My Journey From Lack to Radical Generosity

My Journey From Lack to Radical Generosity

A story that needs to be told

Becky Swanstrum

Copyright © 2021 by Becky Swanstrum

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected].

FIRST EDITION

Scriptures marked AMP are taken from the AMPLIFIED® BIBLE, Copyright ©2015 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scriptures marked AMPC are taken from the AMPLIFIED BIBLE (AMP), Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987 by the Lockman Foundation. Used by Permission.

Scriptures marked ESV are taken from the THE HOLY BIBLE, ENGLISH STANDARD VERSION® (ESV), Copyright© 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission.

Scriptures marked KJV are taken from the KING JAMES VERSION (KJV), public domain. Scriptures marked NAS are taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD® (NAS), copyright© 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.

Scriptures marked NIV are taken from the THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION ® (NIV), Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan.

Scriptures marked NKJV are taken from the NEW KING JAMES VERSION® (NKJV), Copyright© 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scriptures marked NLT are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW LIVING TRANSLATION (NLT), Copyright© 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

ISBN 978-1-7373597-0-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7373597-1-5 (ebook)

CONTENTS

Introduction

The Beginnings

On the Road to Maturity

A Fresh Start

A Year of Firsts

Talk Time, International Students and Fall Parties

Taking Stock

A New Season

In Conclusion

References

About the Author

Introduction

The first thought of writing this book came when I applied to the brand-new Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry online program (BSSM-O) in June of 2020. Throughout the years, I have watched God bring hope and increase into my financial situation, and as I put God’s stewardship principles to work in my life, I saw God work in amazing ways. Once I got married, my husband Clint and I worked together to become extremely generous givers. Over the years, I shared my and our journey with many young people; college-aged broke students, deeply-in-debt-upon-graduation college students, and struggling young families. Meanwhile, we were inching along trying to finish well.

Then in June 2020, as I was sharing my story in my BSSM-O interview, the woman who was interviewing me asked me if I had ever considered writing a book. No, I hadn’t. But something was birthed in me and I thought perhaps I should at least try. It would be much easier to hand someone a book than to spend hours talking about our journey. Most people don’t have hours to sit and listen. So the seed was planted.

The other day, song-writer and storyteller Ray Hughes posted this on Facebook and it shows perfectly the motivation in my heart as I write my stories:

As long as words have been spoken, stories have been told … As long as children are born, we must tell the stories. Otherwise, they will listen to a world that has ceased to care enough to remind them of who they really are. Today is a good day to tell a story that shows them where dreams come from and what hope looks like … This isn’t a five-year plan, it’s a 500-year vision. Your stories should be gently waking the boldness in those that will sing tomorrow’s hopes and dreams. The world needs tellers, be a teller today. Tomorrow needs your story. (Hughes October 12, 2020)

And from Bill Johnson, pastor of Bethel Church, I found my purpose in writing these stories of God in my life:

The testimony of God creates an appetite for more of the activities of God … The simple act of sharing a testimony about God can stir up others until they expect and see God work in their day. (Johnson 2013)

My hope is that as I share my God-stories and the lessons I have learned, that the path I have taken will inspire you to take the steps to finish well while touching and blessing the world around you. I truly believe that God is no respecter of persons and that what He has done for me, He is willing and eager to do for you. He loves weaving His plan throughout our lives. Do it again, God! Do it again!

Chapter 1

The Beginnings

I don’t remember how old I was when I first recognized lack. Probably pretty young. I remember every house we lived in from the time I was two years old. I never knew the houses were rentals or had any understanding of what money was or where it came from to pay for these houses. I certainly had no understanding of the monthly expenses of living that I now do as an adult. My dad was a school teacher with a low salary. He drove a school bus on the side and volunteered as a pastor of a small community church in the San Bernardino mountains of Southern California. Even though money was tight, I didn’t know that until sometime in elementary school. I was blissfully ignorant, having plenty of everything I needed: shelter, food, and family.

I have a photograph of me when I was three years old. It is one of my favorites. I was standing in a neighbor’s driveway in Valley of Enchantment, California. I had a little winter glove on my right hand and I was holding my hand out tentatively. The neighbor had been coaxing me to feed the chickadees. He had put some bird seed in my hand, and there I was with a little bird perched on my little hand. I look at that picture and see a sweet, tender-hearted, gentle little girl with great trust in her heart. A happy-hearted little girl blissfully unaware of the stress and sorrow in the world, not yet having the walls up that would protect her from the perceived and real dangers of the world to come.

