When the Fear of Poverty Left Me

The one-eighth of an inch turn Margarey was talking about meant that I had done the major work. Now my psyche had to let go of the last bit of residue. That residue was the sliver of pride I was still holding on to.

When I finally let go of the last sliver, the fear of being poor left me for good. I no longer needed the security of money. Money lost its power over me. 

After that, my work with Trees for Life became a dance that attracted people to join. The universe knew what was needed. The new energy of each person brought the right resources at the right time. Nothing more. Nothing less. I did not have to worry or plan or direct it. I was a free man.

I came to realize: Trees for Life was not about planting trees. It was about demonstrating how everything works in sync, and the power that this created. The same was true for my life and had been ever since childhood.

One example that my blockage had been removed came when a friend asked me to call upon his friend, a doctor, to tell him about Trees for Life. At the appointed time, I reached the doctor’s office and found him putting on his jacket. He told me he would have to leave soon and asked if I could tell him briefly about my cause. He stood beside the door, indicating his desire to escape. After I had spent a few minutes with him, he took his jacket off and told his secretary to call the person he was meeting to say he would be late. Then he sat down and told me I reminded him of a prophet from the Bible, whose bones cried with what he believed. He said he was fascinated and wanted to know more about me.

A few days later, he invited me to lunch and wanted to make sure I would bring Treva. On the way, Treva tried to coach me.

“I know you don’t like to ask for money, but please ask for money,” she said. “The thing we need is money.”

“Sweetheart, the one who is going to give us money knows when we need money and when we don’t,” I told her.

She understood the one I was referring to was not the doctor. 

“Please, you know how desperate our situation is,” she pleaded.

Treva and I were already seated when the doctor arrived. Without speaking any words, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a check for $5,000 written to Trees for Life, and laid it on the table.

“This is not for planting trees,” he said. “This is to make sure you and Treva have money to live on because, if you don’t, Trees for Life cannot survive.”

Later, I found out from others that before our lunch, he had contacted half-a-dozen people to find out more about me.

This doctor became one of our staunchest supporters, giving additional substantial gifts when we needed them. He also raised significant amounts of money from his family and friends.

He joined our board and argued that Treva and I should be given a salary. Until then, we had drawn less than $10,000 during each of the first seven years of Trees for Life.

“The emphasis is wrong to say money goes for work first,” the doctor told the board. “These people have to survive. We have to take care of them first and then other people will give money for our programs. Until that happens, nothing else can be done.” 

The board approved modest salaries for both Treva and me.

This journey into the unknown had brought us the realization that any work becomes meaningful if it is sacred. And sacrifice is what makes things sacred. This journey was our cleansing to be worthy of the vision. 

The poor became my Master: I had to feel their pain to serve them effectively. Service, not pain, was the joy. Trees for Life was never about money. It was a spiritual experience.

Early on this journey, I gained further clarity from the writings of the philosopher Huston Smith. Paraphrasing Smith, there are three eternal and universal questions humans ask:

1. How do I make a living?
2. How do I get along with people?
3. What is my place in the universe? 

I internalized the third point as, Who the hell am I? and What the hell am I doing on this Earth? I chose to make it my guiding star because if my relationship with the universe was clear, the other two relationships would fall into place. 

I saw myself as a visitor to this planet for a short time, just as I might visit Disneyland. I could enjoy it while I was here, but I could not take anything with me. That is why, throughout all my years with Trees for Life, I took even less for my annual salary than the original amount approved by the board.

This action produced very practical results. We attracted volunteers and staff members who were of the same mindset. Over the years, more than 50 youth and adults from all over the United States and several foreign countries volunteered to work with us for $45 a month, plus room, board, and health care. Phil and Kathy Miller gave up their professional careers, Phil as a bank vice-president and Kathy as a social worker, and sold their home to live in a single room, just as other volunteers did. They served in India for several years. David Kimble left his management career and served as a volunteer for several years before joining the staff and becoming the executive director of our organization. Two volunteers, Scott Garvey and Jeffrey Faus, came to us in different years through Brethren Volunteer Service. Both had planned short-term stints as volunteers but kept extending their commitment for several more years. They eventually became long-time staff members. Staff members’ salaries were similar to mine.

We were like a modern-day monastery, demonstrating that the world did not revolve on the twin axis of money and money alone, but also on love and devotion.

 Several times, when the board suggested raising my salary, I refused. 

When Treva and I were nearing retirement, a few board members told me they wanted to propose that Treva and I be given a pension. 

“Why?” I asked. “Treva and I have talked about this subject and we feel our Social Security is ample to take care of us.”

“The cost of food is rising,” one member said.

“We eat rice, lentils, and vegetables,” I said. “How much can they go up?”

For both Treva and me, our relationship to money had changed fundamentally. The dark abyss I thought I had jumped into turned out to be a mine of shining diamonds. Life spent in its glow made me the richest man on the planet.