This week I’ve been watching two doves prepare a nest in my office window. They’ve worked hard every morning, building a suitable place for the impending blessed event. Their collaboration in nest-building has been touching. The male arrives with a twig or piece of small string and places it on the sill, while the female nestles her feathers into the makeshift nest until the fit is just right.

Apparently, doves are not known for their nest building prowess, and this one is confirmation of their domestic shortcomings. They don’t actually weave a nest in the traditional sense, they simply pile some sticks atop one another and call it home. In past years, this has led to disaster when the young chicks freeze due to the poor insulation against the granite sill. But for now, these two lovers are satisfied with the place they’ve built with affection.

What might look to me as a place of scarcity—a cold, hard window sill on Trade Street topped with a handful of sticks—has become a place of abundance for the doves, where she will lay her eggs and they will take turns keeping them warm.

How we perceive the world—through a lens of scarcity or of abundance— colors our thoughts and shapes our peace of mind.

In her book The Soul of Money, author Lynne Twist takes us on an inspiring path, painting a picture of how money affects our personal and public worlds. Money, she reminds us, is an artificial construct invented by man, initially for trade of goods and services. But, she goes on to say, somewhere along the way, the power we gave money outstripped its original utilitarian role.

Where that has left us is in a perception of scarcity. Our culture has convinced us that money and other resources are limited—there is only enough time, money and other assets for the “winners.” That puts us in a competitive posture against essentially everyone else. It’s you and me against the world and if it comes down to it, baby, it’s going to be me.

Operating from a place of scarcity does not just relate to money. Sometimes we think there’s not enough time to accomplish all we wish; then panic sets in. Sometimes we think there’s not enough love to fill us up; then we become empty. Sometimes we imagine there is not enough beauty in the world; then we see only the ugly.

When we live from a place of abundance, all things are possible. When we live from a place of scarcity, we become competitive and fearful. We lose our connection to others that we need to survive.

The other day I was talking about this subject with Nathan, our graphic designer, when the conversation led to his father's experience in Vietnam.  Nathan recounted his dad's stories about how, when he was over there, every creature comfort was scarce.  And he told Nathan how surprisingly easy it was for the human body and psyche to adapt to scarcity, but that it was the connections with his fellow soldiers that got him through the terror. Those, he had in abundance.

I have heard the stories, from my friends Quincy Collins & Porter Halyburton, about the horrors of being in a Vietnamese prison camp for 7 1/2 years.  Much of the time, they were all in separate cells, unable to communicate.  But to hold onto the human connection, and therefore the possibility of survival, they created an elaborate code that they tapped out on the cell walls, or with the cadence of the sweep of a broom.  In the dearth of hope, they created a future through human connection.

The dove nest is almost complete. At first glance, the sparse sprinkling of twigs might suggest those doves are wallowing in scarcity. But having watched the meticulous and loving cooperation that built this meager manger, I can attest to the abundance they share.

Someone told me recently that if all the steel in the earth were extracted and evenly distributed, every person in the world would get 33 pounds. I can imagine how disproportionate my share is, taking into account my car, the buildings I work and live in, among other things. So steel is not scarce, it just turns out I’m hoarding it.