Lidia's Tidbits, Part 1: When Less is More

Widow gives all she has

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Felisol sent me the email version of the Tidbit box last week of June, but I didn't get to read it until two weeks later. By then, I was about to leave for a ten day ministry trip to Davao City, and Cathy advised me that I may begin doing my tidbit posts when I return home.

When it comes to tidbit sharing, there are a thousand and one such precious morsels on my heart.

So here I am, dear sisters, with my first of two tidbits.

This may be a little bit more than one tiny bite size piece of my life, but anyway I share it with you wholeheartedly.

When Less is More.

I grew up in a home where love was abundant. My parents were both government employees, and we lived in the city. For the first 11 years of my life, we lived in a duplex -- twin houses that were joined in the middle by one wall. It was owned by my maternal grandfather, and my mother's brother and his family lived next to us. Very happy memorable years of close bonding with my four cousins.

When I was 12 years old, we moved to a brand new house, our very own. It was in another city, with rolling hills and wide open spaces, compared to the noisy and congested neighborhood where the duplex bungalow was located.

I remember the excitement of having a huge and beautiful home to finally call our own. My dad had hired an architect to draw up the plan, and it was built in about four months or so.

The beauty of this home was in its simple elegance. My parents had bought many brand new furniture, but we had also taken with us most of our old things. With his innate creativity, artistic flair, and touch of class, my dad was able to blend the old with the new. The house soon became a warm home, and the garden around it tended by my father also blossomed through the years.

I know now that we were not among the very rich in Philippine society. But as young girls, my sister and I didn't know that. I found out only much later that the school my sister and I attended was a very expensive exclusive school for girls in Manila. My classmates were children of ambassadors, and top politicians in our country. I never thought we were any different from them.

What was the secret? It was the joy of contentment. Papa and Mama made us feel that we always had more than enough, and there was no lack. We didn't have an abundance of things, like toys, dresses, and things around the house. But everything we had was what we needed, and maybe just a little bit more.

Mama bought us only three new dresses a year - for our birthdays, for Easter, and for Christmas. Sometimes more, when there was extra. She also bought us brand new school books and beautiful things to use in the classroom. Therefore, school was something we were always excited about. I found out only later how Mama and Papa endeavored to save from their monthly salary to be able to give us the life we had.

To be honest, it was not a perfect childhood. But there was lots of love. And laughter. And song. That's what I remember the most.

Papa believed in beauty. Beauty that was not ornate or excessive, but simple, and elegant. 

I have no doubt that for me, everything was beautiful because there was contentment. 

Another secret was this: we were not over-indulged. Mama and Papa taught us the value of delayed gratification at an early age. If we wanted something, we knew that we could always save up for it, and eventually we could have it. There was joy in the waiting, joy in the eager expectation, and joy in finally receiving what we wanted.

Some financial principles our parents taught us:

Buy only what you need.

Spend less than what you earn.

Live a debt-free life.

Save for the rainy day.

Be generous to those in need.

Charles Ringma writes that 

the Christian experience is not simply one of green pastures and flowing streams,

it is also the place of emptiness.

We live today in a world that tells us we need so much to be happy, but actually the opposite is true.

A lot of times, it is in experiencing emptiness that true joy comes. There is joy in having, but there is also joy in not having.

Because in the end, it is when our cups are empty, when we are not too full of ourselves, that God can fill our hearts to overflowing.

I end this day's post by a quote from Henri Nouwen, one of my favorite authors.

Less is more when there is contentment and joy.

Less is more when there is a willingness to let go.

As I look back at the legacy my parents left behind, I thank God for what they have taught us. May I, like them, pass these principles on to the generations after me.