When Problems are Too Big For Partisan Politics….
2012 is still new. There is still plenty of shine on it. It has all kinds of potential for good. As long as the election cycle doesn’t overshadow our opportunity.
Elections are important. They are also a necessary evil. We have a chance to participate in the process, so vote. We also get to live with the consequences of our decisions, so vote wisely.
Here’s the deal, though. Government will not fix a single real problem facing our country or our world. Their size, their needs, their divisions will forever mire them and keep us frustrated with them. Government is in the business of Government.
Inflation, unemployment, the ongoing real estate crisis, escalating divorce rates, poverty, hunger, rising costs of medical care; these are just a few of the mountains Americans are facing. We mistakenly think that somehow Washington is going to put their partisan differences aside and solve them. How foolish are we? The Republicans and Democrats have become so polarized that the party out of power will forever see their role as obstructionist. We may have lost the art of compromise forever. Wisdom has left the building.
The fact is, Washington never was, or never should have been, the answer. For people like me, the Church is much better positioned to help find solutions to our communities’ crippling economic, social and moral problems.
As individual congregations, we have agility and mobility to focus on the needs inside our fellowships, that the red tape of Govt. Bureaucracies could never allow.
Think about it for a moment. If each Family of Faith would concentrate efforts on finding creative solutions to the hunger, financial and health issues just within our own groups, we could reduce the load on Government, exponentially.
Now, let’s take that thought to the next level. If the Churches in any given community were to work together to solve mutual problems, our size, influence and wealth of our combined efforts would be a virtually irresistible force.
Let me cite just a couple of examples: 1. Let’s suppose all the Christian gardeners and farmers in a congregation united to create community gardens to help provide food security for the members of our congregations who were in need. Or, what if we tithed the produce from our gardens to our Church food pantry. What if we tithed our eggs, our chickens, our milk, our beef, our lamb, our pork; how much food could we provide?
What if we held classes in our Church buildings that taught people how to cook and prepare nutritious, whole foods and reduce the need the need for fast or highly processed foods in family diets. Now what if we taught them how to grow some of this food themselves. We could dramatically reduce poverty and health costs at the same time.
Sure, there is a certain percentage of the population who is not willing to help themselves. We have to live with that, but there is also a percentage who is more than willing, even desirous of being a part of our own solutions. We don’t stop offering a cure because some people want to stay sick.
Speaking of sick, imagine with me that all the Christian medical professionals in a given community, tithed their time to provide pro bono medical care for people in their congregations who could not afford it. How much medicaid and medicare money could be saved? Heck, how much fraud could be reduced?
Ok, one more; What if all the mechanics in a Church would devote time each week to do oil changes and basic maintenance on vehicles for the unemployed, single mothers, senior citizens and other financially challenged in the Church. How much money could be saved in the long run?
We can’t let the risk of abuse be our excuse for not following the Scriptural command to look after ‘the least of these’. A very large percentage of people Jesus himself served, apparently rejected Him or took their bread and fish for granted. In one example, Jesus healed 10 men of leprosy and only one even thanked Him. And that dude wasn’t even a Jew. It didn’t stop Him from healing or feeding though. How very radical.
Most of what I’ve described has been at a congregational level. Imagine for a moment, if Christians united to serve together. The force for change would dwarf a Tsunami. Our enemy knows that. He works overtime making sure the Church stays divided, because if we ever come together, the gates of Hell are toast.
Which brings me to a final point. The world needs Jesus much more than we need a conservative (or liberal, if that’s your orientation) Government. I don’t believe that the Republicans OR the Democrats will help us find Revival. And neither will prevent one, once it gets started. I’m just sayin’, vote, it’s an American privilege, but if you consider yourself a Christian, pray like the future depends on God and work like the future depends on you.
If you’re not a Christian, I dare you to give Jesus a fresh look. You might be surprised by what you discover.
Peace, y’all.
Of Dogs, Of Wolves, Of Monsanto and a Broken System – A Story
Imagine that you are a dog breeder. Maybe your choice is good hunting dogs. Perhaps you really like fancy show dogs. Either way, you have this female or females that you have worked with, trained, pampered and cherished. She is your pride and joy.
