Financial Reality

Financial Reality

I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. Philippians 1:6

I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard one of my kids say, “But I need a new pair of jeans!”

When my children lived at home, my modest income prevented me from providing the wardrobes I would have liked to provide for them. But rather than constantly say, “We can’t afford that,” I involved both teens in the bill-paying sessions. They would watch in amazement as the salary deposit decreased with each check I wrote for the town house, utilities, car maintenance, and other household expenses.

A friend used a dramatic visual aid. She cashed her paycheck into one-dollar bills, which she stacked in the middle of the table. She didn’t comment when her youngsters exclaimed, “Wow, we’re rich!” Instead, she opened the stack of bills and asked the children to take turns counting out the amount needed. Finally, they had nine dollars left but three unpaid bills on the table. “What shall we do now?” she asked. She had made her point and didn’t have to use the visual aid again.

When we struggled with a longing for things, I’d pull rank (mothers are allowed to do that) and plan a day trip to New York City.

We would catch the Saturday morning train out of the Chappaqua station and ride fifty-five minutes south. At Grand Central Station my son, Jay, and I marveled at the people representing all social levels, from Wall Street brokers to folks panhandling for change. But my daughter, Holly, felt as if I’d sentenced her to an unbearable day of dirt and noise.

One Saturday, a woman in a fur coat got on the train with us at Chappaqua and spent most of the trip chirping to her daughter about their anticipated shopping at several expensive shops.

As our train pulled into the 125th Street station—the stop just before Grand Central in the heart of one of New York City’s most tired areas—the woman looked out the window at the weathered apartment buildings and exclaimed, “Ugh! Why don’t they move out of here?”

Holly turned to me, stunned at the woman’s insensitivity.

I nodded my head ever so slightly in acknowledgment, but the woman had made my point about materialism far better than I could have. That was the last time Holly complained about the journey being distasteful. On future trips, my young teen displayed appreciation for one of the world’s grandest cities—and for our modest home. —SANDRA

Lord, when I’m tempted to complain about not having more, open my eyes. Show me, in a new way, all of my blessings.

The fellow who has no money is poor. The fellow who has nothing but money is poorer still. —BILLY SUNDAY (1862–1935), AMERICAN EVANGELIST