The money fast and our waists

Several Foundry folk have told me they have lost weight while on the money fast.

In one case, the person who told me he had lost weight thought it was because he was walking instead of taking cabs. In another case, somebody thought it was because of not eating in restaurants. Another person said it was because he had decided not to buy beer while he was on the money fast.

It made me remember something I heard from a denominational leader 25 years ago or more. This particular leader, noticing the waistlines of some of us clergy, started a campaign to get us exercising. One of the unintended but positive consequences of the program, he said, was the number of clergy who told him that --when they started exercising-- they also began praying in a regular and more disciplined way again.

He said clergy (who often go into ministry because they really, really want to pray) would come up to him with tears in their eyes and say, "I want to thank you. Since I've started exercising, I've also started praying again." It was very touching, he said.

His conclusion was that, when we practice discipline in any one area of our lives, it tends to increase the odds that we will become more disciplined in other areas of our lives as well. Physical disciplines stimulate spiritual disciplines, and vice versa.

So there may be a larger dynamic at work with those of us losing weight during the money fast. It may be that when we discipline ourselves to set limits on one kind of appetite, it may actually become easier to set limits on other appetites.

Guest blog from Nancy Groth

The money fast has caused me to focus on the money aspect of a perpetual New Year’s resolution: to waste less food. For the money fast, I have committed to packing my lunch for work instead of eating out; eating takeout or in restaurants also puts a lot of food to waste because my portion size is so much smaller than the norm, and I’m not very systematic about the leftovers.

By “packing” my lunch, like most any other verb of physical activity, I mean using my outsourced production capabilities. I order to contract for the limited physical assistance I need to be disassembled and transferred to bed at night, I have had to commit to an aide’s three-hour shift every evening from 8-11. What this means in practical terms is that three hours out of every twenty-four, I have hands [my grown kids are fond of claiming to be ahead of me evolutionarily because they have opposable thumbs but I do not] and reaching arms for housekeeping, laundry, cooking by loading a crock pot for the next day’s cooking, or now packing a week’s worth of lunches. So the challenge of “packing” my lunches is not a physical task for me, but a matter of ingenuity and organization and planning, areas where I excel. I can do this.

I decided to make a batch of sesame noodles, which with some fruit and my newest favorite food, Greek yogurt, would make packable lunches. I already had sesame oil, whole-wheat linguini, soy sauce and peanut butter in the cupboard, so I went to Whole Foods to get a small piece of ginger and a modest assortment of shredded veggies from the salad bar, cheaper than buying a whole one of each of the veggies for one person’s batch of noodles. While there I also bought an $8 can of tahini, which I decided was a “staple” even though I only needed a couple tablespoons for the sesame noodles; my college-age kid will be home for the summer and loves tahini, so surely it will get eaten. So far, so good.

That evening the weekend aide boiled some linguini and mixed stuff under my direction. Trying to open the can of tahini, her efforts with the electric can opener produced an awful grinding noise. I realized that the last attempt at using the electric can opener was by the weeknight aide, a lovely man from Nigeria who apparently has never cooked anything before working with me, and is unfamiliar with American appliances, even implements I thought were pretty universal and low-tech, like the vegetable peeler. I can’t tell if the electric can opener is broken from the previous attempt, or if the weekend aide, who is from Cameroon but is also a mother who cooks, has it lined up with the can top or not. I can’t tell because it is her hands and eyes on the electric can opener, not mine. Note to self: go to Bed, Bath & Beyond, and get an OXO hand-crank can opener that will be aide-proof.

In the few seconds it takes me to ponder this, the aide opens the silverware drawer, grabs a kitchen knife, and happily and efficiently stabs the top of the steel can of tahini, proceeding to saw all the way around the top with the kitchen knife. Yikes! I only have mediocre kitchen knives which are difficult to sharpen and don’t hold an edge worth anything, and I’m pretty sure that sawing through the top of a steel can has hastened or precipitated this knife’s demise.

Tally so far for one batch of sesame noodles: an $8 can of tahini, one electric can opener, one hand-crank can opener, and one kitchen knife.

What I notice in all this, for the zillionth time, is how little control I have over producing my intentions, and how quickly I jump to technology, i.e.money, to troubleshoot, like the hand-crank can opener. The overwhelming majority of people with disabilities do not have dedicated aides or my resources to troubleshoot with.

OK, so actually the can openers and knife were casualties of my cost of doing business, not the sesame noodles. This week’s lunch menu: sandwiches, alternate days of roast-beef-with-provolone and peanut-butter-with-nutella. And fruit and Greek yogurt.

(Nancy is a wheelchair user. Thanks to her for her delightful and thoughtful sharing!)

Anybody notice lately how much gasoline costs?

I needed gasoline the other day. Gasoline for travel for work or for family visits is on my list of necessary and allowable expenditures during my 21-day money fast. I'd had a meeting out of town that day and had another meeting out of town scheduled for the next day and did not have enough gas left in the tank to make it to my meeting the next day. So I needed gas.

Since I am not using credit or debit cards, I needed to use cash to pay for the gas. It has been years and years since I have paid for gasoline with cash. I can't remeber the last time I used cash to buy gasoline.

I looked at how much cash I had in my wallet. I am trying to be a little careful not to run out of cash since I am carrying no plastic in my wallet and don't want to be out of money altogether, just in case. Without using my debit card, I can get cash only when my bank is open.

Heck, I thought, I guess I have enough cash so I'll just go ahead and get $25 worth while I'm here.

Twenty-five dollars bought me 6.65 gallons of gasoline! My gas meter registered just a hair over half full. What??!! When did gasoline get this expensive??!!

I sat in my car trying to figure out whether there was some way I could get to my meeting the next day by public transportation? Was there someone else going to the meeting I could share a ride with?