Down the road from you, there’s a rich guy who raises wolf hybrids. They are impressive, powerful, beautiful, unpredictable and maybe dangerous. All the neighbors have mixed emotions and conflicting views. Some really like his dogs and see potential in home security or defense or even things like draft work. Others are concerned that the hybrids may be more wolf than dog and can’t be trusted. Heck, what they’re breeding might even be immoral or illegal. You don’t really like what they’re doing, but you certainly believe in their right to pursue their goals. Besides, you’re busy with your own breeding program.
One night, a big wolf hybrid, slips out of his kennel, jumps over the fence, races down the street, leaps into your back yard and breeds your favorite female. He then heads home and no one is the wiser. Nine weeks later, your girl gives birth to a litter of cross bred puppies. Some of them are distinctly wolfish in looks and everyone realizes what happened.
“Oh, my gosh”, you think, as you stare at the little mongrels, “What do I do now? This was not a part of our plan.”
You are angry and frustrated, so you march down the street with the puppies in a box to show the owner of the offending animal and ask him to keep his dog at home.
You courageously ring the doorbell and state your case to the neighbor, trying to be as firm, yet polite as possible.
After you finish, he turns away, picks up a piece of paper off his table and hands it to you. At first you think he’s writing an apology or maybe even giving you a check to offset some of the vet bills that his wolf dog has inadvertently caused you. Instead, he hands you bill, demanding a stud fee.
Shocked and offended, you laugh, tear up the paper and head home, thinking to yourself that the rich neighbor has more money than sense, and probably has crossed the line between eccentricity and lunacy.
Life pretty much gets back to normal, with you raising the pups and hoping you will be able to find homes for them. The crazy neighbor incident is almost forgotten until one day there is a knock at your door. You open it to see the postman with a certified letter. You sign for the letter, wish the mail carrier a good day and open the package.
Inside, you find a summons and a letter announcing the rich nut case down the road is suing you for the stud fee.
You can’t believe your eyes; or the audacity of the man who filed the suit. You also can’t believe you’re going to have to pay out more money to get an attorney to fight this thing.
Your next thought is, ‘Maybe I’ll just pay the stud fee, shut him up and make the whole thing go away.”
You quickly realize, though, that if you do that, he wins. And who knows how many other neighborhood dogs would be accidentally bred? Would they get stud fee bills, too? What if he knows his hybrids are escaping? What if he planned it all along?
You have to fight this thing. You have to put an end to the outrage. So you get an attorney and go to court. Your case is cut and dried. Your property was violated; your dog was bred against your will and knowledge. There is no set of circumstances in which you owe the owner a single red sent.
At the end of weeks of hearings, the judge looks down from the bench and says, “After hearing testimony and reading the evidence, I find in favor of the plaintiff. The defendant will pay the stud fee.”
Stunned, both you and your attorney gape at the judge. You want to scream and ask him if he’s lost his mind. You wonder if he’s been bribed, is a drug addict or just plain stupid. Since, however, you can’t afford a contempt of court fine; you merely shake your head and file an appeal.
Appeals are expensive and time consuming. It would be cheaper to just pay the stud fee. You are considering doing just that when you hear that three other people in your neighborhood had the very same experience with the hybrid breeder. In each case, they paid the stud fee because they couldn’t afford the legal expenses. You decide it’s time someone made a stand. You are that someone.
Fast forward two years. You have spent your life savings and raided your 401k to pay all the legal costs fighting the stupid stud fee. In your wildest dreams you could never imagine that a single judge would side with the wealthy breeder of wolf hybrids. You thought the courts would actually shut him down. Now, though, the case has been taken up by the United States Supreme Court.
Finally, you think, justice will be done. Then you learn that one of the Supreme Court Justices was once the personal attorney for the neighbor you’re in court with. You presume he will recuse himself. You presume in error.
In the end, the SCOTUS finds in favor of your wealthy neighbor. You have spent all you have in the pursuit of justice and find it elusive. Now you, and every dog owner in America, are liable for paying stud fees anytime one of these wolf dog hybrids impregnates a dog. Property rights are negated. Boundaries are eliminated. Justice has been subrverted.
Does this story sound incredible to you? Perhaps even ridiculous? It shouldn’t. This is almost exactly what the Monsanto Company has done to farmers when their genetically modified soy beans have cross pollinated neighboring fields. And the SCOTUS has sided with them.
