Money is everywhere right now.
In my job,
I raise financial support and teach students to be generous in tithing.
In my personal life,
a lunch meeting with our banker.
In my imaginary life,
I galavant with the heroine of my book as she recklessly spends money
and faces the tragic consequences.
I'm currently reading "The House of Mirth" by Edith Wharton.
(Thank you
Paige.)
It's exactly what I need.
Rumination on wealth, a blatant disregard for reality, and release into gluttony.
Also, the constant reminder of consequences.
All of this money in my life is increasing my greed.
And at once making me fearful of greed's hold on my heart.
Although I'm pouting about it to myself, I'm so glad for the vow I took to only buy clothing second-hand through this year. It comes down to two things for me:
1. Reverence for those who made my clothes. Their cheap labor is what convinces us it's perfectly reasonable for a shirt to cost 5 dollars. Crazy. Why have I come to expect the entitlement to such cheap clothing? Because I can. At all costs, even that of life, I can expect cheap clothing. Cheap is one thing, but reverence for the cost is another.
2. Wasted resources. I'm amazed at the thought of all the resources my closet taxes the earth, when I buy all new things.
I believe in these things, I do.
But I need to keep repeating them to myself under my breath ... reverence and resources, reverence and resources.
*Update: isn't is bizarre that we own so much stuff that we have to keep a record of it with some insurance broker, in order to keep all of our material things protected? Something just feels weird about paying someone to protect my purchases.