I confess that I have the capacity to be a little oblivious when it comes to the practicalities of life. When I am filling up the tank of my car with gasoline, my mind is likely to be thinking about the theological implications of the discovery that the universe is expanding faster than scientists had previously thought or what it means that the country seems to be going through an unusually wacky season. I guess I usually hardly even notice how much I am paying for a tank of gasoline.

The most interesting thing to me is that, when I used cash to buy gas, I had a new appreciation of how much gasoline actually costs. And my mind immediately went to alternative possibilities for transportation ... which is a good thing for other reasons as well.

I guess the money fast was working.

I'm becoming a squirrel!

This is embarrassing.

I was at a meeting Tuesday. Refreshments were on a table outside the room where the meeting was being held. I took a bottle of water with me into the meeting. I stayed for a conversation with someone after the meeting and was the last one to leave. The refreshments were still there. I stuffed two cereal bars, a banana, and two bottles of water into my rain coat pockets.

I am on a money fast and it had suddenly occurred to me that if I wanted something to eat or drink while I was driving back to the city (only a 45-minute drive), the money fast would prevent me from stopping to buy something. So I squirreled up on free refreshments.

The next day I was at another meeting. I left this meeting early. They had just put new refreshments on the table and I stuffed some peanut butter crackers and a bottle of water into my pocket and almost took even more refreshments with me.

I assume nobody would get too upset because I swiped some refreshments, even though I assume the purpose of refreshments is to keep us alert at the meeting, not to take home with us.

What embarrasses me is the neediness within me that worries at a very primitive level that I will not be able to satisfy a need or desire when I want to. It is a neediness that reacts by stuffing my pockets with free stuff. In all honesty, I actually looked around to see if anybody was watching me before I stuffed my pockets. Really. At my age.

I've occasionally seen this kind of stuffing-your-pockets behavior among very poor people and always had a sort of smug liberal superior amusement about it. Now I've learned that the same spirit is in me.

A blog from Alicia

In the spirit of the money fast, I recently decided to purchase a reusable mug. It's something I'd thought about forever and I was finally getting one. I found a stainless steel one that I liked. I asked an employee for her opinion and she suggested a larger one to leave room for milk, etc . . . I thought about it, with the idea of unnecessary consumption in mind, and opted for the smaller 12 ounce option. I had deep thoughts about how here in the U.S. we are always think bigger is better, always planning and hoping for more.

Yes, I was feeling a bit self-satisfied as I walked out of the store.

Then another reusable mug caught my eye. This one was clear with colorful graphics. It was so cute! I immediately thought about how I could get it someday to use for coffee. Of course I could have both, even though one is perfectly satisfactory if washed between uses.

I was soon humbled as I realized the many money traps I constantly fall into.

(Our thanks to Alicia Gutierrez for this blog!)

Day Three of the Money Fast

Today is my third day actually doing the money fast. I have neither cheated nor run into serious problems so far. I have had to think ahead much more than usual.

For instance, bottled water. I have to remember to bring it with me rather than just buying a bottle whenever I want some.

Lunch. I have to remember to pack it in the morning.

Tea. I have to remember to carry tea bags and humble myself enough to beg hot water.

The hardest thing is giving up window shopping. Egad, I window shop a lot on my computer, more than I would have ever imagined. When I open my email in the morning, there are newsletters from Runner's World, Men's Health, MLB, The Sports Authority, Amazon, and even Christianity Today that are just glorified ads. They inspire within me a desire to spend, spend, spend.

I figure I've saved a bit of money already. On Sundays I usually buy two cups of tea at Starbucks and have lunch out with Jane -- $26.00. Mondays I often stop at a local health cafe and have a salad and bowl of lentil soup and then tea at Starbucks -- $14.00. Monday I refrained from downloading a book I almost bought for my Kindle but didn't really need -- $9.99. Today I had a meeting outside the city and would have grabbed a sandwich at a convenience store for lunch, plus another visit to Starbucks -- $13.00.

At minimum, this would have been $62.99 in just three days.

My friend Don Lowe has bugged me mercilessly that we ought to give away the money we save during the money fast. I kept saying, "No, Don. This is a spiritual exercise. I don't want people to think this is a gimmick to raise funds."

Don would not let up. Finally, last week the Holy Spirit said to me: Don is right, you know. So I am giving the money I save during the money fast to our Volunteers in Mission's project in Haiti. It is beginning to add up.

Guest blogger Alicia Gutierrez returns

In a recent sermon, Dean discussed how we use purchases in an attempt to feel some power in a world that often feels beyond our control. This encouraged me to reflect on a recent experience.

I have become friends with a Street Sense vendor who works outside CVS on P Street. I frequently buy a paper and he’s always happy to look after my dog if I run in to get something. I’ll also sometimes buy him a snack. One day he asked for cranberry juice. I went in, saw that the cranberry juice was sold out, and bought another flavor. I thought he would be happy, but I was wrong. When I came out he got angry and was quite rude. He ended up exchanging the juice for another flavor.

I must admit that I was quite annoyed. After a while, I was able to summon compassion and reason that he obviously had some feelings that I could not understand and I forgot about it. Dean’s sermon gave me a completely different understanding of this situation. I take for granted the ability to go into a store and buy myself a treat for a couple of dollars without much thought. My friend does not have this luxury. He wanted cranberry juice and was hoping to at least be able to control the flavor of his juice.

It made me wonder, what would it be like to not have a spare dollar or two to buy myself a treat when my day was full of difficulties beyond my control? What if I couldn’t rely on this coping mechanism that many of us use all the time?

(Our thanks to Alicia. Your thoughts are welcome, too. Email them to dsnyder at foundryumc.org).