But the sense of lack had already begun creeping in. My mom was a great cook and we ate really good meals at home, but the special joy of eating out at a restaurant was non-existent. When we did have food that wasn’t homemade, we kids wouldn’t have a whole meal to ourselves. We had to share and split meals. We would get take-out hamburgers on special and each of us might get half a hamburger.

I do remember one significant sit-down meal in a restaurant. One summer when we were in Arizona visiting my great Aunt Alice, my mom’s cousin Tom took us to a steakhouse. It was such a wonder being in that place. I still remember the big wooden tables, the benches, and the cool darkness inside. Tom was very wealthy and was treating us, but mom and dad ordered one plate of dinner for us four kids to split. I was so disappointed. My mom and dad got steak, but for some reason my parents felt we wouldn’t appreciate it, so the four of us split a hamburger and fries. I felt devalued, unimportant, and so sad. I longed for something better, for no fear, and the freedom to enjoy the good things that God seemed to offer.

Each Christmas Aunt Rose from Buffalo would send my two sisters and me brand new store-bought dresses. My favorite was a red, brown, and orange dress with fall leaves and two tiny acorns on the lapel. I felt so pretty in that dress! I loved those store-bought dresses even though Aunt Rose strategically bought them at least one size too big so it would take the whole year for us to grow into them. It took some time before I realized that it was normal for many of the kids I went to school with to have all their clothes store-bought. Our family had hand-me-downs and clothing my mom and older sister sewed. I felt so awkward in those home-made clothes, which I was wearing in many of my annual school pictures. I never shared those pictures and ended up throwing most away, always putting on a brave face, keeping those walls up so no one would know that I knew I didn’t really fit in.

A Bit of Family History

My mom had come from a wealthy lineage. Her father, my grandfather Henry Guernsey Hubbard, was the youngest of four children. Long ago, his parents and relatives had homes in Martha’s Vineyard, an island located south of Cape Cod, Massachusetts known for being a popular summer vacation area for the wealthy. A book, which documents the history and genealogies of my mother’s side of the family, One Thousand Years of Hubbard History, 866 to 1895: From Hubba, the Norse Sea King, to the Enlightened Present, (Day 2016) had been passed on through the family, and we saw it often. My grandfather’s brothers made great wealth, one as a geologist, another as an entomologist and horticulturist who had displays in the Smithsonian Museum. At some point, the family moved to Detroit, Michigan and became prominent, wealthy, and influential there. My mom’s father never made it into the massive wealth and fame his grandfather, father, and brother attained. My mother always felt that this wealth should have been hers and she was very vocal about that.

My father, on the other hand, had parents who were poor immigrants from Germany. He was their first child born in America and came from a very godly line. But his family didn’t have much wealth. His dad was a baker in Buffalo, New York, who moved his family to Los Angeles, California after he suffered a fall off a ladder and sustained a back injury. When my dad was in his late teens, his father passed away from a botched blood transfusion while in surgery for his back. My dad did his best as the oldest son in the family, obtaining his degree and becoming a teacher, trying to be a good son to his mother and a good sibling to his younger brother. He then met my mom in L.A., and they soon married.

Within two years of mom and dad marrying in their early twenties, they had my sister, then me twenty-one months later. The greatest legacy they gave me was not wealth, but a love for Jesus and the Word of God. During these younger years, I knew I was loved by God more than He loved the sparrows. A favorite Bible passage was Matthew 10:29-31 where Jesus said, "Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Therefore, do not fear; you are of more value than many sparrows (NASB). I loved that He knew how many hairs were on my head and that He also kept my tears in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). I loved the song, His Eye Is on the Sparrow" because I needed to know He cared for me.

We lived in Norwalk, California (near L.A.) when I was really young. I remember when I was around two years old coming into the living room where mom and dad were sitting. My older four-year-old sister had come up with a plan to sing the little song, Teensy Weensy Spider, and act it out for mom and dad. There was joy in the room, excitement, love, and acceptance with lots of fun and laughter at that moment. I felt loved and cherished. How I loved those family times.

When I was in elementary school, we moved to the mountains where dad taught and took on pastoring the little church. For a couple years, we lived in a house that was in a residential area behind my elementary school. My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Tone, was always draped in big, flowing, purple dresses. I remember the room, the desks, the area where we sat and listened to stories and did music marches with musical instruments, our cubbies, and our little napping cots. I remember playing in the playground and chasing the boys. I was fearless and tough–definitely a tomboy at heart. Mrs. Tone told my mom and dad that I chased boys, though, and I got in trouble for that!

