I’ve been working on teaching my 8-year-old daughter, Donae, fiscal responsibility. She’s developed a liking to saving money, which had just about filled her baby-bottle shaped, bank. I felt it was time we take a field trip over to the ole’ brick and mortar bank so she could make her first savings deposit.
Together, Donae and I tallied every penny, nickel, dime and quarter and packaged them into the appropriate coin wrapper. “Wow, I’m rich,” she said. “If you need to borrow money for the taxes, I can help.” This statement came as a result of her eavesdropping on me telling my husband, Don, it's almost becoming too expensive for us to continue living in Illinois. “Mommy doesn’t need your money. That’s for you,” I explained. “C’mon, I’m taking you to the bank so your money will be more secure.”
I grinned elatedly. I pulled the deposit slip from its slot in the bank lobby. It was one of those “Mommy moments.” I felt I was doing well. “Write your name here,” I instructed. “Once you’re done, you’ll need to fill in your account number and deposit amount.” She filled out the form as requested and we stood in line. A smiling bank teller requested we step forward and Donae hoisted her loot onto the counter, pushing the deposit slip behind it. I stroked her long pigtails as the teller counted the loose change, rolled coin and paper money totaling $74.36. “And here you go,” said the teller, as she handed Donae her deposit receipt.
Donae's reaction caught me by surprise. Stiff as a statue she stood, with not a peep. I was a bit embarrassed that she wasn’t reciprocating the teller’s expression, which beamed, just as I, knowing this was her first ever bank transaction.
“Well? What do you think about your first ‘real’ banking experience?” I asked, completely puzzled.
She bit her bottom lip and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how to feel?” she questioned. She handed the deposit receipt to me as if she’d just been duped. “I gave her ALL my money and all she gave me is this piece of paper?”
When I was growing up, the finances I understood was that my mom’s money stack was much shorter than the stack of bills. “Overdue” was stamped across most while others read, “Collections Department.” Just when I’d think our situation couldn’t become more severe, we’d slump into a further state of destitute. I was a little like Donae. I looked at what I saw and felt like I was being duped. Ours was a life of day-to-day struggle. My mom couldn’t provide the bare necessities, let alone luxuries like new clothes and school supplies on the first day of school. I was disappointed and often judged her unfairly for the life she couldn’t provide. My self-righteous judgement began to shift as I matured. I came to realize later in life that my mom gave me something far more valuable than money when she taught me how to have faith. “The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
As told in my memoir, “Becoming a Mother While Losing My Own,” I recall one evening near dinnertime my mom having nothing to feed me and my three siblings. Yet, mom said, “Claudia, go set the table.” I was thinking, “For what? The fridge is clearly empty.” But since I had the type of mother you didn’t talk back to, if you wanted to keep your head on straight, I complied.
But this was no joke. Within an hour a woman from our church came walking up to our door with bags filled with groceries. “Sorry for dropping by unexpectedly, but the Lord laid it on my heart to bring these items to your family,” she said.
That blew my mind. That was the first of several miraculous experiences I witnessed firsthand as a result of my mother having the audacity to believe her circumstance would change.
Is Donae’s logic really that uncommon?
Don’t most of us believe more in what we can see than that of which we cannot? In time, she will learn that keeping her money in the bank isn’t only a better option because it’s more secure, it will also accrue interest, thus putting her at a financial advantage. A simple lesson, but sometime I suppose it can be difficult to understand the benefit that comes with trusting another source.
Are you giving life everything you’ve got and finding the reality you hold in your hands to be less than a fair exchange? What would happen if you dared to believe more in what you hoped for rather than what you were experiencing? I wonder who might come strolling up to your doorstep, “figuratively or literally,” to share what the Lord laid on their hearts to do for you?
If you’ve experienced a faith manifestation, I’d love to hear about it. Connect with me at www.ClaudiaParker.net and click “Contact the Author” tab.
Claudia Parker is an Evergreen Park mother, author and runner whose columns appear in The Reporter the second and fourth Thursdays of each month.