Seattle Spring

A Mentality of Abundance

Poverty vs. Abundance.

I've had this theme clanging around in my head and heart for the past few days.

I've whined often enough in this space about how I'm tired, about how I feel like I'm spinning in circles even though life is charging forward at a dizzying speed. Most of the time I don't feel like I have enough          

• time
• creativity
• patience
• love
• vision
• perspective
• gratitude
• holiness
• energy

I become a miser in my activities because I haven't had enough sleep. I become stingy with the intentional attention I give because there are so many people demanding it right now that there just might not be enough to spread around. I evaluate (judge) whether or not those around me are meeting their Duty Quotas, because the Duties can feel suffocating. I hoard my energy for the bare essentials of day-to-day life because there just isn't enough.

In sharing her struggle with sleep deprivation after her first child was born, Olive Chan writes:

I’d been operating out of a poverty mentality. Afraid that I would run dry, I became a miser, hoarding my energy and limiting my commitments like a cheapskate. My Creator was inviting me to see things differently. God was asking me to adopt a mentality of abundance. To believe God is more than enough. To dare to give generously and lavishly because God’s resources are never ending.

Why is it easier for me to trust God with my finances than my strength for the day?

I am trying to remember that there *is* enough. I worship the One who takes our meagre offerings of loaves and fishes and multiples them beyond count.

If my night was too short, I can choose to start my morning with thanks-giving for the horizontal time I *was* given and look to Him who never sleeps to sustain me. When my children appear bent on mutual destruction before 7:30 am and I can see my day stretching out before me, bleak and jagged, I actually *can* rest in Jesus - He has more than enough (love, grace, joy) for me to draw on as deeply as I need to and to then pour on those around me.


I do not want to operate out of a poverty mentality in any part of my life. I want to dance in the freedom of the truth that I am enough because He is, has, and gives more than enough.

TIred, joyful, torn, okay

So the problem is that when I have moment to think, when the joyful cacophony of my little people is paused for a rest and the kitchen isn't a total disaster and I know the next meal will be alright and we'll have some clean clothes to put on in the morning, I'm just too tired to write. The here and now takes all my strength these days, and it's so precious that I don't want to shove it aside. Sometimes creativity feels selfish (I'm pretty sure that's a lie, but most days I don't have the energy to disembowel it). I turned 33 on Sunday, and the truth is that I too am in the midst of my tired thirties. (Sarah Bessey, though a total stranger, sheds some light onto my surroundings more eloquently than I can).

I am 21 weeks pregnant, and we got to see this little person via ultrasound on Friday. It was absolutely incredible. The child is healthy and beautiful, and we give thanks in wonder. Seeing the ultrasound pictures has really made an impact on the kids too, once they came to understand that the child isn't actually gray and fuzzy.

I am tired, yet feeling really healthy. I am not yet large enough to be constantly uncomfortable, but I feel this child dancing more strongly with each passing day. Schooling is really quite fun, and I love being part of the boys' 'aha!' moments. Orion is pretty much the best.

We are all pretty healthy, and I am still grateful. Speaking of gratefulness, there had been a real grumbly attitude among the kids over the past month or so. Any special treat was met with indifference, any act of kindness met with a sense of entitlement. No matter how many times I told them to say 'thank you,' it was never spontaneous, never coming from the heart. And a 'thank you' said with rolled eyes really doesn't cut it. I was ready to throw a hissy fit at a moment's notice, reminding them of all I do for them and how I really am good at things besides cleaning up their messes and how someday they would come to see me as a person and would regret all of their childish selfishness and would extol me for all I sacrificed for them, memorializing me as a saint. So as a good, righteous mother, I started praying for their hard little hearts (because that's where it all starts, right?). I prayed for God to give them grateful hearts. And you know what He told me? It starts with you.

The nerve.

My gut reaction was 'Oh, come on!'

I am mature like that.

But He who is Truth was right, and He is slowly changing my heart. And as I remember to be thankful in the kids' hearing, things are slowly changing.

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies
No sudden rending of the veil of clay
No angel vision, no opening skies
But take the dimness of my soul away

The softening of my own heart can be the biggest miracle of all.