I Lack Nothing

I've been on a spiritual journey since September that's been nicknamed "A Year of Spiritual Disciplines." Each month I (along with several friends) have focused on a certain spiritual discipline and really tried to incorporate it into my lifestyle.

This month I focused on simplicity.

Beginning this month I felt like I had a pretty good grasp on this discipline seeing that Lucas and I already lived pretty simply. I began the month by reading 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker (I cannot say enough good things about her or her book, so please, just check it out yourself!!!) and as I read it I prayed that God would open my eyes to areas of excess in our lives. Bouncing off of Jen's idea for clothing, I decided to only wear 7 outfits of clothing this month (including my at-home outfit and my workout outfit, leaving me with 5 out-of-the-house outfits). However, once I read her chapter, I realized that five outfits wasn't going to be that difficult, so I narrowed it down to three.

And so this month, I've been wearing the same clothes over and over and over and over again. I've greatly reduced my time getting ready and figuring out what to wear, and that, I've enjoyed. But then I've struggled with simply wanting to wear something else. I wanted to dress up and wear something different when Lucas and I celebrated Valentine's Day and even asked Lucas what he thought about me "cheating." Seeing the honest man that he is, he replied, "I don't really understand the whole purpose anyway, but if it's supposed to be a struggle at all, tonight would be one of those times." So nope, no sympathy there.

I've become more and more comfortable realizing that people don't spend nearly as much time thinking about me than I think about them thinking about me! I was both relieved and humbled. Relieved to see that no one cared what I wore nearly as much as I thought they might care. Humbled, because people thought about me less often than I thought about them thinking about me. I've been challenged to re-look at my wardrobe and see what's excessive. It's easy to feel inadequate when it comes to fashion and often find myself thinking that I lack in some way. Yet, one look at my closet tells me that I lack nothing.

And I've seen this over and over and over again.We've been eating meals only from my Less is More cookbook or vegetarian recipes I've found. I've loved the obvious grocery bill decrease, but also have enjoyed trying so many recipes that are less taxing on the environment and our resources. And though we've cut back and our diet has changed (slightly), I realize again that we lack nothing.

The topic of simplicity and stewardship is one that weighs heavily on my heart. Sometimes I find myself slipping into complacency, patting ourselves on our backs because-- compared to others-- we live quite simply. We don't indulge in many things that people consider "the basics" or "givens" like cable, Netflix, unlimited internet usage or cell phone data. But I glance around me and I see a furnished, beautiful home; a thermostat set to a comfortable temperature; a generously stocked kitchen; a full fridge and the list could go on and on and on and on. Could it not? I don't have to think real hard to see that I lack nothing.

Oh sweet Jesus, teach me to live simply so that others may simply live.

Birds of a Feather...

"You have the most... umm... diverse social connections," Lucas told me as I shared about my day. Sure, there's the lady my mom's age I met who now has taught me to knit. Then there's my little five-year old buddy who brightens my week. There are my Middle Eastern ladies with whom I enjoy seeing and getting know their culture more. There are all my friends suffering from dementia at the retirement home. There are the adult learners who access services at the literacy centre. There are the at-risk teenagers with whom I try to connect with. There are the families living in poverty and fighting to escape it. There's my friend I met through baseball. Simply put, I see people in a variety of contexts; it'd be quite difficult to pin down my "group."

And I like that. Most days. Sometimes, I hate it, but usually I like that.

I like spending time with people so different from myself. I enjoy finding points of connection from the strangest experiences. I enjoy trying come up with a variety of conversation topics and learning that at the base, at the foundation, of all these things we see and all these categories we use to classify people, at the base of all of that... we're just so human. The human-ness is so real, and so raw, and so different, yet so the same.

I'm reminded of how similar I am or how closely my life would resemble theirs if not for a few fortunate changed events. I can see life in Guelph through their eyes, or at least I can ask how it is, and try to understand. I learn to understand social interactions differently, not constantly seeing the government, the cops, social assistance, church, friends and family through the same lens. I'm challenged to not be bird that flocks with those of my own feathers.

And then other days, it's the most lonely experience. I cry out for like-minded community and I thirst for people with similar life experiences, world views and perspectives on life. I crave the comfort that comes from familiarity and I want the ease associated with sameness. And though I believe balance is healthy and necessary, simply reading the previous sentences reminds me why I fight so hard to engage with those of different backgrounds.

I don't want my choices to be driven by ease. I don't want comfort to be a deciding factor.

A Gift that Cost me Nothing

So, I gave a homeless woman my hat last week.

I spent a day in Toronto, visiting my dear friend Naomi. I had to walk to get to her place, so I definitely passed many homeless individuals. I had no food with me and felt overwhelmed; there were too many. Too many cold, homeless people. Too many wealthy ones walking past.

I stopped when a young woman approached me. Her legs were like toothpicks and she wore an over-sized coat.  Her hair was dark and matted on her head. Her face was covered in scabs. "Excuse me. Hi. I'm homeless. I weight 68 pounds and have lupus. I'm cold and I'm hungry. Can you help me?" Her voice was high-pitched; was she even out of her teenage years?

I wasn't sure what to do, so the first thing out of my mouth was, "Do you want my hat?" She smiled faintly and said that'd be great, but wondered if I had anything else. I didn't-- or so I said and then I went on my way, hatless.

I instantly felt colder and had to pull my hood over my head. I shivered and felt good that I had given her my hat. She probably needed it more than I did. And this good feeling lasted a whole three seconds.

Why didn't I give her my scarf? Or my gloves? Or even my coat? Why the hat? And it didn't take long for the answer to become quite clear. Too clear. Clearly, not the scarf. It was my favourite scarf and certainly my warmest one. My gloves? No way. My grandparents gave those to me for Christmas, and I hadn't found gloves this warm before. Why not my coat? That'd be crazy. I'd be coatless walking around Toronto and besides, it was my warmest winter coat. My only winter coat. I didn't give her my other articles of clothing because they were my favourite and/or my warmest. Yet, the hat was an easy gift. It didn't take much thought, effort or sacrifice. I had seven others sitting at home in my closet, and besides, I didn't even like that one that much anyway.

Is this what most of my giving is like? Do I give away things that cost me nothing? Things I'll never even miss? Do I even know what it's like to give away something that I'll miss dearly? Something that I can't replace? Something that I only have one of?

Jesus calls us to sacrificial giving, but I wonder if I've ever done that in my life. Ever given until it hurt? After it hurt? I can't possibly be surrounded by so much excess so that I can simply enjoy a comfortable life. That cannot be why.