I have a friend who recently bought a boat, not a canoe or a yacht, just a boat. He timed the purchase just right (“They’re cheaper at the end of the season!”), and on a sunny Sunday in September, he made it his.
Within a month he wanted to take it to a few other lakes. He needed a truck for that. Then someone told him he should buy a lift to keep the boat out of the water. Off-season storage keeps it nice, someone else whispered. That $45,000 boat quickly became a money pit.
And then the engine froze up.
I tried to talk him out of it by sharing the indomitable wisdom of my friend, Dan. Dan’s a commercial realtor, and he knows a thing or two about assets. Dan’s theory goes something like this: Every asset you own eats three meals a day. Plus, a midnight snack.
Meal one: Taxes. Whether you own it outright or are still paying the bank, taxes are inevitable. Your asset loves this meal because it’s ever-present and non-negotiable.
Meal two: Maintenance. Tires, propellers, roofs, oil changes, furnaces. You can defer this meal, but like skipping oil changes, the cost eventually explodes. Deferred maintenance is delayed damage—with interest.
Meal three: Insurance. The fool hearty skip this meal—but that invites massive risk. Skip it, and you gamble with disaster. Worse still, skipping this meal radicalizes the midnight snack.
And then there’s the midnight snack. The midnight snack, much like high blood pressure, is the silent killer. It’s not a financial cost, but a mental one: stress, worry, regret, arguments with your spouse. It’s the rent the asset charges to live inside your head. And like everywhere today, rent isn’t cheap.
But this post isn’t about boats, cars, houses—or even taxes and big-ticket expenses. It’s about the soul-crushing anxiety that so often follows a hasty decision. I’ve lived through a life of hasty decisions, and my wife and children paid a steep price (sorry, girls). Life has enough complexities without us introducing more stress.
Scripture is far from silent on this. If you know nothing else about King David, know this: He had a lot to stress about. A kingdom in peril. A dysfunctional family. Deeply compromised ethics. David made some poor decisions throughout his reign, and he often wrote openly about them.
Like the 23rd Psalm.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for HIS name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever!
Several things jumped off the page as I read this passage. Green pastures. Still waters. Restoration. Comfort. Goodness and mercy.
From time to time we need to take inventory of our assets. If they’re blocking out green pastures, or interfering with your restoration, chances are you have a liability masquerading as an asset.
Yes, assets can bring joy—sunny days on the lake, the pride of homeownership. And they are often good investments. But make no mistake, they also carry weight.
Sometimes literal.
Always figurative.
The question you have to ask yourself is this: Are you feeding the asset, or is the asset feeding off you?