Relearning Abundance :A Christian Reflection on Parenting, Provision, and Letting Go of Fear

Over the years, as I have traveled between countries and lived in different cultures, I have become increasingly aware of how differently people around the world raise their children and prepare them for adulthood. Growing up in Korea, I knew firsthand how fragile many young people felt—emotionally, mentally, spiritually. The pressure to succeed was suffocating, and the fear of failure hovered like a shadow that never lifted. Children were protected in some ways but crushed in others. Many lacked resilience because their sense of worth was tied to performance and reputation.

Later, when I lived in France, I noticed something different. French children, though still protected by their parents, seemed to grow up with more emotional stability. The government provided substantial social and financial support, so many students never needed part-time jobs. They had time to study, socialize, and live their youth without the heavy weight of financial survival.

But all of this shifted again when I arrived in the United States.

In America, I saw young people who were expected to work early, not out of ambition but out of necessity. College tuition was high. Living expenses were high. The cost of simply existing felt heavier here. Most students took out loans before they had even begun their adult lives. Many worked long hours while carrying full academic loads. In a strange way, American youth appeared more independent—but also more burdened.

And somewhere between these observations, between Korea, France, and the U.S., I began quietly questioning myself as a parent.

My husband and I made a deliberate choice: we would support our children fully through college so they would not begin their careers shackled by student debt. We wanted them to be free—free to choose their futures, free from the pressure of loans, free from the exhaustion that many students here face. That decision shaped everything in our financial life. We worked, saved, sacrificed, and structured our entire lives around this mission.

But sometimes… I wonder if we made things too easy.

Our children study hard. They are not reckless. They do not ask for luxuries. They do not complain. We have never spoiled them with extravagance. And yet, their path through higher education has been smoother than most of their American peers.

And the truth is… sometimes I feel unappreciated.
Not because they are ungrateful—but because they cannot fully understand what it cost.

I deny myself what I need so that they will not lack anything. I work hard, yet I hesitate to spend money on myself. It is not that I cannot afford it. It is that I am afraid to. I fear that if I buy something now, I will not have enough later. I fear waste. I fear lack. I fear slipping back into the kind of poverty I knew as a child.

And so, I live in this silent tension:
providing generously for my children,
while withholding even basic comfort from myself.

Sometimes I hear my children say things lightly—comments about money, school, their lifestyle—and those words prick my heart. They don’t mean to hurt me. They simply do not know the weight of the sacrifices we made, because they have never had to feel them.

But I do.

And often, I get frustrated with myself more than with anyone else. Because I know that no one forced me into this life of self-imposed deprivation. I built these walls. I locked myself in. I have insisted on living as frugally as possible, even when God has given me more than enough.

But only I can open the door and step out of this prison I created.

And so I ask myself, again and again:
Why am I like this? Why can’t I allow myself to receive the goodness God has placed in front of me?

When I trace the line back to my past, the answer becomes painfully clear.

The Shadow of Childhood Scarcity

I grew up knowing lack—real lack. The kind that humbles you. The kind that presses on your self-worth. The kind that shapes how you think about everything: food, money, clothes, opportunity, even love. When you grow up in hardship, your survival instincts never fully disappear. Even after you escape poverty, poverty does not always escape you.

That old mindset lingers:
“Save everything. Don’t waste anything. Don’t buy what you want. Don’t risk losing what you have.”

So, I taught myself to settle—to choose the cheapest options, to suppress my desires, to believe that wanting something better was a form of pride or irresponsibility. I convinced myself that it was more godly to live small.

But lately, I have been asking myself whether this has truly honored God… or merely honored my fear.

Looking back honestly, I can see that God has always provided for me. Even when my life felt unstable, even when I felt overwhelmed, even when circumstances around me were uncertain—He sustained me. I was never left hungry. I was never abandoned. I never lacked what I needed to survive. What I lacked was not provision, but permission—permission to believe that God’s goodness extended not only to survival, but also to joy.

Yet I lived as though survival was the only goal.

And so now, years later, standing in a different life, living in different circumstances, surrounded by blessings I once never imagined… I sometimes ask myself:

Was it worth sacrificing so much of myself? And what exactly am I afraid of now?

