Sweet Dichotomies
Even a cursory read of some of my earlier entries, namely the one about celebrities and not setting our sights on the glittering trinkets of this earthly plane, will identify a desire in me not to be bogged down by the material things in this world.
A peak into my closet, overflowing with jackets and blouses, and more pairs of shoes than any one girl needs for her entire life, much less two and a half years of service in the Holy Land, reveals my failure to do the above.
My bi´-montly trips to the Clothing Exchange where I usually donate two sizeable bags of totally functional, nothing-wrong-with-them, still pretty trendy clothes, accessories and make up, showcases the shame I often feel after buying so many new things and a desire to purge myself of them. (Though, of course, still being a somewhat sane person, i dont donate the new items.)
A friend of mine did his year of service in Cameroon and he told me when he got back to the US, going to the grocery store was a shocking experience for him. He'd grown accustomed to the personal interactions in the marketplace, and his senses were overwhelmed and disgusted by the unnecessary amount of variety in products and the bulk packaging, as well.
Well, Israel is not Cameroon; nontheless, I have not been to anything remotely approaching a Kostco or K-Mart or Walmart in over a year. And though I have made a few trips out to the mall, most of my new shoes and clothes this year have come from small suitcases my parents have sent with pilgrims (thanks mom and dad!). So I wondered if I, too, would feel any "culture shock" when roaming the downtown streets of Sweden, lined with huge stores and expensive boutiques. If a year away from materialism as I was used to it would make me sensitive to the gross overspending I once indulged in myself.
It would seem I am more attracted to those glimmering trinkets than I once imagined myself. The dichotomy, however, was also stronger.
I passed by a Starbucks in the Vienna airport and my heart almost skipped a beat as I felt joy at the familiarity of it (though I didn't have time to stop or purchase anything). I passed by Hugo Boss, Lacoste and other namebrand stores and didn't feel excitement as I could never afford those stores anyway, but no revulsion either.
Once in Sweden, I found myself itching to make it out to the mall. And on my second day we did. And then I shopped. And I shopped some more. And a little more. Well, you get the point.
On the flip side, once I got home and started re-packing my suitcase to make things fit, I was immediately swept with a sense of shame regarding how easily I'd spent this money and thinking of all the better uses it could have been put to. I already started mapping out my next donation to the Clothing Exchange, and promised myself I would be more thoughtful about my expenditures in the future. (A promise I've broken in the past, as well.)
Last night it really hit me though. How every talent we have is given to us with a purpose. (A singing voice, for instance, to praise God. To uplift others with music.) And how all these gifts we can use for their real purpose or can channel in the wrong direction. Surely, God does not want us to live ascetically. Baha'u'llah has forbidden it and says He wants us to enjoy the good things of the earth. But He also wants to be mindful of the poor, to be aware of their midnight sighing. To be generous in prosperity. I wonder, if I'm being honest, how often I've really lived up to that. If I've ever really lived up to that.
Thank goodness I have another year and a half in the Holy Land. Heaven knows I need it.
A peak into my closet, overflowing with jackets and blouses, and more pairs of shoes than any one girl needs for her entire life, much less two and a half years of service in the Holy Land, reveals my failure to do the above.
My bi´-montly trips to the Clothing Exchange where I usually donate two sizeable bags of totally functional, nothing-wrong-with-them, still pretty trendy clothes, accessories and make up, showcases the shame I often feel after buying so many new things and a desire to purge myself of them. (Though, of course, still being a somewhat sane person, i dont donate the new items.)
A friend of mine did his year of service in Cameroon and he told me when he got back to the US, going to the grocery store was a shocking experience for him. He'd grown accustomed to the personal interactions in the marketplace, and his senses were overwhelmed and disgusted by the unnecessary amount of variety in products and the bulk packaging, as well.
Well, Israel is not Cameroon; nontheless, I have not been to anything remotely approaching a Kostco or K-Mart or Walmart in over a year. And though I have made a few trips out to the mall, most of my new shoes and clothes this year have come from small suitcases my parents have sent with pilgrims (thanks mom and dad!). So I wondered if I, too, would feel any "culture shock" when roaming the downtown streets of Sweden, lined with huge stores and expensive boutiques. If a year away from materialism as I was used to it would make me sensitive to the gross overspending I once indulged in myself.
It would seem I am more attracted to those glimmering trinkets than I once imagined myself. The dichotomy, however, was also stronger.
I passed by a Starbucks in the Vienna airport and my heart almost skipped a beat as I felt joy at the familiarity of it (though I didn't have time to stop or purchase anything). I passed by Hugo Boss, Lacoste and other namebrand stores and didn't feel excitement as I could never afford those stores anyway, but no revulsion either.
Once in Sweden, I found myself itching to make it out to the mall. And on my second day we did. And then I shopped. And I shopped some more. And a little more. Well, you get the point.
On the flip side, once I got home and started re-packing my suitcase to make things fit, I was immediately swept with a sense of shame regarding how easily I'd spent this money and thinking of all the better uses it could have been put to. I already started mapping out my next donation to the Clothing Exchange, and promised myself I would be more thoughtful about my expenditures in the future. (A promise I've broken in the past, as well.)
Last night it really hit me though. How every talent we have is given to us with a purpose. (A singing voice, for instance, to praise God. To uplift others with music.) And how all these gifts we can use for their real purpose or can channel in the wrong direction. Surely, God does not want us to live ascetically. Baha'u'llah has forbidden it and says He wants us to enjoy the good things of the earth. But He also wants to be mindful of the poor, to be aware of their midnight sighing. To be generous in prosperity. I wonder, if I'm being honest, how often I've really lived up to that. If I've ever really lived up to that.
Thank goodness I have another year and a half in the Holy Land. Heaven knows I need it.
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