This thought stays with me in my more enlightened moments: nothing is mine. To that end, or in movement toward that end, I try to avoid claiming blatant ownership over things. I try to say, “The car I drive,” rather than “my car,” or “the place I stay,” rather than “my apartment.” This comes fairly easily, since the computer I use belongs to my employer; the apartment belongs to the landlord; the car belongs to a bank; and the clothes I wear have mostly been given me. I don’t even own my bed or desk.

In more enlightened moments, I try to think that these things belong to God. And they do. The difficulty exists in remembering and acting accordingly.

In the 1990s, a prominent New York NBA player complained that the players in the league couldn’t feed their families on the average NBA salary, which was $1 million a year in 1991. He couldn’t feed his family on six zeros? Was his family a small nation?

Not every player retires broke after making millions of dollars a year in endorsements and salary. But somehow, many do. Anyone think these guys should handle the federal budget?

The harsh reality looms: the problem started long before the bankrupcy.  It began with unlearned lessons years ago; no one ever taught them how to handle $10. How do we expect them to manage $1,000,000?