it's not okay.

Sneakers, bare legs, shorts, a boy, only a boy... blood.  Lying in the road.  My road.  My street.  Half a block from my house.  I didn't see him above the waist until they put him in the ambulance.  Pronounced dead on arrival to the hospital.  Fatal stabbing.  In the back.  Blood everywhere.

I left around 4:55pm, to take my sister to the airport, and arrived home about 5:13pm, and there he was, lying in the street.  I had to swerve the car to miss his legs.  I walked down the street to see what was wrong, through a trail of blood - his blood - that lead up the street toward our house.  The police and ambulance arrived shortly thereafter and the whole street was slathered with police, police tape, and homicide detectives.  "Don't step in the blood."

The girl who said she found him, whose mother called the police, was playing tag with her little brother, maybe 2 or 3, when she saw him.  She couldn't have been more than 10.

His name was Irvin - his last name means, "of peace."  He was 15 years old.  They don't know what happened, or who, or why.  I recognize him from the neighborhood, even though I did not know him personally.  I wonder if I would recognize his mother.  I grieve as a mother, knowing only a small piece of what I can only presume is her grief.  He was only 15.

"They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace."*

I don't know how to process this.  I don't know where to begin.  I feel numb.  Compartmentalized so that I can continue to manage my household, my family.  Not unsafe. But changed. I walk the same street today as I did yesterday, tomorrow, and the day before, although I have yet to walk past that spot again.  I did not lose a person that I knew, and I am not fearful for my own or my family's safety, and so my grief does not have the usual outlets to express itself.  But I am grieving nonetheless.  I feel loss nonetheless.

Peace, peace, they say, but there is no peace.  The newspapers have moved on; the heralds of modern decree, our "prophets" of today have declared, "all is well once more."  The police tape is gone.  But there's a 15 year old boy, named "of peace," who is no longer here.  A gap in a family, a community, a neighborhood.  I don't care what the reason was.  I don't care what he had done, who he had pissed off, who had a grudge against him.  I don't care if he was a saint or a sinner, whether he was in with the wrong crowd, or was a straight A student (or both), whether he was beloved by his friend (he was), or hated by all.

He was 15.  And it's never okay.

It's never okay.

*Jeremiah 6:14

floury chaos and temper tantrums and diffusing anger

Monday mornings, y'all.  They're totally a thing.

It had been an incredibly long morning already, and it was barely past 10 o'clock.  It was rainy, and we were stuck inside, which is always fun with two uber-active kiddos.  We were on temper tantrum number I don't even remember what, all forms of nourishment, grace, and love had been outright rejected with tears, angst and the incredible particularity for detail that few other than toddlers can muster, and time-outs had been had all around. We were on a hair's trigger for everything, and tempers made a millimeter look long.

In a last ditch attempt to salvage the morning, and live into the "fun mom" "making the most of the situation" image, I declared that we would be baking cookies.  Because, that totally makes sense.  Take chaos and add flour.  Totally wise.

Enter complete and total chaos.  One child stuck his entire hand into the butter and then smeared it across the table; the other attempted to rip the flour container out of my hands in order to "I do it myself."  In the midst of gracefully Julia Childs-ing the ingredients into the bowl, I was performing circus aerobatics trying to keep the eggs from being thrown through the air and the sugar from being eaten by the handful.  "No, S" "No, E" "NOOO, not that" were my loving, nurturing, desperate, increasingly frustrated chorus, with a full ensemble backing me up with non-melodious howls.  Tantrums and grabby hands multiplied ten-fold.

And then a child grabbed the flour container again, and prepared to hurl it across the floor, and then chastised me, "Mommy, you are making a BIG mess" as I sloshed oats out of the bowl, trying to manically extend my reach to save the inevitable floury catastrophe.  The other child was screaming, angrily attached to my leg, because I had put him down for 0.3 seconds to handle the first.

And I lost it.  As I grabbed the floury child, I was so angry, it terrified me.  I wanted to throw something: the flour, and the cookies, whatever.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to quit parenting, and be done.  And most of all, I just wanted just five minutes of quiet, away from screaming children.

