The Blank Form That Saved Us
How One Mistake Protected Us from Misaligned Provision
By Josh Singleton | Founder, The Neighborhood Garden Project
In 2023, we submitted what we thought was a strong USDA grant application. We had partnered with a grant writer who came highly recommended. He had years of experience, a history of successful applications, and direct ties to the USDA review process. Everything on paper looked right. But something felt off.
From the beginning, we noticed a shift. The application wasn’t being built from who we were. It was being shaped to fit what funders wanted. The language became more about deliverables than people. Identity was reduced to data points. It became clear that the Garden Project was being pulled into a system that didn’t match our purpose.
Still, we pushed forward with the application. We edited drafts, softened language, and made compromises—not because we were trying to manipulate, but because we didn’t want to miss an opportunity. We thought maybe God would still work through it. Then the call came.
One of our board members called to let me know the application had been disqualified. It was a grant worth $340,000, and he was understandably disappointed—surprised that something so significant had slipped through over a simple mistake. The weight of it was real. As the call came in, I stepped outside to find some quiet away from the kids. While I stood there, listening to the news, the wind suddenly picked up and thunder rolled across the sky. It all happened at once—the conversation, the weather, the clarity. In that exact moment, I knew in my spirit: this was not a failure. God was closing the door. And with it came a divine sense of peace. It felt like an affirmation—like God was saying, “It’s okay. I’m doing something. I’m redirecting you.” We later found out we were one of over 600 applicants dismissed—many for technical errors. The applications were never read. There was limited funding, too many applicants, and not enough to go around. It was a scramble for a slice of the pie, not a process rooted in relationship or discernment. The system revealed itself: quick decisions, shallow filters, and a lack of intentionality. Our specific reason for rejection? A blank form had been submitted by mistake. But standing there in that moment, I knew we had been spared. It kept us from stepping into something that would’ve slowly pulled us out of alignment. I look back with real gratitude. God knew we were willing to learn quickly. And in His mercy, He let a blank form teach us—rather than having us navigate $340,000 through a system that had no real relationship with us. I’m no longer tethered to that model. This project is rooted in something else entirely—a well that never runs dry.
That moment became a turning point. It helped us see clearly: we weren’t meant to shape our message around what systems want to hear. We’re here to stay true to what we’ve been given. That blank form became a symbol of that commitment—one we’ve carried ever since.
After that, we still walked through two more USDA grant opportunities. This time, we stayed completely grounded in our mission. We didn’t bend or conform. And still, both were shut down by a shift in the current administration. That was the final confirmation. We won’t chase after government funding. If government wants to support our work, it will have to be in alignment with who we are, not the other way around.
God has shown us that He will sometimes walk us right to the edge, where our plans end and His begin. That’s where we stood with the blank form. Right on the edge. And in that moment, we were reminded that provision doesn’t come through polished proposals. It comes through obedience and staying aligned with what God gave us in the first place.
Since then, we’ve made a decision that we still hold to today: we will not fund ourselves. We won’t stretch our language to meet the needs of a grant. We won’t shape our work to match external expectations. Not because we’re against grants, but because we know the cost. Some dollars look helpful on the surface, but they come with expectations that slowly shift your focus from presence to performance.
A lot of funders want anecdotal stories. And while those stories matter, we’ve seen that many are pulled together to make an impact on paper, not because someone lived the story or carried the weight of it. We don’t want to offer curated stories. We want to offer real ones—because we’ve walked with people and shared their burdens. That’s where true transformation comes from.
So we no longer apply to Pharaoh. We wait for favor. We’ve let the pressure fall on God. Isaiah 9:6 says, “The government will be on His shoulders.” That’s where it belongs. Not on us. Not on our team. Not on our plans. If God gave the vision, He will carry the weight. And if He chooses not to fund something, we won’t force it.
We’re not behind. We’re not anxious. We’re not waiting on money. We’re waiting on God to move in the way only He can. That blank form—and everything that followed—showed us something simple but essential: God knows how to protect what He builds. And He knows how to provide for it, too.
