Some Of My Never Will I Evers

1. Never will I ever pay full price

The first thing that set me apart from my other middle class friends was my clothes. They saw me coming from a mile away. I had hand-me-downs and Goodwill. My mom sat me down and explained from day one that we had x amount of money for x amount of things, and that meant we would do the best with what we had.

I learned it was silly to ask for things—rude even—because we didn’t have the money for it. I learned the creativity of making do (and prided myself on turning it into an art form). I saw God provide in ways I never imagined. I learned the thrill of the hunt for a good price and good quality. Why pay more when you can get it for less? Never would I ever pay full price.

2. Never will I ever go into debt

My parents never had a credit card. They still don’t. We lived in the home we had because it was the one we could afford. Tithe and offering were priorities. We lived within our means. My parents let me know they would pay for my first year of college and then I was on my own. I would work and save up one semester to pay for the next semester. I lived at home because I couldn’t afford to live somewhere else. That limited my college options, so I did online classes for my first associates, then went to a local Bible college. When their tuition went up more than I could pay, I dropped out and went to community college.

Money (or the lack thereof) dictated my choices by limiting them, but not canceling them: creativity kept propelling me forward. By the time I was 23, I finally figured out (mostly) what I wanted to do, and could finally access the PELL grant since my parents weren’t expected to pay anymore. Not only was I able to attend community college for free, but they gave me a refund each semester—with enough to fund my trips to Brazil.

Soon I had two associates degrees, and a lot of extra credits I took just because I loved learning. I took all of those credits and in one year, graduated with a bachelor’s degree from Indiana University—virtually for free. I felt like I stumbled on some kind of secret, and tried telling all my friends about it, but the status que seemed to continue to pull one after another into horrible student debt. Never would I ever go into debt.

3. Never will I ever own a Hummer (or other overly expensive vehicle)

It wasn’t until Brazil that I actually said my first “Never will I Ever” out loud. After working and living in Cajueiro Claro (rural Northeast Brazil) and seeing poverty in real day-to-day ways, I realized I would never feel comfortable driving an opulent car, when no one in that whole community even owned a car. I scorned the man who drove his imported Mustang around town on the weekends. Never would I ever.

As Pastor Flavio and I walked and used public transportation, we sat squished 6 to a seat in a Kombe. I saw that Mustang drive by and laughed, saying “This is our life, Flavio—never will we ever have that.” I was living off of $350 a month support I’d raised: way below the poverty line of $12,000 a year in the USA, but still above the minimum wage (not the poverty line) of Brazilians, which was $3,600 a year (and most of the time that was for a whole family, not an individual). I was barely getting by, but in relational wealth (compared to those around), I was doing really well.

4. Never will I ever live in rich, white suburbia

I grew up in a lovely home near a private college, with parks and manicured lawns. I never lacked for anything. My parents gave me $1 allowance—in dimes. I had ten envelopes. I got to decide (after having 4 marked “Tithe,” “Offering,” “Gifts,” and “Save”) what I wanted to write on the envelopes (i.e. “Candy,” “Toys,” and so on). Every week each envelope got one dime. I saw my parents put their own money into their envelopes. You got to buy what you had the money in the envelopes for. That is how things worked.

When I was 16 I started working, teaching character at an alternative school. It was the perfect storm for me: feeling rejected and fed up with middle class (mostly) white society while finding freedom and acceptance in the (mostly) black inner city. I elevated one over the other, because I felt better in it. White savior complex hit hard because they had needs and I had time to help needs. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, but neither did anyone else. Luckily for me I wasn’t given too much responsibility, so I couldn’t screw up that badly.

The whole thing of just trying to love others like Jesus did worked pretty well, and while I was at it, I learned and got training to actually figure out what I was doing. I started imagining myself living in a big inner city house that ran tutoring/community programs out of it, or something of the sort. Whatever it was—living with the people I was working with always seemed an integral part of it.

In all the missionary biographies I read, the bad missionaries worked to create “Little America,” while the good ones lived locally, like the locals. Over and over I saw that the farther you are away from the problems, the easier they are to forget. I saw many like-minded friends fall away from serving in the inner city because a promotion came along. Stuff happened. Boyfriend/husband didn’t agree. Kids happened. I made a “Never would I ever” to myself that it wouldn’t be me. I was in this for life.

5. Never will I ever live a lifestyle different from those around me/that I serve

I didn’t want the white picket fence, I wanted the rundown apartment building. I didn’t want the big yard and two stories—more work to clean and pay for and less time to serve others and less money to share. All that stuff came with monthly payments...payments that felt like a collar and noose around my neck, tying me down. I wanted to be free to go and stay and go as God led me. My financial freedom was an idol.

Once you get that big house, you get that big house lifestyle, the lifestyle you spend your whole life on, trying to keep up in this horrible, soul sucking pit. When we got married, Caid had quite a bit in student loans, and I only had $2000 saved in the bank. We both owned donated old cars, and God miraculously got us out of debt our first year of marriage. I still don’t really know how He did it.

Since being married, and missionaries for six years, we’ve had about $20,000 a year for our family. We’ve never lacked anything. We have had amazing opportunities. But it wasn’t until last year that we could make it through the year without counting on our tax return for general costs in the year. Last year then we started saving for a someday home (or at least a someday home down payment).

I began to realize that Caid and I saw things differently when the Hummer Incident happened (I think it is italicised in both our brains). I saw a Hummer in the parking lot of the private college near my parent’s home. I scorningly said, “It wasn’t enough that daddy paid for your private college experience? Daddy had to buy you a hummer too? Never will I ever own a Hummer: that is going too far.”

Instead of agreeing with me, Caid said I was judging someone I’d never met, and “Why not?” own a Hummer. Why not? Because you could sell it, get a decent car, and give a buncha money to a buncha people who really needed it. Why not? Because it is just to show off. Why not? Because it is horrible for the environment. Why not? Because Indiana is FLAT-there is NO reason for Hummer. Why not? Because it creates an even greater divide between you and everyone who has less than you. Why not? Because money is never the answer, and will never make you happy.

This was our first NWIE run-in, and hasn’t been our last. Not only do I have these (sometimes rational, sometimes not) NWIEs, but so does Caid. Life happened, we reacted, and “Never Will I Evers” grew in our hearts and minds.

Now, for better or for worse, I have to face and name my NWIEs. Most of the time, it doesn’t go well (at first). Recently, we bought air conditioners for our rooms in Brazil. Caid sweats a lot and it was something he needed. I managed okay with fan(s). The first night we used air conditioners on I cried. I cried because I thought of our monthly electricity bill going up for something I didn’t deem important. I cried because why did we need something none of my kids at Living Stones had. I cried because it just seemed like one more thing added to the wall between us and those we were serving.

But air conditioning has proved to be key for Caid to be able to rest, to sleep, and to really relax at the end of a long day of ministry. More things (bigger than air conditioners) have come up. They hit at my NWIEs and I feel the bruses, and I feel sorry for myself. But the truth of the matter is these NWIEs have to go. I am not saying that some (many) of them aren’t good ideas and principles to follow: I am just saying that me using them to control my life—and my family’s life—is wrong.

Bottom Line: If Christ is my center, I do not need any “Never will I ever” statements to run my life: Christ runs my life. If Christ is my center, I surrender all to Him, even my NWIEs.