So, we had some rain here in our fair state of Ohio last week. As the recent purchaser of an old home, rain worries me--especially heavy rain. Well, it turns out that my basement doesn't allow much water in through the foundation, but it also turns out that none of that matters if your sump pump, which is at least as old as the current homeowner, decides that running continuously for 10+ hours is the straw that breaks the camels back and that dying during a rainstorm is a good idea. I received a call from my wife that our basement was filled with standing water. Thankfully my place of employment replaces sump pumps and was able to get it fixed within a couple of hours, but the damage was done. Did I mention that we just moved in back in September? Did I mention that we've had sickness and a baby since then and so there were still several boxes of miscellaneous items scattered around the basement floor? Yeah, that's not a good combo. Water is simultaneously one of the most vital substances on earth and one of the most destructive.
As I began to rummage through the affected stuff, I let out a few groans. Some of it will be easily repurchased--books, CDs, etc., but many of the soaken items are basically irreplaceable--my diploma, the kids' decorative birth certificates, etc. Thankfully some of them can be salvaged, but I caught myself mourning some of the lost/damaged items. Even those things that can be salvaged will never be the same. Now, I've never really thought of myself of being materialistic. I was raised relatively poor. My parents were simple folks raised by simple folks going back as far as I can tell. I can honestly say that I don't consider myself to be a person guided primarily by money or nice things. In fact, I can't remember making a life decision based upon how much money or stuff it would net me. If anything, I probably lack initiative and am too content being poor.
Now that I've gotten all the back-patting out of the way, let me proceed with the confession. Man, did it suck seeing my stuff get wet. It turns out that I'm a bit more of a materialist than I ever thought I was. It just so happens that my stuff isn't really that great, but I love it nonetheless. The vintage amp to my antique slide guitar? I loved that. My copy of Tom Sawyer from 1904? Yeah, I loved that book, too. My N64? I haven't played it in at least half a decade, but I loved the heck out of that! Something interesting can happen when you're raised modestly. You develop emotional connections to insignificant items, even to the point where it can physically pain you to be rid of it. Sometimes it leads to hoarding, but in less pronounced cases it just leads to a bunch of empty boxes in your basement that never, ever see the light of day. The poor person treasuring their junk is no less an example of materialism than a rich person living extravagantly.
So, God taught me a lesson this past week. Things are just things, and we shouldn't love them. Even if you're not living your life to get rich, you can still have an inordinate love for physical possessions. You can define yourself by them and endow them with more value than they have. Even family pictures and personal effects are temporal frivolities in the grand scheme of things.
Here's my new rule of thumb: if it can be damaged by water, it probably isn't that important anyway.
As I began to rummage through the affected stuff, I let out a few groans. Some of it will be easily repurchased--books, CDs, etc., but many of the soaken items are basically irreplaceable--my diploma, the kids' decorative birth certificates, etc. Thankfully some of them can be salvaged, but I caught myself mourning some of the lost/damaged items. Even those things that can be salvaged will never be the same. Now, I've never really thought of myself of being materialistic. I was raised relatively poor. My parents were simple folks raised by simple folks going back as far as I can tell. I can honestly say that I don't consider myself to be a person guided primarily by money or nice things. In fact, I can't remember making a life decision based upon how much money or stuff it would net me. If anything, I probably lack initiative and am too content being poor.
Now that I've gotten all the back-patting out of the way, let me proceed with the confession. Man, did it suck seeing my stuff get wet. It turns out that I'm a bit more of a materialist than I ever thought I was. It just so happens that my stuff isn't really that great, but I love it nonetheless. The vintage amp to my antique slide guitar? I loved that. My copy of Tom Sawyer from 1904? Yeah, I loved that book, too. My N64? I haven't played it in at least half a decade, but I loved the heck out of that! Something interesting can happen when you're raised modestly. You develop emotional connections to insignificant items, even to the point where it can physically pain you to be rid of it. Sometimes it leads to hoarding, but in less pronounced cases it just leads to a bunch of empty boxes in your basement that never, ever see the light of day. The poor person treasuring their junk is no less an example of materialism than a rich person living extravagantly.
So, God taught me a lesson this past week. Things are just things, and we shouldn't love them. Even if you're not living your life to get rich, you can still have an inordinate love for physical possessions. You can define yourself by them and endow them with more value than they have. Even family pictures and personal effects are temporal frivolities in the grand scheme of things.
Here's my new rule of thumb: if it can be damaged by water, it probably isn't that important anyway.
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