Justice Clarence Thomas, normally one of my heroes, was an attorney for Monsanto back in the 70s. He has not recused himself.
In another case, concerning deregulation of Genetically Modified Organisms, the original judge deciding in Monsanto’s favor is the brother of Justice Stephen Breyer. Astonishing.
I find the whole scenario offensive on a variety of levels. My bigger issues are not with Monsanto. They are who they are. I am mostly outraged at what has become of our legal system. I fear we are in free fall.
Back in the 80s, British Blues guitarist and singer, Chris Rea wrote a song about rush hour traffic that applies to this kind of legal/moral gridlock. The words are, “This ain’t no technological breakdown. This is the road to Hell.”
Juice Feast – Week 1 Review
The first week is behind me. Whew. That was hard. And it was boring as heck. Did I mention how boring it is? The juices are tasty enough, but there is no other sensory appeal. There is no real variety in texture, eye interest or even taste, really. There are only variations on a theme.
As a true food lover, I enjoy the look, the feel, the aroma and the complexity of a truly omnivorous diet. Food, to me, is much more than the intake of massive amounts of calories (although I’m pretty good at that part), it is a cultural, sensual, almost spiritual event. The preparation, the combination of artistry and science that makes up a meal, is part of the excitement. With the juices, it’s, what green will we mix with what fruit? Hmmm. Or, celery or no celery? Yawn.
The juicer clean up is a bore as well. If you don’t do it right away and the food bits dry, then you have a marathon on your hands. I find that it takes away from the experience a little bit.
The positives: first, I lost 11 pounds in 7 days. That’s a winner. It’s incredibly encouraging to see that kind of early success. It really helpt the motivation.
Also, as alluded to already, the juices taste good. I make sure there is some fruit in every juice. That really helps. Carrots add sweetness as well. In fact, the only thing Brittan and I didn’t like were beets. We found that odd, because we both love eating beets. Oh, well.
The boredom has led us to transition to juicing until evening and having a meal that includes protein and vegetables. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes.
Conclusion: Juicing is a great way to cleanse and kick start a healthy eating or weight loss program. It is a terrible way to try an liven up a party.
A Christmas Parable
Christmas: for some it’s cookies and candy and visions of sugar plums. For others it’s presents and family and joy and peace. For still others it’s a baby, a manger, some shepherds, a star and hope for the world. There are others, millions of them, for whom Christmas is heartache and loneliness, hunger and thirst, fear and despair.
I have been all of these.
This morning, as I fed the animals and did my farm chores, I was, in a manner of speaking, visited by three spirits.
A ghost of Christmas past came to me. He brought a thousand memories to mind. He reminded me of my childhood, filled with wonder and love and joy. I remember my sisters and I dragging Mom and Dad out of bed at some unholy hour because our little souls couldn’t take the suspense another minute. I remember Dad always wanting to eat breakfast before opening presents. I remember him being out voted most of the time.
The ghost then took me across the ocean, to Scotland and the magnificant memories of Christmases spent there. I saw again, the Church Christmas programs and those little Scottish Church buildings in Buckie and Portnockie filled to overflowing. I could see Doug and Denise in their jammies, tearing into presents while I tried desperately to pour caffeine down my gullet.
I smiled until the spirit fast forwarded me to my first Christmas alone. My house empty. My heart broken. My life in tatters. I saw my Christmas dinner of cheese on toast washed down with beer, then another for dessert; my pain too great for words.
There were far too many Christmases spent so. When I thought I could not bear to see another one, the ghost took me forward once more, and I saw my first Christmas with Brittan as she decorated our little house in Florida. Joy had come back into my life and for the first time in years, I hoped again. Oh, how I wanted to linger just a moment in that place.
In a flash, though, the spirit took me to other places and other Christmases, in Iowa, in Kentucky and in Maine. Some were tender and peaceful. Others were hectic to the border of manic. But each made me smile and a mist clouded my vision.
Suddenly, the ghost was gone, replaced by another, showing me this present Christmas. Not mine, though, but other places and other faces. There were children and ancients. There were a multitude of languages and a rainbow of races. But there were no smiles or carols or trees or presents. Prayers were being lifted and letter to Santa, each begging for food, for water, for shelter, for Daddy to come home, for Mommy not to be sick anymore. I saw Santa weeping in his sleigh, his bag empty, his chest heaving with grief.
