There are many things that I struggle with on a daily basis, the majority of which are related to my rampant selfishness, the consistent craving to indulge my own wants and desires before those of my family and the people I'm called to love. Some days I do better than others; some days I'm more willing to obey Jesus and some days I'm not.
But I don't generally consider greed or covetousness to be one of my daily struggles. I believe my heart to be content and, oftentimes, running over with gratitude. I recognize the provision of God in our air-conditioned home and full refrigerator and paid bills and I do not feel envious when we drive by houses larger and more luxurious than our own.
Shopping is, for us, something we do only when necessary; it is not a hobby or a diversion. As a result, I rarely go to the mall or any other store that doesn't sell groceries or drug store items. Window shopping seems senseless and holds no appeal for me. I do not want what I do not have if I do not know about it.
I do enjoy shopping for clothes when the money is there. I usually receive at least one or two gift cards for each birthday or Christmas that passes and I love the anticipation of being able to spend money on clothes minus the nagging guilt that invariably accompanies frivolous spending. But I have begun to notice something about my content and grateful heart: it changes.
I can go to the store, gift cards in tow, with a predetermined amount of money available to spend. An amount, mind you, that is a complete gift---unearned, unbudgeted, unexpected. Yet, as I am shopping and visualizing and trying on, all the while doing the necessary math in my head, I unfailingly discover that the amount I have to spend is simply not enough. It is not enough to buy all the things I want. Not enough to satisfy the greed that has now been kindled in my heart. And now my heart is not grateful nor content. It is frustrated and resentful and tired of not being able to buy what I want when I want. Sick and tired of having to shop the thrift stores and the sale racks and not being able to buy a whole outfit at the same time. And I realize that covetousness is not absent from my heart; it is simply dormant. It is the sleeping dragon whose existence was thought to be a myth because he is rarely awakened.
Don't misunderstand. . . . I still welcome gift cards. And I will still buy more clothes as the years (and the sizes) go by. But I am more aware of the evil subtleties within my own heart, this heart that is deceitful above all things. I know that I must be prepared to fight the greed that springs to life with the slightest provocation and the lies that fester and multiply with the smallest encouragement. A sleeping dragon is not a tame dragon and must be treated accordingly.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
A Bedwetter's Parable
I was a chronic bedwetter as a child, until about 8 or 9 years old. It was a burden for my mother, I'm sure, as it was long before the advent of pull-ups and other "overnight underwear" for children who had long since been out of diapers. And it was certainly inconvenient when I was invited to a friend's for a sleepover. Otherwise, it was just a fact of life. I would wake up most mornings in a wet bed, although, as long as I lay quite still, it wasn't very noticeable. I dreaded the wet, uncomfortable minutes between the time that I actually threw back the blankets and felt the cold air rush in and the moment when I would be ultimately stripped of all wet clothes and in the warm shower, feeling clean and cozy again. It was a short little span of time that was the bridge between the two situations, but it often took an even longer amount of time to prepare myself mentally for the exodus. I would lay still and wait, inwardly rallying for the dash to the bathroom and cringing in anticipation.
During this same time in my life, I had developed a disproportionate fear of the end of the world, of Jesus' second coming. I would overhear adults discussing global events and muttering about the "last days" and the "end times" and all of these things were synonymous for me with tribulation and persecution and nuclear war. The mini-series "The Day After" ran on television and the Russians attacked in the movie "Red Dawn". It was near the end of the Cold War--although we didn't know at the time it was near the end--and it seemed likely to me that we would meet our demise when the Russians lobbed their atomic bombs over to North America. And if I didn't die because of the fire and radiation and population explosion of cockroaches, then I was sure to be put to the test when I was tortured for believing in Jesus. And besides all that, I wanted to grow up. I wanted to have a boyfriend and then a husband and to be a mommy and to talk with other grown-ups about things like mortgages and deductibles and taxes. I didn't want Jesus to come back, not yet.
And it was during this period of my life--during routine bedwetting and fear of nuclear war--that God gave me a parable.
