When the economy crashed in 2008 I had no idea that my husband and I would still be struggling financially nearly three years later. My husband is an entrepreneur/real estate developer, so we’ve been especially hard hit by the recession. While my husband tolerates financial risk and uncertainty quite well—he’s an entrepreneur, after all—I crave predictability, order, and the security of a steady income, and when we don’t have those things, well, let’s just say I end up with a lot less hair. After what seems like an endless couple of years of financial instability, like many of you I’m feeling careworn and weary (and I will tell you right now that I will never take a steady income for granted ever again). But more troubling to me lately is that I’ve developed an attitude of scarcity.
You know you have an attitude of scarcity when your preoccupation with what you lack—in my case, a steady income and being debt-free—prevents you from acknowledging and appreciating what you have, and when you hold on tightly to your possessions. It’s been a surprise for me to learn that you don’t have to be living below the poverty line to feel poor. I know people who, believe it or not, have their homes paid off and $10 million in the bank who still feel financially insecure, and I know others who have very little material wealth who live joyously and abundantly. And this attitude of scarcity doesn’t only apply to temporal wealth. We all know people who hoard compliments, attention, and love and refuse to share because they’re afraid there won’t be enough to go around. Whether we feel temporally or emotionally deprived, choosing to focus on abundance rather than scarcity often has more to do with our perception and attitude than our circumstances.
I realized several weeks ago that I have an attitude of scarcity when I heard myself saying for the umpteenth time, “We can’t afford it.” We’re not starving by any means, but from the way I sometimes talk you’d think we were on the verge of loading up all of our earthly goods in a pickup truck and heading out to California to pick grapes. Yes, it’s good to teach our children to be financially prudent and to conserve, but, just as I don’t want my children to grow up feeling entitled, I don’t want them to grow up focused on a sense of lack, either. I acknowledge it’s a fine line, one that often eludes me, but I suspect that hearing “We can’t afford it” over and over again doesn’t help us walk that line. Also worrisome is the fact that it’s been more difficult for me to share my goods with others even though sharing has traditionally been a source of joy and satisfaction to me. I admit it was much easier for me to give when I believed our cruse of oil would never run dry. But now that I feel strapped, I want to seal that cruse up tight.
But here’s the paradox: the more tightfisted I become, the scarcer my resources feel. Conversely, loosening my grip and opening my fist not only allows me to share, but also allows my hand and heart to be filled again as I trust in a munificent God and tap into the flow of abundance that emanates from Him. Somewhere in all of my worry over finances I forgot this.
So I’ve been making a conscious effort to live more generously, to share when I can and to be more free with my resources, my time, my attention, my love. And I’m learning once again that generosity, even when—especially when—it pinches me a little, is good for my soul. Because not only does being generous force me to look outward, to think of someone else besides my poor pitiful self, it also opens my eyes to the bounty surrounding me. Walking my dog on a lush spring morning, sunshine kissing the top of my head, I revel in gardens brimming with tulips, daffodils, and pansies, at white and pink-blossomed cherry trees, humming with bees. I gaze up at purple-leaved plums and knobby, green cottonwoods arched against a blue sky, listen to doves coo in the wetlands, and watch a family of quail dart across the lawn, which sends my dog into ecstatic barks. I discover a hidden meadow near the river, drenched in sunlight and dotted with purple wildflowers, so we amble through feathery-soft grasses and watch the swollen river rush downstream. On the way home I spy a tiny, blue speckled eggshell under a tree; I run my finger over its delicate smoothness before leaving it nestled in the grass.
Later, doing intiatories in the temple, surrounded by white and soothed by hushed whispers, I soak in stillness and peace. As I bow my head and oil trickles through my hair I feel rich blessings, God’s generous promises, wash over me. The boundless gift of grace He offers me, sufficient to bind up my wounds, heal my aching heart, and replenish my soul, is enough—enough and to spare.
Abundance.
How have you coped with financial struggles and what have you learned from them? Do you and your husband differ in the way you handle finances? How do you maintain a spirit of generosity and an attitude of abundance during times of scarcity? How can we teach our children to be generous and help them develop an attitude of abundance (as opposed to one of entitlement)?
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