Stewardship Meets Family Vacay

Earlier this summer, we did a full family beach vacay. Me, my wife, our three kids, and their three spouses. And six grandkids.

Six grandkids—aged 4 and under, mind you. All in one house on the Florida beach. 

It went exactly how you’d guess. The grandkids sorted themselves out pretty easily—we had the Bigs (a 3- and an almost-4-year-old), the Bandits (the 2-year-olds who would walk around leaving crumbs of food in their wake), and the Babies (under 1). 

It was magical.

Every morning, the Bigs would get up with the sun and wander down to find me on the first-floor beachside porch. They’d crawl up in my lap and say, “Pops, can we ride in the golf cart?” Naturally, I’d say, “Sure.”

So, by 6:15 a.m., you’d find us cruising the streets looking for cats with no tails (a common occurrence in our neighborhood), listening to a mix of Bible songs for kids and “Baa Baa Black Sheep.” 

Like I said, magical.

And then the day would just happen, and we’d have a blast: More golf cart riding, strolling, biking, having breakfast, pounding the beach, playing in the hose, digging in the sand (and eating some sand), burying Pops’ legs, chasing birds, changing lots of diapers, building sandcastles and towers, eating snacks, hunting for crabs and fish, eating more snacks, and on and on. By 11:30 a.m., we would need a change of scenery, so someone would say, “I’m going out back to swim in the pool.”

That’s when the storms would appear. Suddenly, some single toy—a boat, a dive ring, a ball, the best pair of goggles—became the prized possession. And the kids would lose it.

As one of my buddies said, “Trying to teach kids to share is like trying to convince a squirrel to give up its acorns.” They’re reaching, grabbing, clutching, crying, pushing, flailing, kicking, screaming, “MINE! MINE!” Parents get engaged, using some mixture of reasoning, discipline, and bribing.

The same kids who were angels at 6:15 a.m. would turn into aliens by noon. And over what? A three-dollar toy that’s not even theirs.

I’ve been thinking a lot about stewardship over the years, and my new book fleshes out some of that thought. The core idea is the same as the opening sentence of the book: “You own nothing. But you are responsible for everything you have.” So, what do you have that needs stewarding?

And I don’t just mean money. I mean any gifts/superpowers/assets you have.

• Influence
• Education
• Time
• Relationships
• Experiences
• Strengths
• Market opportunity
• Inheritance
• Imagination

In my experience, we fall into one of two ditches with our stuff—just like my six grandkids.

Ditch One: “Clutch like crazy”

The Greek philosopher Hesiod said, “Acquisition means life to miserable mortals.” Or, put into the language of a beach vacay, I’m just grabbing for my stuff like kids at a pool. How can I get it, pile it up, keep it, protect it? All others are threats and must be warded off.

As one comedian said, “Siblings fight over toys the way adults fight over parking spaces—pointless, but personal.” You’ve seen people like this. You’ve probably been this person.

When we fall into this ditch, we find fear. Fear of what might happen someday, so wealth must be stockpiled. Fear of losing, so winning at all costs becomes supreme. Fear of being left out, so relationships are things to control.

As this brief article hits at with its “seven signs of greed,” this clutching mindset is harmful to individuals, who become short-run focused and perpetually discontent, and to their communities. Think about the pool experience. At that moment, no one was enjoying the family vacay. And it was fueled by wrong thinking: Something was “mine” when, really, it wasn’t.

Clutching destroys. Stewardship frees.

Ditch Two: “Spending without thought”

And then we also have the other ditch we fall into with our stuff, just like my grandkids. The ol’ immediate loss of interest. Have you ever noticed how short the attention of a toddler can be regarding a special toy or gift you have for them? We give them something, and within minutes or even seconds, there is a good chance they have discarded it and moved on to something else.

If Ditch One is clutching and squeezing what we do not own, Ditch Two is thoughtlessly spending our way through our lives. Using your stuff only for the need of the moment. It is so easy to just carelessly spend our stuff—our money, our relationships, our experiences, etc.

• Burning through my money and holdings with only one primary customer—me!
• Pushing my staff team to advance faster than is healthy.
• Carelessly handling the relationships in my orbit rather than growing them.
• Not leveraging my life experiences for meaningful impact and influence.

God gives us stuff for three primary reasons. I call these the “table stakes of stuff.” The reasons we are given anything in the first place are for our enjoyment/God’s glory/others’ benefit.

The things that we have should ripple with benefit into the lives of others. Our family members, friends, co-workers, church members, neighbors, business partners, nonprofit stakeholders, city, and world should be better off because of the things that God has given you and me.

How thoughtful are you being with the stuff the Master put in your bag for you to steward? Are you growing and turning 2 into 4 or 5 into 10, like the parable talks about? What’s the positive wake you’re leaving where you’ve been? Are you multiplying or just spending what you have for what you want?

Conclusion

When it comes to your stuff, have you literally discovered what the Master put in your bag? Are you constantly transferring the ownership back to Him? Are you growing and multiplying those gifts and superpowers and assets? Do you live daily knowing that we all will answer for how we steward the stuff the Master put under care? That’s radical stewardship.

If your life ended this evening, are you set for a “well done” from the Master? Have you been over-clutching the stuff God has loaned you? Are you mindlessly spending your way through life? To paraphrase the famous Blaise Pascal quote, men spend their lives in a frivolous pursuit of what they think they want, only to find it never satisfies the ache they ignored.