Barbara Merritt writes of the spiritual search and the wisdom and joy it brings.
"I have heard that when something is valuable and worthwhile, you are not apt to find it lying around in great heaps. Diamonds and gold are rare. Lions do not congregate in large numbers. So it is that God is not easy to find. Truth is not easy to put your hands on. But the saints, in all religious traditions, say that there is something about the search itself that instructs us, humbles us, informs us. Just because our own life sometimes appears to be empty of spiritual treasure, doesn't mean that this treasure doesn't exist. People do find amethysts! People do experience the reality of God." — from Amethyst Beach
Meditations
Amethyst Beach
Hiding the Mess
Feeding the Pit
Tampering
Halloween Standards
It's Time Somebody Told You
Dirt Farming
Excess Baggage
The Death of Li'l Anthrax
Cougars and Tigers
You Get Used to It
Early Corn
Next!
Appointments to Keep
Rank Beginner
Worst Answer
Things!
TheRightBean.com
Stepping stones
What We Require
Hoping for Good News
New Worlds
In Your Eyes
Controlling Chaos
Love Knows You
No-Fault Volcanoes
Perhaps a Nap?
Migrating Souls
A Gratuitous Duck
Excess Baggage
On our way to Maine one summer, my older son and I found ourselves following one of the most ridiculous looking cars I have ever seen. It was a sports utility vehicle, laden with all the evidence of American consumerism and conspicuous consumption. Lashed onto the top were a canoe and a kayak. Strapped onto the back bumper were four bicycles. Visible in the storage compartment of the Jeep were golf clubs, tennis rackets, and camping equipment. Every car that passed by stared in astonishment at this visible study in recreational excess.
The thing I found most remarkable about the vehicle in front of us was that we owned it. My husband and younger son were driving our Jeep up to Maine and we followed. After staring at our car for some miles, and noticing the attention it was soliciting from drivers-by, I decided that this was an auspicious moment to have a discussion with my older child about "nonmaterialism." I explained, trying to keep a straight face despite the amazing visual display through the windshield, that his father and I were dedicated to an ethic of simplicity, diminishing consumption, and intentional reduction in material accumulation.
My son greeted this pronouncement with hysterical laughter. Even I had to chuckle. But I was persistent, and after his raucous laughter subsided, I explained how, throughout our married life we had, both of us, consistently chosen jobs that paid less, even when offered positions that paid more; how we had invested our modest resources into education and travel, rather than in real estate and furniture; and how we tried constantly to decrease our dependence and reliance on material wealth. Notwithstanding the visual evidence to the contrary, we were working to simplify our lifestyle.
Robert listened to everything I said, and then he replied, "I understand Mom. You and Dad are nonmaterialistic. You just aren't very good at it."
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