Money and Jesus: Part 1

"I hate money," proclaims Jo March, heroine of Little Women (and of bookish young girls everywhere).

Her sister is sick, her father is away fighting the Civil War, and her mother needs an expensive train ticket to fetch the doctor. Admirable, spontaneous Jo does what many a Civil War-era heroine did when faced with an expense too great to pay out of pocket: she sells her hair.

This leads to the best line in the whole movie (Little sister Amy, upon seeing the shorn Jo: "But Jo, your one beauty!"), but it is Jo's first proclamation that makes my point today. Oh, money. How difficult you are.

My husband and I have been graduate students, on and off, for the past five years. One of my favorite Wheaton professors was fond of saying, "The nice thing about staying in graduate school is that you get really good at being poor."

This is true. We're almost rocket-scientists when it comes to finding deals (there's a $4 movie theater on the other side of town!) or saving money (cooking without meat 4-5 days a week can save a bundle). We get tips from other grad-school friends and family who are also quite adept (and often even MORE adept) at making ends meet when those ends are quite short to begin with.

We certainly haven't suffered during our graduate school years - family and friends been exceedingly (almost ridiculously) generous and we've budgeted carefully and thoughtfully. We also aren't grumpy about our state of affairs. We love learning and ideas, and this is the path we've chosen for a reason. Investment banking just doesn't have the same siren call, to us!

Still, having less money usually means being inconvenienced. We won't starve, certainly. But we'll wait at the airport three hours for a ride instead of paying for a cab ($60!!!). We'll wait until Monday to go to the Urgent Care clinic with a bad sore throat instead of going to the Emergency Department on a Saturday ($$$$$!!!). We take walks together for dates and get our books from the library. A real splurge is a night at Maggiano's or Outback. Concerts are largely a thing of the past. We stay with friends whenever we can while traveling (which has the added bonus of fun visits on top of staying in our budget).

Our premarital counselors told us that God usually gives every couple one person who is the "gas pedal" and one who is the "brake" when it comes to spending money. This can (obviously) cause some conflict.

I'll admit that I am the gas pedal in our relationship. Yet, my ability to spend money really quickly is not always because I'm generous. Usually it's because I don't handle much of the budgeting, so I don't know what we'll be sacrificing if I splurge on an item. I don't usually want to spend tons of money on myself (though cute clothes can be tempting, to say the least...), but I do want to give it away. I want to buy the BEST wedding gift. I want to put a thousand dollars in the offering plate. I want to buy out Baby Gap for my cute little nieces. When friends come for dinner I want to cook steak, darn it, and not the cheap kind.

Daryl (luckily) is a bit wiser. He is our brake pedal. He's the one who asks if we really need something, or if we just want it. He helps weigh price and convenience against budget and savings. Though sometimes (as he'll readily admit), he can brake too much. We're learning to balance. We're learning to give. We're learning to save. We're learning to be wise.

I've been challenged in my thinking about money this summer. For one thing, I'm staying with my parents up in Wisconsin (read: no rent payments for a few months and lots and lots of meals for which we don't pay). It's an incredible gift. It's amazing. It's restful. And it's given me some space to relax and think about money in a way other than, "Oh goodness, we MUST STICK TO THE BUDGET OR WE WILL HAVE NO SHOES AND NO FOOD!!!"

I don't want my relationship with money to be one of fear. I don't want to hate it, like Jo. I also don't want to love it, as that can obviously lead to all sorts of problems. What I really want is to treat it as another aspect of living life under the power and grace of Jesus. The Lord of the universe is Lord over my wallet, my bank account, and my desire for a new pair of shoes, too.

Some good friends of our family teach at churches and conferences about stewardship. Recently they've started keeping a log of all the ways God has blessed them financially through family, friends, gifts, and surprises. This is admirable, and it's something Daryl and I have started to do. It's so easy in the middle of a financial drain (a crazy vet bill, a dental crown, graduate school) to feel suffocated. How will we make it through this? Now we have something tangible to look at, to see where God has cared for us in the past, and will certainly care for us in the future.

But here's the crazy thing about these friends: Not only do they keep a record of these bountiful gifts; they tithe off of them.

That means if their church sends them on a camping trip that would have costed, oh, $400 for their family of five, they put $40 in the offering plate. If someone were to donate a car worth $5,000, then $500 would go in. This is so incredibly brave and full of faith that it almost scares me to think about, especially coming from a graduate school budget.

I don't think that this is the solution for everyone when learning to be a good steward of what God has given, but it does give me pause.

For this family, tithing is worship. For Daryl and I it is often either blind giving (Daryl does most of our budgeting, so when I'm tempted to be crazily-generous in the offering plate, it's often because I don't count the cost, which isn't really generosity as much as it is randomness) or fearful giving. I want our tithing to be an act of worship. I want to give to God because of what God has bountifully given to us, even if our piggy banks feel light.