Then the spirit took me to another place, a war ravaged desert. I saw children among the rubble. I could see across the way, a soldier, dust mingling with tears as he unwrapped a parcel that contained a framed photograph of a young woman and a golden haired baby girl. He held the photograph to his chest, sobbed in the silence then lifted his voice in what was either a prayer or a scream. I could not tell for sure.
I begged the ghost to allow me to help or to take me away, because I could not remain idle and maintain either my sanity or my morality. Instead, he disappeared and his place was taken by a third spirit. This one, ethereal, insubstantial, yet glorious and terrible all at once.
The spectre too my hand and lifted me high above the earth to a place of indescribible wonder. There was peace in this place. I could hear singing and laughter. I looked around and saw people everywhere, each contented, happy. As I toured the city, I became aware that although there were hundreds of thousands, millions of people, there was not a hospital, a cemetery or even police car to be seen. I marveled.
Suddenly, my path came to an abrupt end. I could see across an enormous canyon. On the other side, was the multitude of hungry, the sick and the broken I had seen before. Behind me was the happiest place my mind could imagine. In front of me was more heartache than my soul could endure.
I turned to the spirit who led me and asked, “Sir, why?”
“You know why, child. You’ve always known why.”
“How can they get from there to here? The gulf is so vast? It’s too far, too hard.”
“There is a path. Lead them. You know the way.”
“But they are too hungry to follow.”
“Then feed them.”
“They are too weak.”
“Then carry them.”
“Some are too sick.”
“Then heal them.”
“What about the ones too heartbroken to hear?”
“Weep with them.”
“What if they won’t follow?”
“Lead them anyway.”
At that point, the spirit handed me a book, a map, a bowl of rice, a trowel, a vial filled with some elixir and a washcloth. I took them from him, but wondered at their meaning.
“Take these and go to them. Beyond where you can see, there is another place, more hideous than anything you see before you. There are horrors and monsters there. Creatures and devils that feast upon the heartaches you can see now. They will soon devour the sick, the broken and the weary. Those they do not devour they will drag back across the abyss to their lairs to consume at their leisure. You have in your hands all you need to change the destiny of legions.”
I stared at the ghost, with a cocktail of emotions, ranging from fear to anticipation, and queried, “Sir, will any come with me? I am fearful that I will fail.”
“By choosing to go, you cannot fail. As to whether any will follow, I cannot say. Only One knows. Go, now. Feed, heal, comfort and lead.”
Then, as quickly as the scene had appeared, the spirit and the visions were gone. I was again in the barn, my arms filled with hay, goats and cattle calling out for breakfast. It was still dark outside. The day still young. No time had past. The future was in my hands. I wonder…
Compromise – Wisdom or Weakness?
You think this is about Congress, but it’s not. I don’t have much time to waste on them. Although, all that hot air is pretty useful on a cold December morning. Hmm…I think I may have just stumbled on the primary cause of global warming….
No, I’m talking about my juice fast. I’ve had to make some compromises to phase this thing in and it’s quite frustrating to me.
I was warned. Doctors, dieticians, nutritionists and even Joe from “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead” all said not to go cold turkey into this, but ease your way. They warned that cutting off all caffeine, carbs and proteins at the same time could be too big a shock to the system. The recommendation was to take a week, ten days or even two weeks to ease into it and minimize the damage.
Bah! Humbug! says I. I am a man. I jump into the deep end. I lead, I don’t follow. I’m a seller, not a buyer. Well, sometimes I’m also, what’s that word again? Ah, I remember…stupid.
Two days into my juice fast, I’m either proud or ashamed to say, I’ve had to backtrack and follow that earlier advice. I don’t know if it’s wisdom or weakness, but it’s real. Let me tell you what happened.
Day one was gosh awful, mostly because of caffeine detox. The headaches were pretty special. Nevertheless, I forged ahead. Day two started out pretty well, but by 9 a.m. the headache was so bad I couldn’t function. To make matters worse, I was in a mission critical meeting at work and I couldn’t focus because of the pain.
I made an executive decision to have a cup of coffee. I went to the Keurig in the executive break room and fixed a single cup of Colombian coffee. Within a matter of minutes the headache was gone. I mean no trace. I was relieved and repulsed. I was happy and heartbroken. I was fine and I was furious. I am addicted to caffeine and I am not happy about it.
