Two days before Thanksgiving we lost our major source of income.
We are a family of entrepreneurs—farmers by day, writer by night, and my extremely smart husband is also an engineering consultant by other day (something he loves and does quite well.) And all of the sudden, through no fault of his own, a half fulfilled contract that represented the vast majority of our income was terminated out of the blue.
We were broke-as-a-joke in college of course, perfectly content to live on ramen noodles multiple nights a week while we scrimped and saved and worked low paying internships, and grossly underpaid nannying gigs in between semesters and graduation. When we got pregnant with Ellie during Willy’s final year, (I had just graduated), we knew down to the dollar exactly how much money I had to make during the pregnancy in order for us to make it to graduation and the contract Willy already had with a wonderful robotic automation company. When he graduated, we had about $100 left in our bank account when we moved across the country for our first job posting in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We made it.
All this to say, we’ve certainly experienced our share of financial stress before. But this is our first time since those broke-as-a-joke college days that our financial future has been a bit uncertain. Of course there will be other contracts. I’m working hard to pick up some more freelancing projects. We are working together to put the finishing touches on my poetry book that is set to release February 20th. You can learn more about that project here. And my wise husband has prepared over the years for such an event by wisely tucking away a little savings so we can get by until the tide changes.
But it’s still stressful. And I’ve been paying attention to the way this specific stress makes me feel. How it pulls my heart towards the black hole of fear that we will not have enough.
I’ve been questioning every investment I make. And not just financially, but with my time. Is this what I should be focusing on? What if there’s a better opportunity somewhere else? Is this how I should be spending this money? What if we need that money for our mortgage or groceries later?
On and on and on. And we are the lucky ones, because this is the first time we’ve really had to deal with this kind of financial stress at this scale—so many of you live there on a daily basis. I can only imagine the toll that must take.
Oddly enough I find myself thinking back to an amazing documentary I watched years ago. It's called Living on One Dollar, and the premise was these generally privileged college students living for two months in rural Guatemala at the level of financial insecurity that is experienced by millions of impoverished people around the world. It was eye opening for them of course. But the most moving moments of the film happen when this beautiful Guatemalan family take these young men under their wings, teaching them how to add lard to their refried beans to get more calories and showing them the cheapest cuts of meat at the market and how to prepare them. And most shockingly of all—they invited these young people to share a special meal one day. I forget if it was for a holiday, or some other reason, but this beautiful family, who was also struggling to make ends meet while living below the poverty line, had this incredible generosity of spirit to not only make this special meal, but to share it with these virtual strangers.
It’s been years and years since I saw the film, but I still remember the JOY they expressed at being able to share a delicious and special meal with these college students. I think it may have been the first time we saw them eat recognizable cuts of meat in the entire documentary. And as we have been experiencing our own season of less than secure finances, I’ve been realizing I have something more to learn from them. Sure, they could have spent this money more “wisely”, whatever that means. Perhaps they could have saved for something they needed, or squirreled the money away for a time when they were once again out of work—but instead, out of a generosity of spirit and a belief in God’s provision, they chose to spend a little extra on this special occasion—and they chose to bless others in the process.
Abundance, Scarcity, or Provision?
I’m not sure who first started talking about the “Scarcity” versus the “Abundance” mindsets in the mainstream in America, but they are all over our social media platforms and they flow into my conversations with fellow creatives on almost a daily basis. Some of the conversations have a more Christian bent to them. Some of them learn towards a more new-age understanding of manifesting and the Universe bringing good into your life. But as human beings, no matter your faith background, we all have a sense of an abundance we feel made for, when scarcity feels like the story our lives are so often telling.
But maybe “abundance” isn’t what we think it is. How much of our “abundance” mindset has been poisoned by a health, wealth, and prosperity gospel? How much of it has been influenced by the American Dream?
And perhaps the real question remains: how much is enough?
Now don’t get me wrong—I still believe that abundance is what we are made for. There is a feast being prepared for us at this very moment, that will be more extravagant than any of our wildest dreams could ever hope to manifest, and Jesus himself is setting the table. But I think that sometimes we forget that provision is in itself a type of abundance—one that grows and multiplies when we share it with others.
