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!

Read the rest of the post-->

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.

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.

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.

The Means to a Never Ending End

When I was in elementary school, we briefly attended a church that I ... well, I don't have very fond memories of this church. One thing they did have going for them, though, was a large children's ministry- a big improvement from the church we attended just previously... in which myself and my sisters were the children's ministry.

I remember that little room reserved for the fifth graders pretty vividly.

All the chairs lined up in a row, sitting near my "church friends" with their long, perfectly blonde hair and dimples. They all had pearl earrings. I really, really wanted pearl earrings.

This was where I first learned about "sword drills."

If you don't know, a sword drill is when the teacher calls out a verse of the Bible, and the first one to find it wins.

I was terrible at sword drills.

I can't remember which New Testament epistle comes when. And I have sort-of-kind-of-undiagnosed dyscalculia and consistently flip numbers around under pressure (fours and nines are the worst... I tell ya).

I was pretty well doomed to lose every sword drill.

16 Tips for Making the Bible A Priority

This past... well, more than a month... I've been sharing with you some thoughts about how we can (and should) make the Bible a priority in our lives.

I have to admit, I'm kind of a terrible failure when it comes to consistent time in the Word. I've preached these past few months to myself as I've typed my thoughts out to you.

I know that I don't know everything (or even a lot) about this topic-- the more voices joining together to bring inspiration, tips, tricks, and encouragement, the better. 

So I asked my fellow Christian blogger friends to chime in and give us their tips for a more consistent Bible reading practice. Here you have it! 

Just Read It.

Source

"I just can't find the time."

Her excuse sounded just like mine, and I nodded my head in agreement and solidarity. Time. It's a huge killer of consistent Bible reading.

"I mean," she continued, "if I don't have at least an hour to read and cross-reference, highlight and make notes, and then consult a commentary, then what's the point of reading my Bible?"

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. I don't think I've ever done all that in one sitting.

I struggle to just get the glided pages open in front me. Throw multiple colored pens into the mix and I'm totally out.

And it got me thinking-- is my Bible time insignificant because I don't do all that? Does simply reading the Bible pale in comparison to really studying it?

Have a Plan for Reading the Bible

Source

I've been working on this... well, I don't want to call it a diet, because it's not a diet. It's more like a "healthier lifestyle" that means less sugar and more vegetables.

Of course, sugar is way easier to grab than vegetables are. Cookies, donuts, even the wrong type of granola bar fit into the "probably shouldn't have it" category. Quick and easy is usually quick and...  bad for me.

I've found that the most important part of this new lifestyle change is being prepared.

If I know I've got half an avocado in the fridge at work, I'm less likely to grab a bag of pretzels from the dining hall. Planning out meals for the week means that I don't succumb to ordering a pizza (again).

And, I can also plan my "cheats."

A friend of mine says, "Never have an unintentional donut."

I love that.

If I'm going to splurge and eat some sugar, it should be an intentional decision- something I've thought about. So, if I know there are going to be cookies at work, I can make a decision to have one, instead of grabbing one out of a lack of self-control or habit.

How Accountability Affects my Bible Reading

There are about twelve ladies out there to whom I attribute most of my Bible reading practice.

You know who you are.

Honestly, before I joined a small group, my Bible study was limited to Sunday mornings and going to chapel services at the camp where I work.

I had no kind of a consistent Bible reading habit, and my time in Scripture was only at the direction of other people.

I'm a social person, and left to my own devices, my Bible sits unopened for weeks at a time. Really. It's happened.

Making Bible Time a Priority

My alarm clock went off at 6:15.

In my drowsy, half-asleep state, I recognized that it really wasn't unreasonably early or anything, and that the morning sunshine was starting to infiltrate my cozy bedroom.

But, well, if I'd walk the dog for five fewer minutes, I could hit that snooze button... so...

Five minutes turned into ten minutes turned into twenty-five minutes, and now I had to get up or I'd be late for work, and the poor dog was probably in the entryway doing the "potty dance."

And once again, my Bible sat in the living room, unopened.

When Reading the Bible is Boring

Original Image used with permission- Source

I grew up with the Bible. It's a blessing to me- a gift my parents were able to pass on- that my basic understanding of the Bible began in early childhood.

I remember the flannel boards with Bible character cut outs that my Sunday School teacher used to act out the story of Zaccheus. I remember sitting with my dad at supper on Sundays and talking about the Bible verses the pastor talked about in church. The Bible was a part of my childhood.

As an adult, though, I sometimes feel like I've got it down. Been there, done that. What's the point of going back and reading something I've read a hundred times before?



