Leaving Low Income

It’s official. Darrel got a promotion (to Director of Social Services) and a raise. We can no longer be classified as low income, and I’m grieving the loss of that designation. Yes, you heard me right: I liked being able fit into the low income category.

It’s hard to explain why. Maybe it was because it was an attribute I could share with my neighbors, something in common with a frightening high percentage of Harrisburgers. Even though I was so different in so many ways (I’m married, have a college degree, have traveled abroad, have sufficient health insurance, I’m white, I didn’t have children until I was 27), I could fool myself into believing that having the label “low income” would give me an “in.” I could understand, or at least appreciate, how difficult life is for many. This is pure falsehood, of course. We did qualify for LIHEAP, and free CHIP, and free tax preparation, but we’ve always had enough money to pay our credit card bill off every month, enough money to budget at least one meal out each month, enough money to live without fear of the roof leaking, the car dying, the cupboards getting bare. And we’ve always had a safety net of friends and family who would lend or give us money if push came to shove. But even if we weren’t living on the edge, I could see it in the distance, and see how closely people lived on it.

Being low income brought out both the sympathetic and judgmental parts of me. I spent a lot of time pondering, How do some people live with less money, and what do some people do with more? We certainly weren’t living in poverty, which is an altogether different situation (the 2008 federal poverty guideline was $21,200 for a family of four, which translates into take home pay of $10.19/hour). How could it be that we were living a comfortable low income existence? What would an uncomfortable low income existence look like? How could people even survive on a job making $10/hour, or $8/hour? We have pretty frugal lives—what could possibly be cut out?

Then there was the judgmental side, the logic of which went like this: If we’re low income, and living comfortably, lacking nothing, then what in the world are people who make more money than us doing with all that cash? What frivolous products are they indulging in, what wasteful pastimes, what pitiful purchases are they making?

In college, I was introduced to the inequities of the tithe. If ten percent is what’s asked of a person making $30,000, then that person gives $3,000 and keeps $27,000 to live on. If a person making $300,000 tithes ten percent, they’ve given a lot more ($30,000), but they also get to keep a lot more. The person making $300,000 has followed the letter of the law, but not the spirit, since the purpose of the tithe is not to pay a bill but to facilitate sharing of resources so that everyone has enough and the work of the church is supported. The graduated tithe concept proposes that as income grows, the percentage tithed should grow, too. So for example, someone making $60,000 could tithe 30% and still have $42,000 to live on; someone making $100,000 could tithe 50% and still have $50,000 to live on. I liked the graduated tithe idea as a college student with little income. Approaching middle class and middle age, it looks different.

I’d like to think that our living expenses could stay the same while our giving increases. I’d like to think that the “go ahead—indulge--you’ve earned it!” voice will be silenced, that I’ll exercise the same frugality, that even though my anxieties about money may be lightened, I’ll not distance myself from those who have less. Mostly, though, I hope that I can be grateful and generous. Would that be enough?