was anointed; but because it had systems. What stunned me most was this: discipline was the bridge between my calling and its fulfillment. Not fasting until I fainted. Not praying until I heard thunder. Just doing the thing.

Every day. Even when it’s boring. Even when no one claps. That’s Kingdom excellence.

Eventually, I stopped tying my vision to my budget. God never asked me to fund the vision; just to steward it. To act. To plan. To multiply what I had.

Like the parable of the talents, where the lazy servant wasn’t punished for failing; but for burying what he was given. That one hit hard. I realized I had more buried than I cared to admit: songs; strategies; spreadsheets — all sitting under my excuses. So I began to unearth them. Slowly. Clumsily. And sometimes with a lot of coffee. I listed my skills. I turned my natural strengths into value. That thing people always asked me to help with? I named it. Packaged it. Priced it.

Stewardship, after all, isn’t spiritual until it’s practical. And here’s the twist: as I started honouring what God had already given me — my minutes; my gifts; my money — I began to see doors open. Not magically. Not instantly. But consistently. Faithfulness, it turns out, is magnetic.

In fact, this whole journey stirred something deeper in me: a book. Yes, a real one, not just a cute Canva quote or a dusty Google Doc. I’m almost ready to release it into the wild; complete with its own website, bells, whistles, and probably a video of me trying not to cry during the launch. Best believe, once it’s out, you’ll hear about it. Loudly. Repeatedly. Lovingly. (You’ve been warned.)

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If you’re still with me: congratulations. You’ve just survived a crash course in Kingdom economics disguised as a blog post. And if you remember nothing else, remember this:

Revival isn’t in the sky; it’s in your schedule and your spending.

Stewardship is the spiritual discipline nobody puts on Instagram; but it’s the one God checks daily. You don’t need more money, more time, or more miracles; you need more management.

The sacred is waiting in the systems. The miraculous is hiding in your Monday. The “one day” dream starts with today’s decision.

So take a deep breath. Open that budget. Dust off that idea. And for the love of all things holy: don’t wait for perfect. Start with faithful.

Because the world doesn’t need louder leaders; it needs better stewards.