For many people who have grown up in the faith, the Bible seems like it's lost some of it's potency. Like the story of Cinderella or the Three Little Pigs, we know it pretty well by heart and what more could we possibly learn? It's old news.


We know better than that, of course. The Bible is a living document.

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.- Hebrews 4:12

So, how do we fight against that "been there, done that" feeling? How can we keep the Bible from seeming... boring?

We Need the Good Stuff: Choosing Good over Easy

I work at a Bible Camp- and let me tell you, it's been pretty amazing.

I love my co-workers, I love my office, the emphasis on family, the campers... it's busy, but it's great.

The only real trouble is the cookies. 

There are almost always cookies in the dining hall, just a few steps from my office. The smell of them baking wafts down to my desk.

And when it isn't cookies, it's brownies, or cake. Or donuts.

They're right there, and they're easy to grab. There's also good stuff in the dining hall- carrots and broccoli and chicken breasts... but you have to walk back to the fridge to get those... so... (cough cough)

Often (too often), I choose what's easy and fun over what's actually good for me.

Provision for Every Day

It never fails.

Trevor will stop by to pick me up from my office at 5:05 pm, and within minutes, he asks,

"So, what are we doing for supper?"

The only exceptions to this almost-daily rule is that sometimes I'm the one doing the asking.

Especially if I didn't have much for lunch.

And most of the time, I can't help but think, Did we just do this yesterday? Why do we have to eat again?

Thankfully, between frozen pizza, leftovers, and the rare freshly made supper (meal planning for the occasional win!), we usually manage to survive.

But here's the thing- when it comes to food, we have to do it every day. And most of us do it more than once a day, even.

Ugh.

26 Tips for Understanding the Bible

Reading the Bible can be so, so hard.

That's what I've been hearing from women just about everywhere. Between conversations with the wonderful ladies in my small group, to informal polls online, to overhearing conversations between leaders at the camp where I work, the biggest struggle for so many of us is reading the Word of God.

And I get it. 

Because it's a big struggle for me, too.

And just like all those others who I've been hearing from (and eavesdropping on), I know that reading the Bible is important. And sometimes, I know that I'm standing in my own way.


The Bible is the very word of God. It's a gift. But sometimes, I get hung up. I get hung up... because is the Bible really necessary to my daily life? Is it really enough? Is it really the one true authority?

Is the Bible really understandable?

Who Cares about Cubits? or, What We Can Learn from the Tabernacle {Guest Post}

And now for something a little different... I asked (more like begged) my dear friend Cryss to write a post for this series on knowing the Bible, even the confusing parts. 

Why did I ask Cryss? Because she's wise, honest, friendly, and most of all, she has a passion for a particular part of the Bible that I find... challenging. Namely, she loves the Tabernacle-- and I can't make heads or tails of it. Take it away, Cryss!

_____________________

First off, I would like to say thank you to Ally for letting me write this post for her blog.

Not only is she an amazing blogger, I am privileged to call her co-worker and most importantly…friend. I love how she is so willing to put her heart out there for the benefit of us, the readers. So…thanks, Ally!

So a little background on me.

My name is Cryss and I am married to a wonderful man and we have two beautiful girls. Like I said above, I am a co-worker with Ally at camp and also work for another non-profit ministry that has a maternity home for unwed young women experiencing an unexpected pregnancy. I get to do the majority of the accounting work for both of these organizations. Yup, I’m a numbers girl =)

I am NOT a theologian by any stretch of the imagination, but I do love the Lord and I love His Word. I hope that I can help shed some light on this topic, but I would encourage everyone to do their own studying and not just take my word for it.

Ally and I had been in a group together when talk turned to the Tabernacle. I guess I may have been a little too passionate about talking about it, because now I find myself here!

Ally presented some questions to me, and I will do my best to answer them. They are:

Why present so much information about the Tabernacle/Temple in the first place? 

Why does it matter, anyway? 

Bible Commentaries: or, You Don't Have to Be a Professor to Read a Commentary, I Promise

My freshman year of college, with a little bit of never-been-away-from-home-sickness, I went to the college bookstore and purchased... my books.

(In hindsight: why did I go to the college bookstore and not Amazon or Half.com? I was young and stupid, apparently.)

And then I sat on a bench outside the library a ways and called my mom. Because of the homesickness. And to cry a little.

After a long heart-to-heart, I walked back to my dorm... without the books. It wasn't until hours later that I realized my mistake. I rushed back over to the bench, but the books were gone. I checked the lost and found, went back to the bookstore to see if they'd been returned, panicked a lot, but they were gone.