I didn't do any of those things (nor have I, nor will I, God help me).  I put both children in time out in a safe space, left the room, called my husband, in my own tears, and told him I needed a grown-up to talk me down.  That I was scared by my own anger, and I was so frustrated that I needed help.  And he did.  Five minutes on the phone, kids still screaming in the background, getting my own tears and frustration out, I was able to calm down enough that I could rationally, responsibly, and calmly deal with my children.

Why am I sharing this?

I am not proud of this story.  I handled my anger when it arose, asked for help, and no children were harmed in the process, and that is worth holding on to.  All things that are a mark of maturity and wisdom and, dare I say, necessary components of good parenting.  But it was ugly anger, a loss of perspective, and a parent on the verge of temper tantruming herself.  And this is not the type of parent that I want to be (because I'm sure it's the type of parent that you want to be, right?).

I'm sharing this story because when this all was said and done, kids were a-snooze for a much needed nap, and I finally found my five minutes of quiet - I found myself wrecked with guilt and shame, as the voices in my head accused no holds barred: "You're the worst mom in history." "You have failed miserably at parenting." "Your kids will be scarred for life." "You suck.  What kind of mom gets that angry and loses her temper at her two year old and one year old?" "No other mom would do this." "You should let someone else raise your kids."

You must be the only one.

Anger is one of those aspects of parenting that we don't talk about much. I'm pretty sure I've read a total of two blog posts about it, and had a very small number of honest conversations about it. It's not sweet, ideal, or kosher, or pretty.  But it happens, nonetheless. And I'm fairly confident that it happens fairly often. Now, several days of perspective later, I am confident that I am not the only mom who has lost her temper with her kids, or been frightened by her own anger and frustration.  Am I wrong?  They are adorable little humans, precious, treasured, with worth beyond measure.  But they also know how to push every single little button that we have.  And make more chaos and mess than your average whirling dervish.   Some of you have been here as well, no?

But because we don't talk about anger - when it does rear its ugly head, it feels incredibly isolating, shameful, and scary.  And because of that, we struggle to ask for help.  To learn from those alongside us, and who have gone ahead of us. To gain the perspective that we need in order to press into those places, to defuse our shame, to ask for forgiveness from our kids, to gain tools in our tool-belts to handle our frustration better in the future so that we actually can be better parents.

Anger is normal - nearly everyone gets angry at some point in time - what we do or say in our anger, or with our anger, or to others in our anger is where problems ensue.  And when those problems aren't repented of, rectified, or help sought, well that's where the deep wounds are formed.  Please believe me when I say that I don't want to minimize those - I know intimately the depth to which unrepentant, repeated, and internalized angry words or actions can wound us for a lifetime, especially from someone in authority.  But I also firmly believe that many of those words can lose their power when true repentance happens, perspective is regained, parents grow, and anger is held accountable by truthful community.

Because here's the reality - anger and frustration bottled under shame and isolation is a tinderbox ready to explode and those explosions rarely avoid casualties.  Anger unacknowledged causes an immeasurable amount of harm.  But a parent who knows that they are not alone - who knows that without shame, they can acknowledge hard places, ask for help/wisdom/perspective - that parent can take a step back, gain perspective, and move forward in a healthy manner.

Talking about it - acknowledging it - takes the wind out of shame's sails.  And true community, the village that it takes to raise our kids, can speak truth, correction, healing and help over us, in ways that we can't to ourselves.

Even if that acknowledging it is actually confessing out-loud something that is hard, like anger and frustration.  And asking your friend to encourage you to ask for your children's forgiveness too.  

Even if that acknowledging it is a friend listening to you cry and saying, "Just breathe.  I've been there too and it sounds like today has been really hard.  Give yourself some grace.  You're doing a good job."

Even if that acknowledging it means a good friend saying, "that actually does sound like something you need to work on, so that it doesn't wound your children, and I'm here to walk with you in finding that help."**

So I'm sharing this story in the hope that it will be freeing to you, if you happen to be like me, and occasionally lose your temper with your children.  You are not alone.  Oh sister, brother, you are not alone.

It matters what we do with that anger.  It matters immensely, for the sake of our children, our souls, our families, and our selves.  But do not let shame intensify or isolate those emotions and actions.