There were so many little mountain communities in the San Bernardino mountains, and we were familiar with all of them. As we drove from Valley of Enchantment to Cedarpines Park where we later lived, we would pass a small amusement park that had four rectangle trampolines. I had such a desire in my heart to jump on those trampolines. I would look longingly at them, and I asked once or twice if we could go there, but our family did not have money to spend on frivolous things and entertainment like that. There were no movies, no ice skating, and no theme parks in our world.

Family Times

Our family did lots of traveling–to the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, the California coast and tidepools, the redwoods, both the coastal and the giant ones–all over the state. As part of dad’s continuing education requirements as a teacher, he would need to take summer courses in various places. Our family would spend weeks on the road and, because we had no money for hotels, we would camp out. We were like hobos all packed into our tan Chevy carry-all with tents, tarps, cots, and even an old fire pit camp oven. We were usually camping somewhere for my August birthday, and mom used that old camp stove to bake my special birthday blueberry muffins many times. We had such good camping family times. Mom always had a load of food in the ice chest. On the road to our destination, we would pull over into a rest stop, put the tailgate down, and make our sandwiches. We even had the slop bucket (potty can) in the car for those inevitable mid-transit needs.

In 1966, when I was going into seventh grade, we took a road trip across the United States, visiting friends as we made our way to Buffalo, New York, where my dad was from. We went in our carry-all with a big mattress in the back where we kids were during the trip. As we stopped in each state, we had a bit of spending money we had saved to buy souvenirs. Our favorite little items on that trip were small ceramic animal families. I bought a family of skunks, kitties, boxer dogs and many others. It was such a delight to have my little animal families to play with across the country. At Aunt Rose’s house in New York, one of my baby boxer dogs rolled under the freezer in the play room and I couldn’t get it back. I was so disappointed that it was never recovered. I still have these little relics of my past and remember the joy they gave me in my small world.

On our way back to California, we drove across Canada. It was important to dad and mom that every Sunday we were at church, so we would drop in on these little community churches across the country. As a young pre-teen, it was so difficult to step into these unknown churches with unknown people and attend Sunday School class with the few kids who lived in the community. I didn’t have great social skills–it just wasn’t something that was taught in our home. Perhaps my parents thought we would just know how to act in social situations. We didn’t. Or at least I didn’t. I felt shy, awkward, and different. It was very uncomfortable, and I don’t think any of us kids particularly enjoyed it.

One big memory of this trip that directly relates to my understanding of finances and feeling lack was that the carry-all broke down in some little Canadian town. We had to have it towed, we spent an unplanned night in the town, and there was just a swirl of fear surrounding this event. As always, the theme of not having enough to pay for this extra expense dominated. There was always an underlying cushion of fear and anxiety.

Aunt Alice

A delightful part of every summer was when we got to go to Oracle, Arizona, to my great Aunt Alice’s place. She lived in the desert amid the rattlesnakes and scorpions on a small compound with her main house, a guest house and a wonderful, small swimming pool.

Aunt Alice was my mother’s aunt and perhaps my mom’s favorite person in the world. When we were at Aunt Alice’s every summer, I knew we would be well taken care of. She always stocked the refrigerator with all our favorite foods that we never got at home – soda pop, Fiddle Faddle, and even Partridge Farms cakes! It was glorious. She was a servant who loved us and blessed us with what she had. She was well-known in the community, a home-grown archeologist of sorts who would take us on digs into the desert to find pottery and other Anasazi treasures. Even though Aunt Alice lived very simply, she had no fear of lack. She was generous and kind. Her generosity made an impact on me that still affects me to this day. Seeing how she recognized our preferences, even as little kids, that she enjoyed serving us, and loved us well made a big impression on me and opened up my heart to do that for others.

Aunt Alice cherished all creatures from the chickadees and cottontail rabbits to her two little old dogs. They were half blind, deaf, and followed her everywhere. Her love of animals extended to every living thing. She instilled that love in my mother, who then extended it to us.

One year we were able to take our horses down to Oracle for the summer. Aunt Alice put together a small make-shift corral and my sister and I spent many glorious hours riding, exploring the Arizona desert, avoiding diamond back rattlers, being wild and free. It was something my mother used to do as a nineteen-year-old when she lived with Aunt Alice for a year.

In looking back to times like this, it is clear to see that even though we had lack in some areas, we also enjoyed the blessing