*Image borrowed from: http://ingridgraceandaudrey.blogspot.com/2008/09/re-let-it-be-love3.html

Ten on Tuesday (Take Nine)

It's been awhile since I've ventured into one of these, but hey, a girl's got to get back on the horse again sometime. So here we go... Summer-themed!

1. What's the best summer job you ever had?
My favorite was probably working as a high school staffer at a camp out in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I was out there for over a month helping to lead trips to Yellowstone with campers, cook and clean up in the kitchen, and clean the cabins. Between all of those things, I hiked dozens of trails in the Tetons, learned to rock climb, and developed a massive crush on a guy from their Bible College. I also discovered my love of blueberry-pineapple smoothies and cut all my hair off. It was a great summer.

2. What's the worst?
I don't think I've had a worst, necessarily, but it is tough to be stuck inside on a beautiful, sunny day. Those days are meant for being outside, at least for a lunch break!

3. What's your favorite summer activity?
I love summer walks. Walking down the road, walking to get dinner, walking around the zoo, walking through a flea market. I love not feeling freezing or rushing from one place to another because it's cold. Most of my summers have been spent in places far north of the Mason-Dixon line (Wisconsin, Chicago, New Jersey, Wyoming, Colorado), so summer is in the 70s and it's glorious. Though I haven't lived in the deep south yet, so maybe walking in the winter will be my favorite activity while I'm there...

4. What's one summer smell that brings back a summer memory?
The smell of cut grass reminds me of my dad mowing the lawn in the summer. No matter where I am across the country, that summer smell brings back a picture of my dad pushing our elderly lawnmower up the steep hill on the side of the house. It was dedication, that's for sure.

5. What's the best summer dinner of all time?
Anything on the grill. Chicken. Corn on the cob. Kabobs. Mixed veggies. Steak. Burgers. I would eat pretty much anything grilled. Pineapple. Asparagus. With watermelon on the side, of course.

I also love how gluten-free friendly summer is. It's pretty easy to make things gluten-free if you grill them. Peppers with olive oil? Great. Burgers with garlic and mozzarella? Perfect. Baked potatoes? Hard to mess those up!

6. What summer activity don't you like (and why)?
Tubing. I don't know why, but being pulled fast behind a boat makes me want to crawl under a seat with a towel over my head. It's scary. There are no lanes and tons of people drinking and driving boats (my family-of course-does not drink and drive boats, but thousands of tourists who visit the northwoods definitely, definitely do) in erratic fashions. I don't want to lose a leg to a boat motor. Nope. Don't want to do it. It's almost a phobia.

7. When does summer begin where you live?
In New Jersey? April. But they don't turn on the air conditioning until May, making for some very cranky Princeton students.

In Wisconsin? It depends on the year. Sometimes June. Sometimes July. Sometimes only for a day or two before fall begins.

In Tennessee? I'm not sure yet, but probably sooner rather than later... My real question will be when WINTER begins (if at all...).

8. When does it end?
In New Jersey? October.

In Wisconsin? August. Or September, if it's a lucky year.

In Tennessee? Hmm... November? December? Ever?

9. What was the craziest thing you ever did during a summer?
When I was in high school I went bridge jumping with a bunch of friends from the youth group. Not that smart, and not that safe, but loads of fun. Definitely in the years before whatever that brain piece that tells you "Stop! That isn't safe!" kicks in...

Another summer some friends and I traveled up the Black River, jumped off cliffs into the river, and swam in the rapids. Again, not safe, but loads of fun.

This past summer I worked as a chaplain in an ICU unit. It was exhausting, exhilarating, enlightening, and occasionally even entertaining. I mostly loved it and sometimes hated it, but I always loved what I learned and how different things were each day. As for crazy, when any machine in the ICU starts beeping, things get really crazy really quickly...

10. What's one thing you don't like about summer?
Some days I don't like the pressure to be outside. Some days I want to curl up with a book and not feel guilty for not making the most of the sunshine. But only some days.

Fluffy

During my time (9+ years!) away from the northwoods of Wisconsin, I'd forgotten how much it is Animal Planet-esque up here. There are raccoons and foxes, fish and ducks, salamanders, toads, and even the occasional black bear. It's entertaining and exciting, to say the least. Sometimes it's even a little bit crazy.

Case in point: Two weeks ago there was a nest of tiny baby sparrows in a hanging plant on my parents' front porch. We peeked in on them almost every day and watched them go from tiny, featherless pink babies to slightly larger, featherless pink babies. Their mom fed them and watched over them, and we felt privileged to have a peek into their cute little world.

Then my parents' cat, Roxy, a former stray who my father refers to as a "cold-blooded killer" (you see where this is going?) found the nest and ate the babies. Lovely.

Deer wander through our front yard every day. Yesterday they went all the way up to the front porch and ate all of the flowers out of my mom's flower pots.

Twice last week raccoons were in the compost bin.

See what I mean?