You are not alone.

Say it out loud.  Be the safe place where others can say it out loud.  And let's walk out of shame, towards growth and healing together.

By acknowledging it together, sharing it out loud, walking alongside one another in truth without condemnation, repenting together, encouraging one another,  we can actually enable one another to be better parents.  To bless one another with freedom from guilt and shame, and the encouragement and tools that we need to grow.




** While most instances of parental anger and frustration are not matters that require intervention, or CPS/DCF aid, I am fully aware that there are places where a friend does need to, in truth and true friendship, enable a parent to seek professional help in order to protect their children and families.  My prayer is that as we talk more about anger, in both big and small instances, that the diffusion of anger will increase, and those instances will become fewer and farther between.

come alive: the you stuff

I was hanging out with a mom friend this morning and, amidst trying to get our (my) kids to play well with one another and attempting to speak over the dull roar of construction vehicles that our children were animatedly watching,  we were catching up on life.  Among other things, I was sharing with her about my new venture - starting an Etsy store - and her whole face lit up, she became animated, and her excitement was tangible.  What she said was really powerful to me, and that's what I want to share with you.  She said (paraphrased):

"I am so so excited for you!  You can tell you're excited.  Because, this... this is YOU stuff.  This is you living out of who you are, not just as a mommy, but in what gives you life and energy.  This is we moms need, and struggle to do.  I am so proud of you!  This is the good stuff!"

This post has nothing to do with my Etsy store, spoiler alert.  It's in the menu bar if you're interested.  It's not about promoting it, or part of my grand marketing strategy.  That's still piecemealed together on napkins that my toddler may or may not have attempted to eat.  Slobber is not underrated in this enterprise, apparently.

Rather, this post is about finding what gives you life and doing that.  Developing and fostering parts of you that your kids might appreciate, but that aren't solely for them.  Teaching them how to be men and women who follow their dreams, follow through on their goals, and pursue joy - by doing it.

Have I written this post before?  Yup, pretty sure I have.  Pretty sure it's been part of any post that I've written giving advice to my future self, to moms of littles, to future parents, and probably just about anyone else.

It's so easy to give yourself away daily - even while it is infinitely difficult - so much so that we lose all of who we are, and all our toddler can answer when asked "what does mommy enjoy?" is "dishes" "laundry" and "me."  All important things, and not to be minimized.  Hence, why I will continue washing dishes and folding laundry, ad infinitum.

I want my sons to know that I adore them.  That I would do anything for them.  That nothing can diminish, alter, or interfere with my love for them.  That I love their Daddy with an equally strong, fierce and passionate love.  This is first and foremost, if they learn nothing else from me.  That they three, husband, and sons, are my priority.

But I also want them to see me follow my dreams, to chase after my goals, and to live a full and joyful life.  I want them to see me have the courage to be all of who I am, so that maybe just maybe when I encourage them to be all of who they are, and to chase after their dreams and do the hard work of fulfilling their goals, that they will have examples of what that looks like.

I was reminded this morning, by my friend's kind words of affirmation - this sister has the gift of celebrating with others with her whole being - that it is not a small thing to pursue who we are and to strive to live into the whole of who we are.  That it's not just for us - although it is a good and beautiful thing for us as well.  That it matters for our kids.

That life perpetuates life.

And that pursuit of life is a good and holy thing.

Will you join me, friend?  Will you carve out seconds, minutes, hours - that are costly - to foster life?  Even if it's just five minutes a day, will you be intentional to make it happen?

Maybe it's writing - maybe it's reading - maybe you love gardening, cooking, playing games, creating things with your hands - maybe you love singing or making music - maybe your soul comes to life when you climb a mountain or swim with the fish or soar above the clouds.

Whatever it - however long you can whittle out - will you do it? Put your strategy down on those slobbery napkins.  Write it down.  Speak it out.  Make it happen.

Because here's the beautiful secret - life perpetuates life.  And when your soul is alive, it spreads.  It flows out, it radiates from your being, and it energizes those who come in contact with you.

