Finances When You're Widowed

The day after Blair died, I threw away the Dave Ramsey envelopes.

I wish I could say grief made me wiser with money. It didn’t. It made me desperate for relief. For control. For comfort. I shopped my grief away one overdraft at a time, buying things I didn’t need because somehow a spin through TJ Maxx felt easier than sitting in the silence of widowhood.

Loss has a way of exposing what we really believe belongs to us.

Years later, I stood in my paid off home preparing to sell it when I discovered I had forgotten to pay the property taxes. The house was on a lien. Paid for, yet not free. I remember the humiliation of that moment. How could someone responsible enough to pay off a home overlook something so obvious?

But grief does strange things to the brain. Trauma scatters your sense of time, memory, and management. Widowhood taught me that you can appear stable on the outside while quietly unraveling underneath.

Then came the next chapter. I built and bought a home as a widow, trying to create beauty again after devastation. I made faith filled investments that I believed would create security and future impact. Instead, I lost a significant amount of money in a Ponzi scheme. The feeling of financial vulnerability pulsed from my purse strings.

There is no class for that kind of disappointment. No spreadsheet that can prepare you for realizing money you stewarded carefully is simply gone.

And yet, strangely, I can say now that the losses became the gain. Because every blunder, oversight, and financial heartbreak slowly untangled my grip on ownership.

I think about what Ted Turner reportedly said near the end of his life, that none of it was ever really his. Coming from one of the largest landowners in America, those words carry weight. But I understand them now in a way I never could before.

Nothing is ours. Not the houses. Not the investments. Not the carefully built plans. Not even the people we love most.

We arrive empty handed, and eventually we release it all back again.

That realization could sound depressing, but for me it has become deeply freeing. I no longer see myself as an owner trying to protect what is “mine.” I see myself as a kingdom steward entrusted with resources, relationships, influence, and time for only a little while.

And stewardship feels lighter than ownership ever did.

Nothing is outs. Not the houses. Not the investments. Not the carefully built plans. Not even the people we love most. That realization could sound depressing, but for me it has become deeply freeing.

There is a verse in The Passion Translation that has anchored me through this long journey of loss and rebuilding:

“Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:31-33).

That is the lesson widowhood, overdrafts, liens, bad investments, and rebuilding have taught me.

Nothing is ours.

But everything can still be surrendered for the Kingdom.

This article was published in our Faithful Steward magazine, a quarterly publication filled with encouraging stories, biblical teaching, and practical tools to help you grow as a wise and joyful giver. If you'd like to begin receiving Faithful Steward, consider becoming a FaithFi partner.