I live next to the Joneses. And they’re everywhere. On my right and my left and behind and down the block. They have expensive cars, perfectly manicured landscaping, exquisite moldings, custom window coverings, marble, iron, and tile from impressive places, and professionally installed twinkle lights at Christmas time. They’re the people who live in magazine houses, keep Merry Maids® in business, and travel every time their kids have a day off from school.
Meanwhile, despite our new house on the it cul de sac, I’m selling stuff on craigslist for gas money.
Our location wasn’t the wisest choice for a girl who struggles with materialism. When we moved from LA to Chicago, our primary goal was to find a great school for our autistic third-born. And the school in my now neighborhood was perfect—small and friendly and well-ranked, and the brand new building in the center of a beautifully laid out development. Ponds and parks and sidewalks and trails weave through wooded areas that surround our community. It’s a great place to live, and I’m super thankful.
In theory.
Because, as disgusting as it is, I’m jealous of the Joneses. We built our home but couldn’t afford the bling. We have a nice lawn, but we also have a five-foot drop out our back door because we can’t afford a deck. Or stairs. Our cars are old and super tired. We have a two-story great room but can’t afford a ladder tall enough to change the light bulbs. We have a lot of square footage we can’t afford to furnish. We’re lucky to live in an upscale place, but we’re definitely bringin’ down the value of the real estate around us.
It’s obnoxious and plain wrong to be ungrateful when I have more than I need in the first-world country where I live. But the truth is that my ungrateful heart would be ungrateful no matter where I lived, because even when I get what I want, the things I pine for today wind up in yard sales tomorrow. Pottery Barn® mails out a new catalog (like every four weeks) and thankfulness flees.
And therein lies the real problem. Because just like God says, money—along with all the stuff it can buy—doesn’t satisfy. It’s never enough.
Whoever loves money never has enough;
whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income.
This too is meaningless.
Ecclesiastes 5:10
I’ve been a Christian for most of my life, but that doesn’t mean I’ve always understood how to be content.
But there’s a secret to being okay with every circumstance, whether fabulous or not-so-much.
I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to
have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any
and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether
living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through [Christ]
who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:12-13
So what’s the secret?
Relationship. The Apostle Paul said he learned contentment, in spite of being poor and hungry, because he could live through anything with Jesus by his side giving him strength. I’ve tried hard to be content with what I have, but I’ve missed the point and contentment has eluded me. Satisfaction has nothing to do with what I have. Or don’t have. If I chase money to bring me security or comfort, no amount will suffice. I know, because I’ve spent a lot of years loving money and drinking the Kool-Aid of materialism.
The antidote to my lust for stuff is simple: love Jesus more. The more time I spend with Him, the more I’ll love Him. The more I love Him, the more willing I’ll be to lean on Him for strength to control my thoughts and spending urges. And when I lean, Jesus will loosen the money chains.
And I’ll be content to barbecue with the Joneses. On their deck.
Amanda Jenkins is the author of Confessions of a Raging Perfectionist, released by Tyndale House Publishers in May 2013.
Comments
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