Come alive.

cleaning curtains, hiding clutter, and called Beloved

We're having company over for dinner tonight - new friends that have a son about S's age.  My children are finally napping, I have a few minutes of down time, and you know what I'm doing?  Of course you do.  You've been there too.

I'm cleaning.  Preparing.  Striving.  Sweeping, cooking, hiding clutter.

I even washed the darned kitchen curtains, which have never before been washed. To my credit - or shame, you pick - they did have huge avocado stains on them from one youngest son who has decided to use them as his daily napkin, and did desperately need to be washed.  But still.

Now two hours into nap, our house looks like no toddlers live here.  Aside from the copious numbers of toys that are haphazardly hanging out of the toy box.  And you know, the two toddlers that my friend knows I have, and is bringing hers over to play with.

"Accept me.  Love me! Think that I have my act together!"

What am I doing?

Ironically, the last conversation I had with this friend?  Mom guilt.  Comparison.  Feeling like we need to measure up, and how we all feel like we don't.  How we all feel judged, even if we're not.

Obviously there's a balance - hospitality is a good thing.  Creating a (beautiful, clean, comfortable) space where others can relax and feel welcomed without stepping on week old pre-chewed cheerios, is totally valid.  Good, even.  But meticulously cleaning so that others will approve of me?

We all know the lesson - we preach it to others all the time.  No one worries about you or your kids as much as you do.  Just be yourself - that's who we love and want to hang out with.  We've all been there with the hot mess melting down toddler.  Our houses aren't clean either.  Please don't worry about it.  Honestly, it's not a big deal. 

But then, we go home, and we worry.  We clean.  We prepare.  We work hard to make sure that our kids aren't those kids. That our house isn't that house.  That we aren't that mom.  

Or we don't.  And then we apologize profusely.  "I'm so sorry my toddlers are being loud" (never met a toddler that wasn't). "I'm sorry that I didn't clean up" (Please.  Drs Hoover and Bissell could live here and the carpet wouldn't be cleaner).  "I feel like I should have at least put on makeup; I look like a hot mess!" (You're wearing deodorant and look like you showered in the last day - so ahead of me).

("I'm so sorry there's no dinner tonight; I was too busy blogging my feelings..." jk jk. kind of.)

Somehow we all know the lesson, but somewhere it gets lost in translation and not applied. 

At a root and core, I think we're all just scared that we'll mess up.  That we'll be judged.  Not loved.   Not appreciated.  Found wanting.  Not thought to be [you fill in the blank]. 

That's true for me with friends, with company, and in so many other areas, blogosphere among them.

Ever post that I push publish on - I get antsy and scared that it won't be read.  That no will care.  That I won't matter.  Because I do that, even though I know the falseness of it and the dangers therein, my identity becomes wrapped up in what I do, where I am, and how I'm received/perceived.  And I desperately want to be accepted, loved, and respected.

Even though this whole blog is about how I'm called Beloved.  Given an identity that is unshakable.  Named. Known.  Loved.  Not defined by our successes or failures.  Somehow I always keep circling back into that pernicious cycle of looking for external acceptance and worth and value.

I don't have the first clue how to handle the urgent sense that I need to clean up, prepare, and make myself and our house presentable.  I don't know whether I should leave the clutter or find a hospitable balance or hand our guests a vacuum cleaner, or keep maniacally cleaning.  I'm going to hazard a wild guess that balance is the way to go.

But what I do know is this:  we're all right, in that lesson that we all know.  We are so much more than our houses, our children, or our ability to (appear to) have our sh$& together. 

Our identity is not found nor secure in others' opinions of us.

I am (you are) called Beloved.  Known.  Loved.  Accepted.  Belonging.  Free.  Free.  Free.  And that is unconditional, not based on what we do, who we know, or how clean our curtains are.

But it doesn't do much good unless we actually live it.

I need to tape it to my doors, mirrors, and toilet handles.  To my broom, my makeup kit, my toddler's back, to my wallet.  I need it tattooed on my hand, and written on my pillow.  Whatever it takes to translate it from my minds to my hearts to my lives.  Because when we actually live that out, we are finally able to actually love and welcome and know and accept others, and finally become that safe space, that comfortable person, and that shelter in the storm of longing that we desire to be, every time we preach that same old lesson.  Because we've learned that lesson ourselves.