Those who know me well, know I am the poster child for control freaks. I need to own my own destiny. I’m independent as heck. It’s what drives the entrepreneur in me and it’s what drives other people crazy.
For example, I rarely drink alcohol and never in public. Alcohol makes people lose inhibitions and causes them to say and do things they would not do if in control of their faculties. I get in enough trouble sober, I can’t imagine what mischief I’d create for myself and those I care about if I had a blood alcohol count.
I don’t take drugs. I’ve never sampled an illegal substance. I’ve never even had a tobacco product in my mouth. Partly, that’s all because my Faith and my core values tell me that those things a stupid. Partly, though, it’s because I’m a control freak.
It was the desire for control that drove me to the juice fast to begin with. I’m stinking tired of being fat. My obesity is a public display of my own hypocricy. I talk about control. I write about money management and self discipline. I preach about Faith and moderation. And yet I can’t lay down my fork. Poppycock I say. I will not be mastered by my appetites. I will master THEM.
Then within a few hours of beginning my juice diet I discover an addiction. I am embarrassed and angry, but I refuse to be defeated. In a perfect world, I would go somewhere remote for a week or so and just cold turkey it. Unfortunately, my day job and my farm don’t permit me to do that. So I must create a plan B.
First, going back to eating like I was before is not an option. 100% juice fast is not an immediate option, either. So, what to do? Brittan and I talked it over and in the end decided that I will have coffee in the morning for the rest of this calendar year. All other drinks will be caffeine free. Beginning in the new year I will drink half caffeine and half decaf coffee. We grind our own beans so that will be easy. By the end of January I will be all decaf or just forget coffee altogether.
I will juice breakfast and lunch and add some whole veggies and a little protein at supper and reduce that over the same period as the coffee. This way, I’m going cold turkey with the simple carbs and processed foods while cutting back on the caffeine and protein rather than cutting them all out at once and throwing my body into shock.
It feels like it’s a wise course of action. It’s a plan that exercises control and moves in a forward direction. It looks, on paper, like wisdom. It may, however, be cowardice and weakness. It is what it is, but I remain an open book.
Juice Fast Day 1 – End of Day Update
Well, the first day is almost over. And…it…sucked.
The juice part wasn’t so bad. I had 4 different juices. All were drinkable. Some were tasty. But as a meal replacement they were all terribly boring.
Caffeine withdrawal started about 10 a.m. I’ve had a massive headache since then. I took some Ibuprofen but it didn’t touch it. My brain feels foggy, too. It’s like having a hangover. Not that I would know about such things, mind you.
I didn’t expect the DTs until tomorrow, so that’s a little disconcerting. If days 2 and 3 are the worst, then I’m in for a heap o hurt.
On the positive side, I wasn’t grumpy at all. I didn’t suffer from a lot of hunger, either, which was a pretty big surprise. We’ll see what tomorrow holds.
Juice Fast – Day 1
It’s Judgement Day. The Apocalypse. Armageddon. I’ll miss you all. Farewell.
Oh, stop whining, you’ve been on this juice fast for two hours. How bad can it be? What a sissy. Put on your big boy pants and get on with it. It’s not like anyone put a gun to your head and forced you to do this. Geez.
Such was the conversation I just had with myself. Stimulating, wasn’t it?
Today really is day one of the rest of my nightmare. Here are the gruesome details.
Age: 55 (why did I say that out loud?)
Height: 6’ 11” in my dreams. During waking hours, 5’ 9” and shrinking.
Weight: 276,5. Highest weight ever recorded – 305
Misc. ailments: High blood pressure, triglycerides and cholesterol. Acid reflux. Sleep apnea. Male pattern baldness.
Trouser size: Marquee (46 relaxed fit)
Shirt size: 2XL (but pushing the boundaries)
In all seriousness, it’s time to take control of my health. After all, my wife and I raise organic vegetables, free range chickens, grass fed meats of different kinds and have begun raising fish and vegetables aquaponically. There is a kind of irony, maybe even hypocrisy in promoting such healthy living while being nearly 100 lbs overweight with a catalogue of weight related health issues.
It’s time to do something about it, so here I am. Here WE are really, because Brittan is doing this, too. In many ways she’s the driver of this bus. She is determined to finish losing the weight she’s been struggling with. She’s lost a ton, but has plateaued. She wants to break free.
