Kingsport Spirit

Every January, the Tennessee Legislature reconvenes with a flurry of excitement and anticipation. But government isn’t supposed to be exciting; it’s supposed to be practical.

That’s why I keep an eye on the periodic “state roundup” newsletters from tax and economic policy watchdogs. They read like a triage report: an $83 million school-district hole in Alaska, an $850 million shortfall in Colorado, a new wealth-tax fight in California, or a utility seeking property-tax relief in Louisiana to finance major infrastructure. And if you live in Tennessee, you may notice something else: we’re rarely on that list.

What’s striking is that fiscal stress doesn’t just show up in smaller or weaker economies. Ten states are routinely flagged on “tight budget” watchlists: California, Colorado, Idaho, Illinois, Maryland, Nebraska, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington. Many of these are economic powerhouses. So why do they keep popping up?

Because budgets care more about fundamentals than headlines: what you take in, what you promise to spend year after year, and whether you’ve left yourself any margin when times turn.

Scripture treats money as a stewardship issue. Wisdom says plan ahead and keep something in reserve–like Joseph preparing for the famine. It also teaches personal responsibility and diligence, while calling us to be generous to those in genuine need. The balance is simple: don’t live without restraint, don’t shift the consequences of poor choices onto others, and don’t harden your heart when your neighbor truly needs help.

Here’s where I like to apply a simple Tennessee test: “What would Dolly do?” It’s good old mountain common sense: love your neighbor, give back to your community, work hard, and don’t let circumstances define you. In plain terms: keep your word, take responsibility, and save a little for the seasons when life gets tight.

That mix of compassion and practicality translates well to how a state should run its finances.

First, don’t spend money you don’t have. Tennessee’s constitution requires the numbers to balance each year. That doesn’t eliminate risk, but it does reduce the temptation to ignore problems with wishful thinking and temporary fixes. In places where budgets are held together with optimistic assumptions, the headlines eventually catch up. Tennessee’s approach pushes decisions earlier, which usually means fewer surprises later.

Second, keep something “put back.” In household terms, that’s the rainy-day fund. It isn’t glamorous, and it doesn’t satisfy every worthy request in the moment. But it matters most when times turn. A healthy cushion gives leaders choices: adjust gradually, protect core services, and avoid the whiplash of last-minute cuts or frantic revenue grabs.

Third, steadiness builds trust—and trust has value. When lenders and rating agencies see a history of balanced budgets and healthy reserves, a state earns a reputation for dependability. That reputation doesn’t solve every problem, but it does make it easier—and often cheaper—to finance big needs when the time comes.

But “What would Dolly do?” isn’t only about thrift. It’s also about generosity with purpose. Dolly didn’t just talk about caring for people; she built programs that opened doors, especially for kids. That’s an important reminder for government. The state can’t fix every social problem, and it shouldn’t pretend it can. But it can do the basics well—safe communities, strong schools, reliable roads—and make sure hard work has a fair shot at paying off.

So, Tennessee, in a world that rewards blending in with the crowd and keeping up with the Joneses, be Dolly instead.