One day at a time.  I'll keep writing the same story, over, and over and over again.

Epilogue: Simplicity

Guys, I feel like simplicity (having less stuff, buying less stuff, hanging on to less stuff, and in general, valuing stuff less) is the next step for me, and for our family.  A friend mentioned it after I wrote the first blog post in this series on money, and my soul was like... YES.  Yes, please.  Yes, I think simplicity sounds incredibly freeing.  Even as I have boxes and boxes of "stuff" cluttering my house to be sold or given away or... [we're in full declutter mode over here at Casa del Douthit].  But this is going to be an incredibly short post, because the honest truth is that I have no idea how to do simplicity well.

One of the things that I've noticed, is that when we look to money for security, identity, status - and also feel like money is "never enough"- we somehow seem to accumulate stuff (LOTS AND LOTS OF STUFF) at the same time.  Not stuff that we "need" but stuff that we "might need" or "that has memories" or "is still in great condition" or that "we can't bear to get rid of."  There are (good?) reasons for this parallel of accumulations and feeling of financial lacking - if you don't have "enough" money, you can't easily replace things if you get rid of them now, so you hold on, hoard, store, accumulate for the hypothetical future need.   

But as with all things clinging to money, things, people - it rarely leads to the freedom that we hope that it will.  Rather, at least in our case, and I suspect potentially yours, it means that we are often overflowing with, and bogged down by, things that we might someday need, but don't actually need right now. And dread moving ever for exactly that reason.  Our space for life, and real living, is literally made smaller by all the "stuff" that we hold on to.  Anyone with me? Can you resonate?

Ask me about the full-size (awesome!) bed that we stored in our dining room for over a year, because I couldn't bear to get rid of it - and the huge freedom that came from actually selling it to someone who could use it.  I occasionally think about it.  But haven't missed it yet.

So simplicity.  Decluttering.  But with wisdom.  I don't know how to do this, friends, and so all I'm going to do is show you pictures of my hoarding clutter.  Because, I can. This is by no means comprehensive, just a lil sampling. You're welcome.  Someone please tell me that I'm not alone...

Toddler not included in clutter, but certainly contributes to it!

Closet door is not open all the way, because, well, it can't.  Or the chaos will overflow.
Suitcases, and beach chairs, galore.  Also, Christmas decorations and a pair of never used skis.

Also, this.  I think this is a great picture of living well, but with simplicity and not excess.  It feels non sequitur but I don't know where else to put it.

Right now, we're (1) decluttering - getting rid of excess - (2) trying to have a "spend free" month, where we don't buy anything that is not needed or in budget, (3) trying to stick very strictly to budget to reset our priorities this month, and (4) trying to invest more in experiences and activities together than things.  And I feel like we're still swimming in STUFF.  But maybe making small dents...

But I'd love to hear from you - how do you do this?
How do you keep from accumulating stuff, while not becoming miserly, and still being wise?
What have you learned about simplicity along the way?
How do you teach your kids this?

Someone please teach me - how do you think about simplicity wisely?

Money, Part III: Wisdom and Generosity

I have to tell you - writing a lot about money has made me think a lot about it, and even made me realize some of the new and different ways that my relationship with money leads to shame and pride.  And last night, even found myself overwhelmed with shame over money and some of the ways that I manage it, or failed to manage it well.

I am realizing (as I write these posts) that in the past few months, I have swung the opposite direction from my previous stingy-self, and have taken the new-found freedom of living out of a mentality of abundance, and given myself a bit more license than is healthy to spend on things that we may or may not need.  And there were ways that Jon and I needed to talk through that, recalibrate, and reassess how we (I, since I handle most of our day-to-day finances) handle money.  Always a fine line, friends, needing checks and balances.  And no one is perfect at it.  

Grace, grace, and more grace.  We're in this together.  I'm learning, as I go.  And grateful for the opportunity to learn and grow alongside you.  Thank you.

So final installment.  You can find the first two parts here and here if you missed them!