I can remember the idea as it popped into my brain. I remember becoming suddenly aware as I lay unnaturally still in my urine-soaked sheets that this was just like me in the world. The world was yucky--not somewhere you wanted to be. But if you were still enough and didn't think about where you were or what was around you, it felt safe and warm. It was even just possible to almost convince yourself that it wasn't actually yucky after all. As long as you didn't think about it, or breathe in too deeply, or move. The shower--the warm, cleansing shower that was just on the other side of that door--was like heaven. Once you were there, you'd never, ever want to get back into the wet bed. The wet bed was just a bad memory. It felt so good to be clean. And there was just that bridge of time spanning the distance between the two things--between the wet bed and the warm shower. There was just the dreaded, cold, mad dash to get from the one to the other. I knew that my fear was irrational. . . .that the shower was always better in the end and always worth the effort and the discomfort to get there. My fears didn't magically disappear. But God had spoken truth to my heart and I knew that whether it was always obvious to me or not, our fallen world was a pee-soaked bed and what Jesus would bring would be infinitely better.
God gave me a parable. He was willing to use the limited life experience of a 7-year-old girl to communicate comfort and truth in a way that she would intimately understand. And it has emphasized for me the ordinariness that is common to all of the parables that we find in the gospels. I don't believe that lost sheep and vineyard workers and evil tenants and wet beds are among the customary vocabulary used in the hallways of heaven to describe the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but it seems that is immaterial to the Author of Truth. He continues to meet us where we are in the hope that we will follow where He leads. He is worth leaving the wet bed and running headlong for the shower.
During this same time in my life, I had developed a disproportionate fear of the end of the world, of Jesus' second coming. I would overhear adults discussing global events and muttering about the "last days" and the "end times" and all of these things were synonymous for me with tribulation and persecution and nuclear war. The mini-series "The Day After" ran on television and the Russians attacked in the movie "Red Dawn". It was near the end of the Cold War--although we didn't know at the time it was near the end--and it seemed likely to me that we would meet our demise when the Russians lobbed their atomic bombs over to North America. And if I didn't die because of the fire and radiation and population explosion of cockroaches, then I was sure to be put to the test when I was tortured for believing in Jesus. And besides all that, I wanted to grow up. I wanted to have a boyfriend and then a husband and to be a mommy and to talk with other grown-ups about things like mortgages and deductibles and taxes. I didn't want Jesus to come back, not yet.
And it was during this period of my life--during routine bedwetting and fear of nuclear war--that God gave me a parable.
I can remember the idea as it popped into my brain. I remember becoming suddenly aware as I lay unnaturally still in my urine-soaked sheets that this was just like me in the world. The world was yucky--not somewhere you wanted to be. But if you were still enough and didn't think about where you were or what was around you, it felt safe and warm. It was even just possible to almost convince yourself that it wasn't actually yucky after all. As long as you didn't think about it, or breathe in too deeply, or move. The shower--the warm, cleansing shower that was just on the other side of that door--was like heaven. Once you were there, you'd never, ever want to get back into the wet bed. The wet bed was just a bad memory. It felt so good to be clean. And there was just that bridge of time spanning the distance between the two things--between the wet bed and the warm shower. There was just the dreaded, cold, mad dash to get from the one to the other. I knew that my fear was irrational. . . .that the shower was always better in the end and always worth the effort and the discomfort to get there. My fears didn't magically disappear. But God had spoken truth to my heart and I knew that whether it was always obvious to me or not, our fallen world was a pee-soaked bed and what Jesus would bring would be infinitely better.
God gave me a parable. He was willing to use the limited life experience of a 7-year-old girl to communicate comfort and truth in a way that she would intimately understand. And it has emphasized for me the ordinariness that is common to all of the parables that we find in the gospels. I don't believe that lost sheep and vineyard workers and evil tenants and wet beds are among the customary vocabulary used in the hallways of heaven to describe the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but it seems that is immaterial to the Author of Truth. He continues to meet us where we are in the hope that we will follow where He leads. He is worth leaving the wet bed and running headlong for the shower.
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