I was near tears as I wrote the check for the exterminator. This was our third unexpected, substantial expense in as many months. The amount reflected four weeks of work for me. Hard, physical work. Work that I cannot depend on due to my self-employed status.
I lamented this loss the following morning while walking the dog through the conservation land. Exchanging a month’s salary for food or college tuition felt acceptable. Handing over that money to an exterminator to rid us of bed bugs which we picked up from a reputable hotel, felt profoundly unfair. I had already spent it ten times over: fixing the rotting trim on our forty year old house, updating my inadequate camera, replacing the cracked skylight, etc., etc.
I can often tell the state of my heart by how I walk our dog. I didn’t take him for a walk; I took him for a pull. I was impatient and unkind, allowing my sense of injustice to spill out.
James, the writer of the eponymous New Testament book, suggests that those who consider themselves Christians view “trouble as an opportunity for joy”… and deepening maturation. That was not working for me on this particular morning. I felt angry and frustrated. My husband and I are blue-collar folks. We understand the link between how we spend our days and our ability to pay our monthly bills. We have no expectations of a mythical sugar-daddy, sweeping in to eliminate any indiscretions or short-falls.
And we are certainly not alone in feeling confined by our financial straight-jacket. According to Reuters, 23.7 million Americans are either un- or under-employed. We all scramble to avoid ending each year in the red as costs spiral upwards well beyond our cost of living raises. One month of unexpected expenses can rock our sense of well-being.
But does it have to?
I have been pursuing Jesus long enough to understand that dark moods should neither be indulged nor disregarded. I struggled to expose the nub of my disquiet even as I continued to jerk my poor canine forward. There’s a give and take that is normally part of my prayer life. I sensed God giving by way of a question; “What if the exterminator needed that money more than you did? What if, by paying him, you were providing for his needs? And what if you could begin to see yourself as an intermediary, as one who disperses funds that are not yours to begin with?” The leash jerking abruptly stopped.
I have a deeply-held notion that I should have more say in how my hard-earned money gets spent. And it’s Grand Canyon deep. That was my nub. God was using our circumstances, mid-recession, to challenge my illusion of control. (As if by sheer willpower I could prolong the life of our refrigerator, transmission, or dental work!) He was simultaneously inviting me into a bigger, freer life.
Money has always moved with great fluidity in and out of our hands. Now, maybe that could happen with a bit more joy and a bit less anxiety. Perhaps I could experience writing checks to mechanics, oil companies, and yes, even exterminators, as a means of blessing them. Even before I committed to make this paradigm shift, my black mood broke.
It’s not that my husband and I are selfish folks. We have always given away a tenth of our income to the church and most years, we figure out how to direct additional funds to friends or organizations we believe in. And despite the reality that on paper, a significant gap exists between our proverbial ends, the five of us have never experienced true deprivation. We go to bed hungry only when we choose to do so. We have sufficient, though certainly not stylish, clothes and vehicles. I have traveled enough to understand, we have a rich life.
With that in mind, I’m leaning towards accepting God’s invitation to press in, once again, to my unhelpful belief regarding our finances. I want to tip that precarious balance between child-like trust and Gollum-like control in the direction of the former. And the next check I write, God help me, may I write it with a cheerful and generous heart.
I was near tears as I wrote the check for the exterminator. This was our third unexpected, substantial expense in as many months. The amount reflected four weeks of work for me. Hard, physical work. Work that I cannot count on due to my self-employed status.
I lamented the following morning while walking the dog through the conservation land. Exchanging a month’s salary for food or college tuition felt acceptable. Handing over that money to an exterminator to rid us of bed bugs which we picked up from a reputable hotel, felt profoundly unfair. I had already spent it ten times over: fixing the rotting trim on our forty year old house, updating my inadequate camera, replacing the cracked skylight, etc., etc.
I can often tell the state of my heart by how I walk our dog. I didn’t take him for a walk; I took him for a pull. I was impatient and unkind, allowing my sense of injustice at our most recent financial set-back to spill out.
James, the writer of the eponymous New Testament book, suggests that we view “trouble as an opportunity for joy.” That was not working for me on this particular morning. I felt angry and frustrated. My husband and I are blue-collar folks. We understand the link between how we spend our days and our ability to pay our monthly bills. We have no expectations of a mythical sugar-daddy, sweeping in to eliminate any indiscretions or short-falls.
And we are certainly not alone in feeling the confinement of our financial straightjacket. According to Reuters, 23.7 million Americans are either un or under-employed. We all scramble to figure out how to avoid ending each year in the red as costs spiral upwards well beyond our cost of living raises. One month of unexpected expenses can rock our sense of well-being.
But should it?
I have been pursuing Jesus long enough to understand that dark moods should neither be indulged nor disregarded. I struggled to expose the nub of my disquiet even as I continued to jerk my poor canine forward. There’s a give and take that is normally part of my prayer life. I sensed God giving by way of a question; “What if the exterminator needed that money more than you do? What if, by paying him, you were providing for his needs? And what if you could begin to see yourself as an intermediary, as one who dispersed funds that were not yours to begin with?” The lease jerking abruptly stopped.
That was my nub. The notion that I should have more say in how the money I earn gets spent runs deep. Grand Canyon deep. (As if I can control the longevity of our refrigerator, transmission, or aging dental work!) God was using our circumstances, mid recession, to challenge my illusion of control. He was simultaneously inviting me into a bigger, freer life.
Money has always moved with great fluidity in and out of our hands. Now, maybe that could happen with a bit more joy and a bit less anxiety. Perhaps I could experience writing checks to mechanics, oil companies, and yes, even exterminators, as a means of blessing others. Even before I committed to make this shift, my black mood broke.
It’s not that my husband and I are selfish folks. We have always given away a tenth of our income to the church and most years, figure out how to disperse additional funds to friends or organization we believe in. And despite the reality that on paper, a significant gap exists between our proverbial ends, the five of us have never experienced true deprivation. We go to bed hungry only when we choose to do so. We have sufficient, though certainly not stylish, clothes and vehicles. I have traveled enough to understand we have an abundant life.
With that in mind, I’m leaning towards accepting God’s invitation to press in, once again, to my unhelpful belief regarding our finances. I want to tip that precarious balance between child-like trust and Gollum-like control in the direction of the former. And the next check I write, God help me, may I write it with a cheerful and generous heart.