When we were broke as a joke in college and struggling to buy rings for our wedding, I remember my Grandaddy telling me about how when he and my Gamama were first married, they had an orange crate as their dining table in their 10 ft trailer because they couldn’t afford a real one. But they still tithed on Sundays. He told me that for them it became a sort of necessity: an imperative. Because if they held back from being generous towards others even in their relative poverty, he knew that the blessings would diminish instead of multiply. As he was speaking, I couldn’t tell if it was almost a shade of superstition that informed this decision to give while they themselves were struggling, or if it was rooted in a deeply unwavering trust that those who bless others will find themselves, inexplicably, with enough.
And there is that question again: how much is enough?
I think of the boy with the loaves and the fishes that multiplied in Jesus’ hands and fed a multitude. I think of the woman with her two small copper coins for the temple treasury—Jesus seeing her and saying that she had put in more than any of the others. I think of the Israelites being given what they needed to live on every day—literal bread from heaven, while they longed for the figs of Egypt.
It’s that last example that both disturbs and encourages me.
It disturbs me because the Israelites had literally just been miraculously rescued from centuries of slavery, and they found themselves longing to go back to the cage they knew because at least there they had fruit to eat. But it encourages me because it’s a good reminder of how scary it is to live in the path God calls us to sometimes, even when it’s a path of deliverance. Even when it’s a path to something wildly good.
Sure, in our high and mighty hindsight it’s obvious that the Israelites were being ungrateful and just needed a little more faith. But in the moment—perhaps that provision of manna didn’t feel like abundance. Perhaps you and I know a little bit about what that is like.
How much is enough? Where is the dividing line between Provision and Abundance?
Was it “just provision” when George Muller sat the orphan children down to eat, praying God would bless the food they didn’t have, his prayer being interrupted by the breakdown of the milk truck outside, and the unexpected delivery of bread from the neighborhood baker?
Was it “just provision”, when God gave the exact right about of money needed for my friend’s co-laborer in their non-profit to purchase the medical equipment they needed to sustain her life during a disastrous turn of Covid in a developing country where the healthcare system had collapsed to a point that it was only available to the highest bidder?
Was it “just provision”, when someone slipped an anonymous envelope of cash under our doormat during our pregnancy with Ellie (and Willy’s final year of school)? The impact of which helped us to actually end the school year with $100 in the bank, instead of the negative balance that perhaps would have been there otherwise?
Or perhaps all of these provisions were in fact, their own kind of abundance?
How much is enough?
I think about that a lot—and not just now that the financial tables have turned. But how much is enough energy? Enough sleep? Enough time to spend some of it pouring out for others, when my scarcity-fearing mind warns me that I ought to hoard it all for myself?
Do you have enough if you live in a 10 foot trailer and your dining table is an old orange crate you found on the side of the road?
I think the hard and easy answer is yes. It is enough. Provision doesn’t always look the same, but perhaps part of the difference in something being “just provision” or in feeling like the extravagance of “abundance” might be almost completely in the mindset of the receiver.
When we had just moved home to Colorado after our year in the midwest, we were hosting a gathering on the fourth of July weekend, and we were hoping to grill out.
Just one problem—we had no grill. And no money to purchase one. But the very next day we saw a great grill on the side of the road near our friend’s house. When my husband knocked on the door, the family said they were getting rid of it because there had been a small fire in it on which they’d had to use a fire extinguisher, and they didn’t really feel like cleaning it up, so they used the holiday as an excuse to get a new one and dragged this old one down to the side of the road to be collected with the trash.
“It should still work great! It just needs to be cleaned up!” My husband said excitedly as he hoped back in the car, his friend with a truck following us to our house with the trash-turned-treasure grill. They spent that afternoon hosing it down, and we had that thing for years afterwards. It worked great.
Now you could call that coincidence. Or you could call it provision. But the joy that overflowed from our hearts that weekend as we grilled out for friends new and old came from a deep sense of overflowing abundance. It was more than was needed. More than we deserved. That grill found at just the right moment on the side of the road was a gift to us from God and you couldn’t have told me otherwise—but only my mindset at that moment allowed me to see it that way.
So once again I ask myself: what is enough? What is MORE than enough?
What will have to change in my own mind and heart to see the provision of this moment—even with the holidays approaching and the Christmas budget slashed, for the abundance that it actually is?
Perhaps I will remember in this season, the joy of trash-turned-treasure. Perhaps I will see the discounted food items in the grocery store as extravagant grace the way I once did. Perhaps I will give away what I can with an even greater sense of purpose and joy—because none of this belongs to me. None of it is mine to hoard, nor do I need to do so. This is no land of scarcity.
The manna will come. And on it, I will feast.
Sweet Grace. I’m going to be sitting with this for a long time.
This is so good. Thank you!