The Love of Money: finding security in identity

Frugal. Thrifty.

That's the nice way to say it.

But I've also been called stingy, a cheapsake, a scrooge.

I may have avoided buying groceries before winter break in college and spent two days eating brownie mix and milk.

I just might mend my husband's shorts over and over until I'm putting patches on top of patches.

I know how to stretch a penny, how to feed a bunch of people with one box of Hamburger Helper, how to comb through thrift store racks for specific items.

I'm kind of proud of it, actually.

And I don't think that there's anything inherently wrong about being cautious with our family's budget. Being intentional about how we spend our money has allowed us to go on vacations and make some pretty awesome memories.


But it can definitely go too far.

Stuff : how identity changes our values

In middle school, I desperately wanted one thing. I wanted it so much that it consumed my thoughts, brought jealousy into my heart, and became the scale with which I measured all the people around me.

I wanted an Abercrombie t-shirt.

Nothing fancy, just something (anything) that had those magical words, "Abercrombie and Fitch" emblazoned across the front.

Looking back now, it is a little silly, but the power of that t-shirt really captivated my pre-teen mind.

It wasn't the shirt that I wanted, really. It was the status.

See, all the cool kids, all the popular girls, had Abercrombie clothes. All of them. And I, well... I did not. Those name brand clothes were expensive (still are, I'd assume), and my family didn't make fancy clothes a financial priority. I had lots of clothes. But they just didn't have that glorious brand name.

And heavens, I wanted that brand name. Because if I could wear that shirt, then I could be "in."

Worry : how insecurity can be reshaped by claiming identity

I finished writing the fourth page of the note with a big sigh.

"Okay. Don't let me forget to give this to them," I said to my husband.

He looked up from his game and smiled, amused.

"Don't you think it's a little overboard?" he asked, stifling his laughter. "It'll be fine. It's only a week, and he's a dog."


When we "adopted" Bear in December, I had no idea how quickly he'd find his way into my heart. For that matter, I didn't realize that he'd also uncover a deep-seated layer of my own insecurity. 

We were headed on vacation for a week, and Bear would be in the care of some friends from church. While I had no qualms about this wonderful family watching our dog, I did feel uneasy about what they'd think of him. I was worried about what my dog would say about me. 

I'm not crazy. I know that Bear can't actually "say" anything about me. But his appearance, his care, his behavior, could really say a lot about who I was as a person. So I worried.



I'm honored to be guest posting today at His Endless Love!

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Tennis Shoes : how identity affects small choices

I was that kid.

You know, the one who faked ankle injuries out on the kickball field. The one who somehow made it to the end of the line when it was time for my team to bat in Whiffle Ball. I failed every Presidential Fitness challenge, with the exception of the flexibility test.

Those days out on the elementary school field, with its dying scratchy grass and occasional patch of dandelions, firmly solidified my identity in my mind. I was not an athlete.

I didn't run, didn't catch, didn't throw, didn't kick. And I certainly didn't sweat.

Bookish and smart, I didn't need any of that, anyway. And my fast little metabolism worked overtime but kept me healthy and trim.

This image of myself as a non-athlete was so ingrained in my being that I bowed out of rec classes, never tried out for an inter-mural team in college, and poked fun at myself for being out of breath on those rare occasions that my roommate took me out salsa dancing.

It was a mantra- part of who I was. I don't exercise.

How Should a Christian Vote? : part 4

I remember one of the first times I was made fun of in school.

I wasn't the most fashionable girl in the grade (not by a long shot!), and honestly, I didn't really even care that much. I loved school, and the learning always took precedence over what I was wearing. Most of the time I just didn't even pay attention.

But it was second grade, and apparently this was the age in which all the little girls learned what was cool and what was not. And I was certainly not. I wore one of my favorite outfits that day- complete with really stellar hand-me-down bib-overall shorts.

Which, I suppose, was the wrong thing to wear.

They were mean and teased me, and while I laughed along on the outside, I went home that day with two big lessons burned into my mind. Never wear those shorts again... and Being made fun of is pretty terrible. 

How Should a Christian Vote? : part 3

"It's just ridiculous," she said, exasperation lacing her voice. "It's choosing the lesser of two evils, at this point. I'm seriously thinking about not even going to the polls this year. "

Besides the "moving to Canada" thing, this is the most common feeling I've heard expressed in my (admittedly limited) circle of influence.

And in my opinion, it's pretty sad.

It's no secret that the two major party candidates this election year aren't very popular. There really doesn't seem to be a clear cut "right" choice for president- and that can feel overwhelming.

But I don't think that not voting is the answer.

How Should a Christian Vote? : part 2

About a week ago, I watched the dissolution of a friendship.

Social media is weird like that- allowing a bystander (like me) to see all the details, all the comments, that resulted in the death of a relationship.

It started out civil, just one political viewpoint, and a friend who disagreed politely. But soon the conversation turned from political standpoints and policy decisions to name calling and blaming, and right there, in black and white letters on the computer screen, their friendship was over.