My first juice was 3 apples, 2 stalks of celery and 2 carrots. My lunch is something called, Mean Green. I’ll update again before I go to bed tonight.
Juice Fast – Am I Man Enough?
Everyone who knows me, knows that I have struggled with my weight for most of my adult life. Struggle is maybe an over statement, because I’m not sure how much of a fight I’ve really put up. Except for a seven year period in the 90s, I’ve been obese since I was 20 years old. That’s a long time.
I’ve been on most every diet you can think of. Most have worked for a while; until I get bored or until a vacation, a Holiday, a special event or a day of the week that ends in Y. I was successful on Weight Watchers and the South Beach Diet was kickin’. Every time, though, I gave up before I reached my goal.
Frankly, I’m quite tired of it. I’m 55 years old. I figure I’ve got 20 really productive years left and an additional 5 moderately useful ones before dotage really kicks in. Yes, I believe I can be productive until I’m 80. After that, I intend to become a pest.
In order for me to make the most of these late summer and autumn years, I need to be as healthy as possible. I’m working on it. Brittan and I raise pasture based meats, including beef, pork, goat, rabbit, chicken and turkey. We’ve begun raising our own fish and shellfish. We grow our own vegetables and milk our own animals. Brittan will be asking, “who is WE”, as it relates to the milking part.
We eat nutritious, healthy foods. It’s just that I eat mass quantities of the stuff and I was as big as Texas to begin with. It’s time to change. I believe South Beach is the best diet choice for me. Generally, it fits my lifestyle and I like the choices. I’m a true omnivore with carnivorous tendencies and South Beach allows for that.
I do, however, need a dramatic kick start to help me reboot, cleanse my system of toxins and simple processed carbs and other sundry junk that’s in my body. But what to do?
Last week, Brittan and I watched the documentary, “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead”. We were inspired. The film follows two chubbies as they turned their lives around using a juice fast to reboot and kick start. You should watch the film even if you’re skinny and fit.
These guys did nothing but drink juice and water for 60 days. Yikes. Of course, there was something called, ‘exercise’ also involved. I had to look it up. I’d heard of it, but am not a practitioner.
After the movie, Brittan ordered a juicer and “The Big Book of Juices”. We went to the film’s website and looked at the testimonials. We googled everything we could find about juice fasts. We made our plan. We will reboot with juice then transition to The South Beach Diet.
Brittan’s ready to start NOW. But she’s not normal. Christmas is only one week away. Then New Year. After that is Martin Luther King Jr. Day, followed by Ground Hog Day and President’s Day. I’ve assured her that we really need to think this through. There are feasts calling to us. Do we really want to disappoint Jesus by skipping His Birthday celebrations?
Apparently we do. Fasting is my destiny. The goals are: A. Survive day 1. B. Not become suicidal or homicidal on days 2-4. C. Complete a 15 day reboot and reassess. If all goes well, HA, we will go to 30 days. Assuming the Apocalypes does not consume us during that time, we will move on to 60 days. At the end of 60 days, if we are not dead, dying or divorced, we will transition to Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet. Or got to Cracker Barrel for a plate full of Heart Attack; whichever strikes my fancy at the time.
I realize I sound over confident, but that’s just my nature.
Seriously, though, I’m ready for this. I need it. Brittan is really fired up. I’m scared, though. I barely tolerate vegetables at the best of times. I’m a meat, potatoes, cheese, bread, butter, rinse and repeat kind of guy and I like to wash it all down with a variety of caffeine laced fluids. This is going to be hard. I’m afraid of the detox period. Really afraid. And I’m afraid of the boredom if we go for the 60 days. I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes. But I have to try. My conscience, my waistline and my blood pressure are screaming at me. I hate nagging. My stupid doctor thinks that my health is at risk if I continue my present lifestyle. But what does she know? It’s not like she’s a scientist or anything.
So, this weekend or next weekend, B and I will begin a new adventure. I intend to chronicle it here. I hope you’ll join us and read along. Don’t be afraid, all my firearms and ammo, along with any sharp objects have been safely locked away for everyone’s protection. In the meantime, I need a snack.
Economy Up. Economy Down. The Debt Free Never Worry.
