A Letter to My Younger Self – The 10 Percent Rule

I come from a long line of thriftiness.

Perhaps it was the fact that my father’s kin were Norwegian peasant farmers who staked a claim in the hard North Dakota soil, planting beets and potatoes, hoping to make a living. They endured the ups and downs of dusty, dry summers and frigid, windy winters. They cobbled and they scrimped and saved.

My mother’s side were Polish Jews, escaping Europe with little but their wits and small bags of precious stones to their names. Most of them died with about the same possessions they brough into this world.

Both forks of the family lived through world wars, depressions and recessions. Both sides had periods of plenty, followed by years of scarcity. Feast always seemed to prepare for famine.

Every generation had worn its sorrow, sung its song of woe. And yet, they had unshakable faith backed up by remarkable thrift.

So I came along, a single river combing the two streams. I was full of the American dream, my eyes dancing with opportunity. I saw the sleek Lincolns in magazines and the new houses being built on the edge of town and the shiny Florsheim shoes the men at the bank wore. I was ready to break the chain of my forefathers and live a little. After all, I was 18,  a head full of steam and a high-school diploma in my pocket. .

Sometime around then my grandmother died and I was pressed into helping clean out her house. She had grocery store bags neatly stacked in a corner and rubber bands from the newspaper in tidy coil. Bread twist ties were in a little jar. Old buttons were harvested from clothes too thin to wear. Everything was repurposed. Everything was useful – again.

In her kitchen, above the little table where she kept rows of lined books that detailed every penny spent was a laminated sign. It said,

“Save 10 percent. Give 10 percent to God. Spend the rest with great joy.”

If only I knew then, what I know now

I proceeded to live my young adult life as a I pleased, squandering the wisdom of my relations. I spent money  I didn’t have on things I didn’t need. Student debt. Car loans. Bigger houses than anyone in my family had ever owned.

And now, as I am looking at retirement in few years, I’m thinking just how wise that advice in the frame was — in retrospect of course. I wish I would have lived that lesson. If only I would have unrolled a letter to myself, written from the future me, that gave the same message of thrift, life would have been different.

• I would have learned obedience and trust in God.
• I would have put more money away for the rainy days and the sunny days of retirement.
• I would have learned my heart would follow my treasure.

If only I could write a letter to my younger self.

Share Your Story – A Community Link-Up

So how about you?  What kind of letter would you write to a younger you? Would you give career advice? Workplace suggestions? Educational ideas? Maybe you would warn the younger you about finances, family, and friends. You can’t go back in time, but the experience you share might just be able someone else. The Bible is clear that we need to learn from our elders. So let’s pull up chairs, lean in close and share our stories.

Over  at the High Calling we are looking for people to part of the conversation. Using the prompt, “A Letter to my Younger Self,” write your story on your blog sometime before Aug 24, 2014 and then share it using the linkup tool over there. If you don’t have a blog, just drop over there and share your thoughts in the comments.

We’ll read all of your stories and chose a few of them to feature right here at The High Calling next week.

Submission Guidelines

Make sure your story is 600 words or fewer. Good storytelling is a must. Follow the theme as closely as possible, while still exercising your God-given creativity. Read past High Calling features to get a feel of our style and focus.

Publish your piece on your blog and submit your piece along with the URL on the link-up below byAug 24, 2014  in order to be considered for a featured spot.