And it got me thinking.

Because in this political season, the country is so... divided. And we're not really even that pleasant about it. The candidates are yelling and calling names, and we're following right along with them.

How Should a Christian Vote? : part 1

Within five minutes of logging in to Facebook, I'm ready to curl up in a big fuzzy blanket and hide away for a while. Like, until Christmas.

Scrolling through my  newsfeed wears me out and makes me sad. The wealth of information out there makes my soul feel poor. The world feels so... hopeless.



I'm not sure if you noticed, (ha), but there's a presidential election coming up.

It feels... different, doesn't it?

I am old enough to remember several presidential elections, and old enough to have voted in a few, but still... this election seems different.

For one thing, both of the major party candidates are totally despised by a significant portion of the population. Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump are two of the most controversial candidates of all time- complete opposites in terms of policy in almost every way. Apparently, no matter who is elected, about half of the population will be moving to Canada.

Anger : what it says about me, and how two questions make all the difference

I found myself breathless as I hung up the phone.

I could hardly believe the words that still echoed in my ears.

I was angry. Very, very angry. 

A simple mistake on my part led to a tongue-lashing that set my heart pounding fast and plummeted me into self-doubt. I choked out some excuse to the office assistant and headed to my husbands office and privacy so I could cry.

And cry I did.

And then, because my husband happened upon his very upset wife when he came back to get a start on his paperwork, I cried and also vented my anger to him in short, loud, furious bursts.

"How dare she say that to me?"

"I just can't do this anymore!"

"How could someone be so inconsiderate?!"

"I'm only human! What do they expect of me!?"

Forging a New Trail : being renewed through identity in Christ

We're riding a four-wheeler to the end of our pasture when I see it.

A simple evening ride, relaxing the shoulders, breathing deep, listening to the wind through the long grass that we still haven't bothered to mow. These moments are ones for which I'm trying to make intentional room in the middle of all the busy- eating peaches on the porch, an extra moment to notice how the light spills over the floor, an evening ride with my husband through the land that I'm still a little shy to call "mine."

We turn to head back home, and I notice.

Integrity : living in honesty by clinging to identity

The headlights cut through the dark as we headed home. It was late, but that was okay.

I was still bubbling from the evening.

Energized by the conversation, my extroverted, albeit somewhat socially awkward, self was far from tired, even though it was way past my bedtime. I’d told a funny story at our couples small group, and it brought lots of laughter. Making people laugh, people I didn’t know well, brought me so much happiness. I flung out another silly anecdote, and that one hit home with the group, too.

Now, on the way home, I smiled at the memory of the evening. A successful night.

My husband drove quietly next to me, and in the light of a passing car, I saw his expression. He was unhappy.

But why? We’d just had so much fun! What could he possibly be upset about?

“What’s wrong?” I asked, almost put out that he was spoiling a nice night.

He recounted one of the funny stories I’d told, adding, “But I didn’t say that. You lied. And it wasn’t nearly that dramatic. Why did you lie about it?”

Fear: how two simple questions change everything

My hands shook as I walked to the front of the chapel.

My throat is closing up, I overreacted inwardly. Just watch. I’ll burst into tears as soon as I start talking. My voice is going to shake and I’ll do that funny nervous twitch thing with my face. It’s going to be terrible.

Despite my inner freak out, I made it to the stage and turned to face the group of people in front of me.

Why did I have to be sick last week?

I missed my turn to share my devotion to the sixty-some college age camp counselors due to an early summer cold, or maybe it was allergies. In any case, now I’d be providing the devotion not only to the counselors, but to a group of theologians who had come on retreat.

They stuck out in this group- dressed business casual among a sea of Chacos and camp t-shirts. I glanced anxiously at the few rows of heads with graying hair in the middle of the man-buns, ponytails and French braids.

Public speaking was bad enough just in front of the counselors… but this? This was just impossible. I was unqualified and silly and had no formal theological training, and here I was. Front and center.

I heard my first shaky breath, picked up by the microphone. It was surprising that my pounding heartbeat wasn’t audible through the chapel speakers.

In Christ: our true identity and what that means for each of us

"Well. It's nice, it's just not really... you. "

I was showing my mom a Christmas present- the first Christmas present I'd ever received from a boy. My sixteen-year-old self was annoyed by the comment that the necklace wasn't really my style.

Not "me?" The gaudy rhinestone-studded letter A wasn't "me?" Not possible. My boyfriend had given it to me, so I liked it. I liked the necklace, really. Really, I did. Sort of.

The truth, although I couldn't admit it at the time, was that I didn't like that necklace. My mom was right-- it wasn't something I'd typically wear. But I wore that glittery thing all the time, until the relationship ended (as it was sure to do), and it went into a box and was later donated to a second-hand store.

That necklace was a good representation of the relationship, really. Something I didn't actually want, that didn't actually fit me, but I was going to try really hard to like it.