luxury

by Kristen

Luxurious . . . What a word to pop into my mind as I entered work!

I glanced down at my seven year old slacks and six year old heels. The shirt was new—a recent Christmas gift. The cardigan had to be pushing a decade of service. All in good condition, but hardly luxurious. My car is a practical import, bought used with cash. In my hand was a commuter mug of coffee from home, and a hard-boiled egg was nestled in my purse.

But it remained an accurate thought. As a single, childless, educated, debt-free, healthy, employed thirty-something my time and resources allow me ridiculous luxury.

I go where I want, do what I want, read what I want, listen to what I want, buy what I want, eat what I want, say yes to what I want and say no to what I don’t want. I have the luxury of choice. I build the wide margins my introverted self needs into my daily rhythms. I read books and articles and blogs and chase down ideas. I take time to process through writing until clear thought emerges in text before me. I share meals with people who speak into me. I pause to watch the moon rise or the sunlight dance on the clouds. I hold Grandma’s hand and revel in her presence. I build Lego towers with toddler nieces.

I have entered into hard. I have engaged with poverty and lack. But I don’t live there. I live in a reality of abundance. My normal is not universal; I exist as an exception—an outlier.

What does this mean? What are the ramifications of my privilege? What responsibilities does it offer me? How can my comfort and plenty be a shared gift? How does my affluence influence my ability to follow Jesus?

This is the view I see out the office window: the delicate balance of freedom and liability riding on the wind of luxury ruffling the leaves of the everyday.

 

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Advertisements