Meet Fluffy:

While my sisters, mom, and niece were on the front porch a few days ago, they saw a bluejay get in a fight with some nuthatches and then steal a nuthatch baby and bite its head off. It was pretty traumatizing. Honestly, whoever thinks that nature is just cute and cuddly is out of his or her mind...

After the bluejay cannibalism, there was one little fledgling nuthatch left on the ground, shaken and scared. What to do? We waited a bit for the parents, but they didn't come back.

He was so pitiful and cute and helpless, so we tried to put him back in his tree. He jumped out. We put him back. He jumped out again. Not wanting him to hurt himself, we put him in a nest my brother-in-law found in the woods awhile ago, and put that nest in a box to keep him safe.

Seriously, how cute is he?

After doing some research, we learned that fledglings hang out on the ground as they learn to fly (hence, why putting him back in a tree resulted in him catapulting himself out of the tree...). Usually their parents stick around to care for them, but in this case we didn't see them.

We fed Fluffy some soggy cat food and hamburger, and watched him for a few hours. My mom figured out that if we tapped on the front of the nest, he would open his mouth and search for food. If we didn't tap on it, he would clamp his little beak shut and we couldn't get any food in at all. There was much tapping. I squashed over a dozen ants, which he loved.

My two-year old niece, Aleah, fell in love with him.

"Fuffy birdie! Fuffy birdy! Poor birdy." She has trouble with her l's.

Since Roxy is a proven cold-blooded killer, we fed Fluffy some bedtime hamburger and put him in his nest in a box in the closet for the night.

It might sound silly, but I found myself praying for this little tiny bird that night. That he'd be okay. That we'd find his parents. After all the animal drama we've had this summer, it's incredible to me that God cares for every sparrow and knows what is happening to each tiny bird. In our front yard alone there must be three dozen birds with nests and eggs and little bird lives. God knows every one. And God knows Fluffy.

I need to remember this when I'm in the midst of a crisis (read: job search). It's so easy to be anxious about things in life, particularly in such a transitory phase as that which my husband and I find ourselves in these days. Where will we we end up? Will my calling to the church result in an official position, and if so, when? Will there be a teaching job for Daryl, a pastoring job, or both? Or (gulp) neither?

Then I remember: how much more will God care for me than for a tiny bird?

I woke up at dawn, fed Fluffy breakfast, and then put him back under the tree where his parents had last taken care of him.

Then I waited. It was a misty, foggy, chilly morning. I didn't want him to be cold or to starve, but I also knew that we couldn't feed a bird twenty times a day for long, especially with Roxy in the house. His parents had to come through.

I waited some more.

Then, praise be, the mommy bird came back. Then, the daddy bird came back. They preened Fluffy's feathers. He chirped with happiness. They fed him a caterpillar. He spread his tiny fledgling feathers with joy.

My family made one more trip out to say goodbye.

"Bye, fuffy birdie!" said Aleah.

Who knew a nature channel story could end so well?

Bring your Asbestos Suit

You forget, when you live in a big city (or even a big-ish town like Princeton, NJ) that small-towns don't follow the same rules as cities. Take safety, for example.

On July 3 we trekked up to Land O' Lakes to see the annual fireworks. These are a northwoods institution. People come from hundreds of miles around to watch the biggest fireworks show in the north every year. Walking around the parking lot, Daryl and I counted license plates from as far away as Texas and Arizona, not to mention many from Michigan, Minnesota, Illinois, and Iowa.

This is a show.

And I'm not just talking about the fireworks.

Between the school bus full of exceedingly drunk people (hey, at least they aren't driving! wait... aren't those my parents' tax dollars at work?) that arrives by bouncing across the airport runways (did I mention that this takes place at the airport and that we all get to DRIVE on the runways?) to the tailgating to the gangsta rock playing out of several sketchy pickup trucks, this was an experience to be remembered.

We gathered with some great family friends to eat and laugh as dusk fell. Then, the show began.

Several people had commented that it was really windy. As in: REALLY. WINDY.

Someone else commented offhandedly that the wind was blowing toward us from where the fireworks would be set off. Hmmm. Interesting.

As the first firework set off in the sky, I was laying on a picnic blanket with my husband, my youngest sister, and my good friend Tonia.

"Ooooh!" we said.

"Aaaah!" we said.

"OUCH!" we said.

"OH MY GOSH, IT'S RAINING FIRE!" we said.

And then we sprinted to the car and watched the show from the trunk while my dad screamed, "Incoming!"

People sat out on their picnic blankets watching the rain of fire and swatting lazily at pieces of flaming cardboard as it rained down in sheets. It burned holes in our camping chairs. It burned people's blankets. It went on and on and on and no one else was even fazed by the fire from the sky. People put their children up on their shoulders to see better.

In the end the fire department only had to put out one medium-sized fire near the woods. Everyone else survived with just minor shrapnel damage...

"This," said Daryl, "is why I live in the city. We have rules."

It was a pretty awesome show, though. I'm not gonna lie...

Happy July, everyone!