Morning Rounds and Evening Musings

Money has been on the brain lately. This is the time in the semester when financial aid money runs thin, and Wes and I have discussions about our financial situation every other day or so. This is also the time in the semester where we start to eat at home before we go out for dinner with friends, where we split an appetizer instead of two entrees, and when the new pair of jeans I was eying online become January's dream, after next semester's check comes in and we feel secure again.

When I'm rational and able to think intellectually about money, I find myself convinced that this time of life is formative, good and spiritually enlightening. I fight to get to a place where I can embrace life below the poverty line, and the sacrifices and commitment it takes to 'make it' on so little. I remind myself when I'm tempted to bemoan our financial shortcomings that a) we made our own decisions. It was our choice to go to school at the same time and to take out the least amount of loans possible and b) we're much better off than most of the world living below the poverty line because we have a system of family and friends whose support, both monetary and otherwise, will get us through these slim years. We are very wealthy.

November and December are also good months because they force me to remember the commitments Wes and I made about the way we want to live our lives. Living simply, giving generously and rejecting the culture's nagging voice that tells us more is better are lifelong goals--forced poverty right now makes them a reality, but what happens when, several years down the road after the loans are paid off, we get a paycheck that provides a surplus? The reality of our chosen professions (ok, Wes' profession. Who am I kidding?) is that we will soon be making more money than 95% of the world's population. That's both comforting as we sit 2 years into medical school and seminary with more debt than the money I've earned over my entire life combined, and scary as I realize how challenging it will be to live like we do now when our situation will permit much more indulgence. It's one thing to live simply when you have no other options; it's quite another beast when you're making more money than any family of 10 needs to get by for a year. I'm convinced it will take the support of a similarly committed group of friends to hold us to that one, and a firm commitment to using the portion of our income we need to meet basic needs, and letting the rest go.

After all, we're all taught that money can't buy happiness, right? But, from the looks of the households all across America, no one really believes that. I don't know if I believe that. I often find myself thinking, "you know, if we just had 5,000 more dollars a year, this cloud of anxiety would be gone, and I would be much happier." But I know were that 5,000 to be dropped in our lap, I would crave just that one other little thing. The myth of a person's wealth being found in a bigger salary or in having more stuff is so seductive. The message is everywhere, saturating our TVs, computers and cities. It creeps into my brain trying to make me believe that I would be better looking, have more friends, and be an all around happier human being if I would just buy those designer jeans.

I'm reading a book right now called Deep Economy, by Bill McKibben. He is an environmentalist and economist who argues in this, his latest book, that economic growth at its current pace is not only environmentally unsustainable, but it doesn't make us happier. A homeless person on the streets of Calcutta is rated the least happy in all the world. But once he moves to a shack in the slums, his happiness doubles. Forbes magazine's richest Americans have happiness scores identical with those of the Pennsylvania Amish, and only slightly above those of the Masai tribesman. That person living in the slums of Calcutta is about as satisfied with his life as the average college student. The point is that money only makes us happy to a point. Once basic needs are met, money's ability to bring happiness goes down exponentially.

This should be enough evidence for me to squelch the irrational desire for more, more, more that creeps into my head every so often. I wish it were enough. But that's just more proof that I need to be intentional about who I surround myself with--people who don't make me feel inferior because of my stained, used, $50 couch and whose activities revolve around good times with good people, not good times playing with nice stuff. Luckily, I'm married to one such person who is not nearly as easily seduced by money's false promises.

Wealth is isolating. With it we can buy enough stuff that we're no longer dependent on anyone else. But that too is a lie. Right now, as I'm staring at rent payments, bills, Christmas presents that need buying and grocery shopping in light of a dwindling bank account, I'm calling Wealth on its bluff. Whenever I hear its lies in the future I will say to my soul, Soul, you have an ample wealth of friends, love and happiness in Christ who gives you all good things.