A few years ago, before I got married, but as I was beginning to realize the ways that money had a stranglehold over me, I made a unique commitment as part of my annual "rule of life."  I made a commitment, that no matter who it was, or what they asked for - that I would give to anyone who asked.  I would give from within my means, not above it - which is important - but I would intentionally practice generosity by taking the choice out of it.  My answer was yes, regardless, even if the amount was still in my control. Moreover, I would seek out opportunities to give generously, without being asked, both financially and otherwise.  Sometimes a Grinchy heart requires dramatic action to help it grow the desired amount.

I have not had this as part of my rule of life for several years now - but the lessons that I learned have stuck with me since then, and have been fundamental in helping me to understand joy and money well together.

- I learned that there is always something that I can give, no matter how tight money is.  It might not be glamorous - it might just be a dollar - it might be a meaningful smile or volunteering of my time - but there is always something.  And often times, there was more than I thought there would be.

- I learned that it's actually fun to surprise people, to give good gifts, or care for their tangible needs.  That whether they knew it was from me or not, whether they said thank you or not, I felt the value of that investment personally, simply because of the increase in joy and delight that I felt.  And I actually found this to be more true with anonymous generosity than with known, where unfortunately pride and "deservedness" often muddle the water.

- I also learned that generosity does not have to be a lot in order to be well-received or meaningful, to giver and receiver.  Sometimes the most meaningful generosity is a couple dollars without strings attached, free babysitting, a cup of hot coffee, or arms to hold a wiggly baby.

- And finally, I learned that giving from what I had - not what I didn't have - important! - did not make me feel want or lacking more.  Rather, it made me feel richer,  more aware of what I had.  And more delighted in its stewardship.  Joy increased.  Wealth seemed to grow as well, even though the spreadsheets indicated no change.  I felt abundance, even as I gave it away in very little pieces.  And my needs, and as our family grew, the needs of our family, were still able to be met.

Give it a try.  I think you might be surprised by how much richer and fuller life is, when you practice, live, and value generosity in tangible, daily ways.

So how do we do this - hold on to perspective, manage money with wisdom, and give generously?  Right?  That's what we all want to know. (me! me!)

Ultimately, I'm not going to give you financial advice - I'm far from qualified to do that, and there are a ton of excellent resources out there that can give you far more sound advice than I can (Dave Ramsey, et al).  Here's what I do want to tell you though - foundational principles that I think are helpful regardless of what your financial situation is:

1.  Cut the ties between identity and finances, however you have to do that.  You will get nowhere fruitful until you are able to honestly say, from a heart level, "I am not what I make." "Those who make more than me, are not more than me, those who make less than me (or nothing) are not less than me."  Friends, at a core level, I firmly believe this is an identity issue.  We have to begin there.

2. Know yourself and your natural tendencies - are you a hoarder, or a spender?  Are you naturally generous or naturally thrifty?  Do you wrestle more with pride or with shame, when it comes to money?  What might a good first step towards balance look like for you?  Who might be able to help you grow in that regard?  Reassess regularly.

3.  Ask for help in managing your money well.  Financial planning is important, whether we have much or little.  And when shame and pride are not in the mix, this is much easier to do.  And as a result, it is easier to be wise AND generous with our money.  Make a plan, and stick with it - thinking about both long term and short term goals.

4.  Give out of what you have - not what you don't - give regularly in some capacity, and give generously.  I'm not talking about a tithe or a monthly line-item, although both are good ways to instill in our minds that money is not simply to be possessed.  It's a good start - but for me, didn't necessarily correlate to a heart of generosity.  Look for opportunities to be generous - and rather than ask yourself, "Can I give?" ask "What can I wisely give?" *Wisely is key here, as some of us are tempted to give what is not healthy for our families, the recipient, or ourselves.  If the truthful, honest answer is "nothing," then the best thing that you can give in that moment is a truthful and a direct "No, I really can't at this point in time" - which shockingly is actually a gift in and of itself, releasing both the giver and the receiver.  But more often than not, there is something that we can wisely give, whether monetarily or otherwise.

