Ecc Study Eight

Study Number Eight

Read Ecclesiastes 5-6:12.

“never has money enough”

Clare signed her name on one last form and then nodded her head a few times as the well-dressed and smartly coiffed young woman explained something else to her about the nature of her loan. She was a home owner. To borrow a phrase from an older lady in her parents’ church, “glory be!” It wasn’t paid off yet, but the title was in her name. It was hers.
“Thank you,” Clare echoed the young woman’s concluding words. She walked out of the building in a daze, and climbed into her car.
Clare’s book had done well. She was pleasantly surprised by the royalties that kept coming in. She was asked to write a sequel that dealt with what happened to her character and her love interest after her story left off. While Clare was given a relatively short amount of time to complete it, she didn’t feel much pressure to work on it. Her writing, once so important to her, particularly as a means of making a difference, had become very unimportant in comparison with the world she was living in and the man and the money currently in her life.
She was intoxicated by the money, more than she’d ever had her entire life, as the daughter of a struggling pastor, as a student, as a not overly well-paid teacher. She’d never really had much extra. But now she did have some and she wanted to use it to get everything she’d ever felt she missed out on. She enjoyed shopping, eating out, just pleasing herself without worrying so much about what things cost. New clothes, new knickknacks, a nicer computer. She had her hair and nails done at a salon and at their suggestion, went to another place for a makeover, which concluded with her needing to buy all kinds of products to keep up the look.
And then she’d bought this house. She planned to completely redecorate it. She was looking forward to purchasing furniture, some new and some possibly antique. She would like to renovate the kitchen and bathrooms. It amazed her how easy it was to spend and spend, when in the past, she’d been much more careful of finances.
Also, she would soon have a wedding to plan for, if she broke down and set a date with Keegan. She’d finally told him about Abby and about herself, her difficulties with trusting and believing. She cared for him and dreamed of him, said “yes,” when he proposed, but hadn’t been willing to specify a date to make it happen. It was her last stronghold, just in case. But she was already planning a beautiful wedding, with a fairy-tale dress, lots of real flowers, live music, and a fabulous meal.

“Well, are you enjoying the concert?” Keegan asked.
“What?” Clare said. “What did you say?” They were sitting on his lawn chairs at the park, listening to the community band perform in the park bandstand, as they did weekly during the summer. Well, Keegan was listening. Clare was—Clare was somewhere else, where she didn’t want to be, where she tried to avoid going as much as possible but couldn’t seem to completely stay away from. Somewhere where beautiful faces and beautiful bodies wearing beautiful clothes were for some strange reason not living such a beautiful life as one might expect. One young face in particular was so hauntingly familiar and poignant that to think of it hurt, that one face nothing seemed to keep out of Clare’s mind, at least for long.
“I miss you, Clare,” Keegan said.
“What?” Clare said again.
“You’ve been so grabbing, greedy, and even more unhappy or should I say—dissatisfied, lately.” His last words sounded a little mournful, and he placed his arm around her and squeezed her slightly, to take some of the sting out of his words.
Even as his words cut her, she wondered how she could ever have not thought of him as a thinker. He was so perceptive. But his description of her—all of those adjectives—were as far removed from a description of himself as could be. She wished she were like him. A consistent solace and refuge for those who knew him. A fabulous brother to his younger brothers who doted on him, who’d wanted to be like him all during their growing up years, and now still called him to solve all their problems, a son, who although he didn’t always agree with his father, was always respectful to him, a man with an ability to love deeply. He’d be a very good husband and father. She blushed a little at the thought of those words and all they entailed. But now he was unhappy with her. He thought her “greedy.”
“You don’t think I should have bought the house?” Clare asked. “The realtor assured me I got a good deal. Did you know the sellers came down several thousand from their original asking price?”
Keegan laughed, though his laughter didn’t really sound very happy. “I know you really wanted to buy it. It was probably as good a purchase as any you’ve made recently, better than most. Real estate is an investment.”
“You think I should have invested more rather than spending so much on—stuff,” Clare said.
“Well, yes. I mean—that’s not the point. It’s just—well, you know, I don’t make that much money as a youth pastor—“
“What’s mine is yours, Keegan,” Clare said quickly.
“I’m not after your money, Clare,” Keegan said shortly. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to turn into what you are becoming.”
Clare felt tears rise to her eyes. She closed her eyes for a moment and saw the face again. He was right. Though there was nothing wrong with wanting to look nice and have nice things, she had gotten caught up in what she could have and thought she should have. What money could bring her. She’d thought money was going to bring her happiness, to fill the void that recognition, and even Keegan—she’d finally had to admit to herself--hadn’t quite been able to fill. But she never had enough to do it. Never would. Never could.
Keegan was still speaking. Clare listened to him through the haze of feelings that blocked her senses. “I admired and liked you before you were a published writer and your writing brought you money. Before you decided you wanted to get everything you could with that money. I wish I’d gotten to know you better then. If I’d just had the guts to reach out to you on my own, rather than needing Abigail to introduce us.”
“You mean, you don’t like me as well now?” Clare said.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he reached for her hand. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I want to marry you. It doesn’t have to be a big, fancy wedding. In fact, I’d prefer that it not be. Your new house has a great backyard. Maybe we should just have a small ceremony there.”
Clare suddenly felt very hopeful. He could help her find a way out after all. “Yes, I do like that idea,” she said.
“So you’re ready to set a date now?” he asked, nudging her a bit playfully. “And keep it simple? Try to focus on the important things.”
She laughed exuberantly. The band had started a Sousa march and children were running around on the grass, jumping up and down and shouting. She almost wanted to join them. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I think I’m ready.”

Questions to Answer

1. Wealthy people are neither necessarily generous with others nor even able to enjoy their wealth themselves. When is a man able to have riches and properly enjoy them?

2. What is Clare’s attitude toward money? What is she trying to accomplish in the way she spends it?

3. What is your attitude toward money? What is the best way to ensure that you use it rightly?