Blessings

"Mommy," said Evan, coming up to me, "I don't want this Wolverine. It's black. I want the blue and red... I mean blue and yellow one." He looked earnestly up at me holding out his new toy, an early birthday gift from his daddy.

I did not know what to say.

This level of ... greed, for want of a better term, is foreign to me. I was momentarily repulsed by it... by him. I just looked at him, paralyzed with astonishment. I've never been much into materialism, although I do appreciate the quality (meaning: price) of an item as well as the next person.

But more than that, my family grew up poor. We were technically below the poverty line, although I didn't know it at the time. Looking back, it still seems incredible how poor we were because I don't remember ever having real need. Sure, we didn't have Atari or Cabbage Patch dolls or brand name athletic shoes or fancy bikes or even color tv. BUT we had food, and clothing, and a house to sleep in. And while the bikes were secondhand, we had bikes. And we even had a new outfit each fall for school. (I stress a new outfit here, because the rest of our clothes were usually from Goodwill Salvation Army recycled gently used clothing stores.) No, I didn't feel we were poor.

Our recent and current situation has been on my mind a lot lately -- what we have, what we don't, what we need, what we want. The list seemingly went on and on. And then suddenly, it didn't.

Today, I see want; I see need. I see it all around, hidden beneath the surface, but still very much a breathing hungry entity. The need for the basics of life: food, clothing, a secure and comfortable place to sleep, even medical services. This is here. In my country. In my town. This might be you... this could be me. It almost was me.

I think back to only a year ago when our future was in serious jeopardy. I didn't know if we would have the means necessary to get through another month. I didn't know what we would do for food, much less how Christmas would turn out for my little boy. That was only a year ago... a year since angels disguised as friends carried hope and Christmas to us... a year since steady work was found, and finances squared away. (How things change in a year!)

Only a year ago I felt rich in the love of friends and community and valued the priceless treasure of my son--my family. Today I'm lucky enough to still feel that wealth and I see we have enough. We are okay. No... we are more than okay; we are good. Not only do we have enough, but we have enough to share. And that makes me happy.

That is, happy until my son told me in so many words that he didn't appreciate this very toy he had asked for because it was the wrong color. I felt conflicted--privileged that he didn't know true need, and ashamed that he didn't know better. I'm happy he doesn't need for anything; I'm not happy he doesn't always appreciate it. It's true he's young, and it's a long (and often hard) journey to learn true appreciation and gratitude. But it has to start somewhere.

"Evan," I replied carefully, "you do not have to keep Wolverine. I can take it back, but you will not be getting another one. I want you to decide whether you want to keep this Wolverine, or not have one at all." Drastic measures are sometimes called for in the trenches of mummyhood.

He thought quickly because, after all, it's an important choice here with a lot on the line. "Um, I think I'll keep it."

Wise choice, my son.