5.  Look for, and focus on abundance, rather than lacking.  When we complain less about money, and sometimes even focus less on it, and notice the things that we do have, somehow our joy increases even if our finances don't.  Make a list if you need help seeing those things.  Ask a friend if you need outside perspective.  Cultivate thankfulness.  I love (the idea of) Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts - still haven't actually read it (I know!).  But it's a discipline of actually chronicling the gifts which we daily receive, in order to cultivate thankfulness. And emphasizes again, abundance is a perspective, not a destination.

6.  Give yourself grace.  Again and again and again.  And continually seek to invest in things that bring joy, not just (or as well as) enjoyment and security.


With love, and with you on this journey towards perspective, abundance and wise generosity,
KD

Money, Part II: Identity and Abundance

(you can catch part 1 here if you missed it)

In my family, growing up, we talked about money all the time, simply because it was often a determining factor in what we could and couldn't do.   I never knew real want - my parents did a good job taking care of us - but I never knew a time when we hadn't been "tight" either.  Over the years, if I wanted spending money, I babysat, worked odd jobs, or worked full-time.  My "allowance" until I was 15 was 10c a week per year old that I was - if my chores were done - and half of that was required to be saved, and a tenth given away.  Do the math, and I received a whopping 60c every week (acknowledged: I still received an allowance, which is more than many).

At the time that I entered college, I was, for all purposes except taxes, entirely financially independent.  I went to a really preppy and fairly (very) affluent university, on a half scholastic merit scholarship, and half need-based financial assistance.  My scholarship covered everything for school, and everything else came from what I earned in various jobs at the university.   UR was one of the first places that I found myself where I was considered "poorer" than others and where my comparative financial lacking was tangibly obvious (at least to me).  It became both a place of shame for me (as I saw my own lacking comparatively) and a place of pride (oh yeah, well I have things so much harder than everyone else, and still look at me...) and a definition of what I was striving for (money and financial security will allow me to live happily and comfortably).   I was certainly not alone in those thoughts.  And yet, in the context of UR, we did not talk about money - perhaps because one of the (false) underlying assumptions was that everyone had it, or perhaps because it was, as it still is, considered not kosher and too personal.

I learned, over the years, that there were far more students like me, who relied heavily on scholarship, than I had initially thought.  UR does a good job with financial assistance, even to this day.  And even beyond that, there were many for whom money was considered "tight." But I also learned that "money being tight" meant vastly different things to different people.  We had different cultural expectations, different safety nets, and different visions of what financial security would look like - one of many reasons that money is often difficult to talk about well.

In all honesty, however, I think that the real reason we didn't (often) talk about money was the underlying assumption that no one ever stated - and few would even agree was true if it was stated out-loud - that money - how much we had, or how rough we had it - played a huge role in our identities.  It influenced our plans, shaped our abilities, affected our "street cred," defined how free from our parents we were, and largely marked what we considered "success" upon graduation. And while it doesn't have to be comparative, it always felt that way.

Not much has changed over the years.

We still base a lot of our identities - and our judgments of others - on affluence, money, and status.

"Oh, he/she has finally made something of himself/herself..."
"Haven't really amounted to much, have they?"

Friends, this is a crippling definition of success.  And an awful measure of identity.

It does not yield happiness, security, or a deep sense of worth, value or identity.  Rather what I thought - that having money would finally set me free, and enable me to live joyfully - this tie between money and identity instead yields a pride and shame that stymie any real delight.  And that shame and pride - you know what I'm talking about - are toxic, hindering our ability actually steward our finances well; to talk candidly about money without becoming defensive (when is the last time you did that?); to seek wise counsel when we need it, or give counsel to others; and to receive money and give it well, with no strings attached.

I need to tell you, candidly, that I am no where near as good at saving money as I used to be.  I am still (relatively) good at spreading a dollar and managing money.  That I tend towards pride and miserliness more than shame and free-spending enjoyment, although I do go there too at times.  And that at times, I still feel deep comparative shame, based on money, when I look at all that my peers from college, or here in the city, have achieved and feel like I have achieved so little.  Or that at times, I privately harbor pride at my ability to manage money well and stay out of debt, and feel superior to others for whom the struggle is different.  I promised candor, so there you go.

