The Joneses

The other day, as I was walking on the treadmill at the YMCA, my neighbor and good friend hopped on the one next to me. She asked what we had decided about our house, moving or renovating. My answer wasn't very exciting. We've decided to get a new kitchen floor.

She and I got to talking about living in our neighborhood, any neighborhood, really, and getting sucked into "having it all" because the people down the street do. Or they appear to, at least. There is always someone who has more. More money, more house, nicer cars, designer clothes. And for a minute (or a month) I felt compelled to compete with them. I forgot how blessed I am and I started thinking about what I didn't have and what I could do to change that.

When I was fifteen we moved to Saratoga Springs, NY. My parents built a beautiful house in a very nice neighborhood. At one point, years later, my dad and I were driving down North Broadway, a section of Saratoga that is lined with huge, gorgeous mansions. As we passed one that looked like an actual castle (pictured), I turned to my father and said, "Who needs a house that big?" My dad replied, "I bet people drive by our house all the time and say the same thing." Wade and I certainly don't live in a mansion, quite far from it, actually, but we have a comfortable home. We have more than we need, and more than many others have.

Sometimes, too often, really, instead of looking around and being thankful, I take inventory of what I'm lacking. But more purses, fancier furniture and the latest technology is not going to lead to happiness. Maybe happiness in that moment, but not long-lasting happiness. I can think of many different times that I thought some thing would make me happy. A Barbie doll, Guess jeans, a car, a house. It's funny, I remember wanting so many things, but when I tried to write a list of them, I couldn't remember very many at all. But what I do remember vividly is committing my life to Christ, getting married, and having my babies. I remember trips with my family, boat rides at Rabbit Lake, Wade proposing at St. Olaf on his birthday. I want my life to be about memories. Not about things. Someday, when Wade and I move from our family home to a cute little house in Minneapolis, I want few boxes and lots of memories. I want my kids to look back over their childhoods and remember when we colored pictures together, built with Legos, took vacations or went to the park. When I'm gone, I want them to be wading through memories, not stuff.

It's so hard, finding the line between enough and too much. I've started asking myself, Do I really need that? That helps, much of the time. But it's impossible, I think, to only buy things we need. It's impossible, also, to always determine the difference between what we need and what we want. We need food. But do we need fruit snacks? We need shelter, but do we need a 3,000 square foot house? I need to wash clothes, but do I need main floor laundry? I don't know the answer. But I do know that I trust God will provide for me, and that should be the enough I'm looking for.

I think, earlier, I was caught up in creating my dream house. But then I looked around at the home I already have. It's more than enough. That's when I realized the change I was looking for needed to be in me.