On May 10th, Mother's Day in Mexico, I planned to treat my mother and sister to a spa day with massages. We're decidedly un-spa-like people, more accustomed to asceticism than pampering, which would have made the experience particularly memorable. I can recall every professional massage I've ever received (fewer than I have fingers), and my family shares this same relationship with luxury.
When I reached out to my sister to coordinate appointments, however, she asked me to book them separately. They were in conflict, she explained, because mom had become "too intense." Speaking with my mother revealed the root of the tension: my sister had let go of her household cleaning help to redirect money toward paying down credit card debt. Her house had fallen into disarray, which stressed my mother enough that she would go over to clean as much as possible—inadvertently grinding on my sister in the process. I realized then that a better gift would be hiring cleaning help for my sister. Though it represented a much larger financial commitment, it felt right. This would address the source of stress between them rather than just providing temporary relief. When I shared this plan, both were pleased with the solution.
Two days later, my sister called back with a different request: "Could you help me pay my debt instead? I can keep my house clean by doing this and that, and here's my plan to pay you back over five years." I told her I'd consider it.
What had begun as a gift primarily for my mother had somehow transformed into a loan to my sister. I think of it as a gift because repayment seems unlikely, but I don't frame it that way with her—maintaining the loan structure encourages frugality, and I'd be genuinely thrilled if she did repay me. After considerable thought, I lent her roughly the amount I had planned to spend on cleaning help. Then I wrote mom to tell her the gift had changed, I was to gift her something that will be revealed in time, God willing.