But I am gradually learning that I am more than what I make or do not make.
That I am more than what my savings account or debt level reflects.
That I am not more or less than you, based on our abilities to handle finances.

And I have to tell you, that has been an incredibly freeing lesson to learn.

A year and a half after I graduated from college, I moved to Boston and lived with two wonderful and sweet roommates.  We were all just starting out, all single, and all making enough to be comfortable, but not enough to keep us from feeling the pull.  Halfway through the year, one had to unexpectedly move out, and we were joined by a new roommate - our age, Ivy League educated, making comparable salary to us - who had lived several years of her teenage life, along with her family, homeless.  Her experience with money gave me yet another perspective on what "money being tight" meant, what were basic securities that I just took for granted - food, shelter, extended family, among them.

The factors which shaped her attitudes and situational responses were significant and meaningful and I do not want to minimize the validity of her experience.  It is not one that I can fully comprehend, and I want to honor that by not going into too much detail.  But in living with her, and seeing the way that she handled money and resources - I began to see reflected, for the first time, the ways in which my own "tightfistedness" "financial wisdom" was actually stifling and killing joy.  I began to see the ways in which a money-defined identity - having it or not having it, handling it well, or handling it poorly - was unhealthy at best, and at worst, destructive to life and joy.

You and I, we are more than the money that we make or do not make.  Our ability to handle finances does not determine our worth as human beings.  Our savings accounts or debt levels do not validate or invalidate our intrinsic value.  We know this intellectually - but friends, we rarely live like it.  And until we learn this on a heart level, it is hard for us to engage with the topic of money in any real way without feeling defensive.  It matters, friends.  Our society does not do a good job modeling this.  We are far too comfortable correlating value and importance to financial net worth.

Moreover, I began to see that abundance is actually a perspective - and that we can live our entire lives perceiving only our lacking, all the while actually having abundance right in front of us.  Meanwhile, those with little can have an inexplicable, inexhaustible joy, because rather than seeing what they do not have, they see instead what they do possess, which is often both tangible and intangible. 

When I got married, my husband modeled this for me.  We could look at the same budget, same bank account, same expenses, and he would see "enough" and I would see "lack."  His perspective - with the same desire for wise financial management, future planning, and prudent spending and savings - was one of optimism and trust, rather than fear and doubt. And unlike me, he was far less stressed about money (until he had to try and figure out my spreadsheets... sorry honey).

As I have left the workforce to become a stay-at-home mom for this season, and my ability to contribute to our financial security went to very very little, these lessons have been anchors for me.  And also places of deep struggle, if I'm honest. Places of intense freedom, when I live them well.  We make less now than we ever have - we manage money (fairly) wisely - and yet I notice lack far less than I ever have before.  Instead, more often (not always),  I notice the gifts of abundance and choice that we have - to choose for me to be at home, the time with our boys rather than commuting, the gift of the few hours of work that I do have, the blessing of a decent hourly rate, the freedom to buy things that aren't absolute needs, the delight of being able to do things I love and bring in a little additional income... and I could go on.

So can I invite us to consider a few things, as I continue to blather on about money?  You said yes, ye olde silent blogosphere?  So delighted.  Here we go:

1.  Can we consider, regardless of dollar amount that we make, losing the association between income and personal worth, value, identity.  Cut the puppet strings between finance and identity.  Damned if I know how to tell you to do that quickly and easily, but absolutely certain that it matters. This will free us immensely to actually steward our money well under wise counsel, to talk candidly about it without becoming defensive, to seek wise counsel, to receive it well and to give it well.  You are more than what you make or don't make.  And until we can know that on a heart level, further conversation won't go very far.

2.  Can we consider, looking for our abundance, living in our abundance, more than living in our lacking, always seeing what we do not have?  Plain English, let's stop complaining about money.  And notice, on a daily basis, what we do have.  It will make us happier people, I guarantee.

3.  Can I suggest, that I think the simple answer to both of those propositions above, is to live a life of generosity (and simplicity?) with wisdom, regardless of income.  Let's hold on to that as we continue to chat.  Give generously, unexpectedly, and joyfully, from what you have, and you will always feel like you have more.

More on this in our final installment, Part III.  Stay tuned.