One of the great things about being debt free (except our mortgage), is the lack of worry about the economy. Oh, I don’t like the way things are going, but I can’t make the Government take responsibility for their finances, but I refuse to let Washington ruin my life with their irresponsibility.
Here’s the deal. Brittan and I have zero debt apart from Mortgage stuff. We have no car payments, no credit card balances, no student loans. We live on what we like to call… A BUDGET. It looks like this:
1. Tithe – God Comes First
2. Food – Because we grow most of our own food, our grocery bills are fairly low
3. Shelter – House, utilities, insurance
4. Transportation – gas, oil, maintenance
Those are the 4 perimeter walls of our budget. Once those are taken care of, we budget the other things we need and want. Since we have no debt, budgeting has become pretty easy.
We have an emergency supply of about 6 months cash and a year of food and basic staple goods. We also have 2 years supply of seeds and livestock to raise our own food. By the end of 2012 we should have over a year’s emergency fund and up to 2 years supply of staples.
At the risk of sounding like an infomercial, if you’d like to know how you could be debt free FOREVER by following ‘the simplest money management plan on earth’, check out www.iounomore.com. Don’t let the headlines make you worry. Take control of your own future and sleep in peace.
Car Fever – A Narrow Escape
We don’t do debt. Everyone who knows us, knows that Brittan and I believe the only tolerable debt is mortgage related. Even that is only tolerated with reluctance. We don’t have student loans, we don’t have credit card balances and we don’t have car loans. If we can’t pay for it, we don’t buy it.
We almost fell off the wagon this weekend. Before you panic, I said ALMOST.
Here’s what happened. All our vehicles are old. Our two cars are 2000 models. Our farm truck is a 1997. It was the truck that nearly did us (me) in.
With vehicle age comes an ever increasing collection of issues. The truck has them. Over the last year, the old GMC has had a few problems. We painted it back in the summer. We put new tires on it and and put in a new master cylinder for the brakes. Last weekend as I reached over to close the driver’s side door, the arm rest came off in my hand. That’s not really supposed to happen. Then the water pump started leaking. The timing of that stinks because I have to take a couple of cows to the processor this week. Sigh.
Did I mention that a Livestock Guardian Dog chewed up the seat? It was like a scene out of “Turner and Hooch”. “Not the car! Don’t eat the car!”
As we pondered the situation on Friday, we concluded that a new truck was in order. The problem with that is, we have used a lot of expendable cash building up our farm and farm business, so the car fund consists pretty much of whatever we can find on the floor under the seats. The only way a new (to us) truck was in the cards included a car payment.
We talked about it at length and I had numerous justifications. It wouldn’t be much. It would be a short term. I’d pay it off early. Yada, yada. For the first time I can remember in my life, I had CAR FEVER. And it was a bad one. Because I’m not a regular sufferer, I hadn’t built up much immunity. I was in a bad way.
Brittan offered up a weak, “I don’t want any car payments,” but it was easy to see her heart wasn’t in it. You could see in her eyes that she was imagining driving a shiny new pickup, one that had all it’s parts and all it’s parts worked.
I went online and looked at both private ads and at some dealership offers. First, I got sticker shock. Then I got discouraged. Then I started to get practical.
Did I really want to make monthly payments? Did I really want to buy a shiny truck only to fill it with manure from the mule pasture? Did I really want to violate all the principles I’d been preaching for the last 6 years? The fever broke.
I filled the radiator with water while Brittan called a mechanic friend. We drove the truck out to the farm where our friend could work on it. We went to the auto parts store and bought what we needed. Brittan also picked up a car seat cover to hide the chew work performed earlier.
By mid afternoon, the truck was running fine and our wallets were only a little lighter. The parts weren’t all that expensive and our friend got a nice day’s pay while we were spared from doing something really stupid. Of course, there’s still no driver’s side arm rest, but stuff happens.
We were in the ‘red zone’ for a while and it was dangerous there. We’re safe now, but we’ll have to get busy rebuilding the car fund, because eventually we WILL need to replace one of our ancient road warriors. And car payments are unacceptable. Unacceptable, I say. Too much money and too much risk.
Folks, it’s always Car Fever Season somewhere. It can be bad, even financially fatal. Take precautions. Be prepared. Don’t be a victim. Take my advice. I’m a survivor.