The Lie of Self-Protective Scarcity

For many years, I told myself that spending money on things I wanted was wasteful. I believed that modesty and frugality were signs of maturity and gratitude. And yes, there is virtue in stewardship. There is wisdom in not living extravagantly. There is beauty in simplicity.

But what I confused was this:
Stewardship honors God. Fear does not.

I saw people who bought quality food and thought they were spoiled.
I saw people who invested in experiences and thought they were irresponsible.
I saw people who enjoyed life and quietly judged them—because I believed that “responsible adults” should always choose the cheapest option.

But what I was really doing was defending my own fear-driven habits. I wasn’t frugal because I trusted God. I was frugal because I didn’t. I told myself that I should be satisfied with the bare minimum, as though wanting something good made me unspiritual.

But is this truly the life God desires for me?

Does He want me to eat joylessly, spend fearfully, live anxiously, and constantly punish myself for wanting something better?

No.

Everything in Scripture points to a generous Father who delights in blessing His children—not spoiling them, but providing abundantly for them.

Jesus didn’t say,
“I came so they may survive.”

He said,
“I came that they may have life, and have it more abundantly.” (John 10:10)

That “abundance” is not measured only in money.
It is measured in peace, joy, contentment, and freedom.

But freedom is something I have not often allowed myself to experience.

A New Way of Thinking, Rooted in God’s Heart

As I think about my children, my sacrifices, and the financial tension I have lived with for decades, I realize something I had been too afraid to admit:

I don’t have to live this way anymore.
God never asked me to.
Fear did.

And so, I find myself wanting something different—not only for my children, but for myself, and for the kind of home we build together as a family.

I want a life filled with abundance—not luxury, not wastefulness, not carelessness, but abundance in the truest, biblical sense. A life where we:

• Appreciate God’s provision
• Enjoy the meals He gives us
• Stop living in fear of “not enough”
• Learn how to celebrate what we have
• Give generously without punishing ourselves
• Live with gratitude, contentment, and joy

I want to teach my children not only how to work hard, but how to trust God.
Not only how to avoid debt, but how to live with peace.
Not only how to be disciplined, but how to be joyful.
Not only how to survive—but how to flourish.

I want them to see a mother who is not anxious, not fearful, not always sacrificing herself into exhaustion, but a mother who lives freely in God’s grace.

And that means learning to allow myself to enjoy the blessings God has placed before me.

Learning to Receive From God

Everything I have belongs to God. Everything I give to my children comes from what He has given me. So why do I act as though God’s generosity is limited? Why do I fear that if I buy something I genuinely need—or even something I genuinely enjoy—that His provision will run out?

That fear is not faith.
That mindset is not biblical.
That lifestyle does not honor God.

Because God is not glorified by my deprivation.
He is glorified by my thanksgiving.

And so, I am learning—slowly, gently—to live differently.

Not in reckless spending.
Not in self-indulgence.
Not in thoughtless comfort.

But in freedom.

Freedom to appreciate.
Freedom to enjoy.
Freedom to rest.
Freedom to trust that God will continue providing tomorrow as faithfully as He provided yesterday.

Moving Forward With Grace

I do not know how long it will take to fully break out of the mental prison I built for myself. Old fears do not disappear overnight. Old habits do not unwind with one prayer. But my heart feels different now—softer, steadier, less anxious, more hopeful.

For the first time in my life, I am beginning to picture myself living not in survival mode, but in gratitude mode. I am learning how to release the fear of poverty I carried for so long. I am learning to trust that God’s provision is enough—not only for today, but for the days to come.

And perhaps the greatest lesson of all is this:

It is not unholy to enjoy life.
It is unholy to reject God’s blessings out of fear.

I want to embrace the richness of life God has given me.
I want to enjoy meals with my family without guilt.
I want to give generously without fear of lack.
I want to step into a life of true abundance—
the kind Jesus promised,
the kind God delights to give,
the kind I have been too afraid to receive.

And slowly, one choice at a time,
I believe I will learn to live with peace,
with trust,
and with joy—
in the fullness of God’s faithful provision.