How are things with you?

On Thursday night as I rounded the corner for the home stretch to our garage, vultures circled, hovered, and roosted around a house in our neighborhood, eager for a bid on the leftovers. They weren’t unruly or loud, just ready and observant. As I drove by, some of them quietly flew away with their treasures, satisfied with what they’d received. As our garage door went up, I hoped they’d all flap off soon so I could work in the yard. Just knowing they were there brought a shroud of sadness upon me.

In actuality the vultures were my neighbors and other decent people attending the auction two houses down from ours. As the strange, sing-song language of the auctioneer floated over the neighborhood, bargain hunters poised to buy and carry away the big find of the day. They weren’t doing anything insidious or vulturous. They were merely bargain hunting.

To be sure, I’m a bargain shopper and a thrift store scavenger, but I didn’t want a bargain that evening. I didn’t even want to hear the auctioneer as I worked in my yard. All those bargains had belonged to someone six months ago—the elderly couple who had lived two houses down in the cute blue house on top of the hill with the pretty flowers by the driveway. First the wife, then the husband died last winter. Although I scarcely knew them, I didn’t want their stuff. It had been theirs.

I’ve been thinking a lot about stuff lately as I watch a debt-burdened society, a generation of pleasure seekers, and as I look at my closets, shelves and house in general. Stuff—so much of our lives involves stuff and how we feel about it. When my husband and I started an inventory of the things in our house, I became aware of how much stuff we have. Why? How much do we need? I read stories of people in other countries who sit on mats on the floor, live in one room, and I think about stuff.

What does my stuff have to do with faith? Probably a lot. How much does my stuff keep me from walking by faith? It seems that whenever we can depend on ourselves for the things we need and our stuff, we don’t need God very much, which is self-sufficiency and pride. Excuse me, God. I can make it on my own. Look at all the stuff I have—and without a bit of help from you.

It’s so presumptuous on our part to think that we gained our stuff independently of God. According to the book of James, every good gift comes from God, including our things. But we can let them get in between us and God as we work for them, store them, play with them, clean them, pay them off. They are a reminder of God’s kindness and care for us, not a substitute for him.

I’m sure we don’t think of it like that. But maybe the next time I buy something, I should. Why am I buying something? Do I really need it? Am I walking contentedly by faith, or am I walking by stuff? The auction was over quickly on Thursday night and the neighborhood resumed its former tranquility. But stuff was rearranged. This summer I plan to take some time to rearrange some things right out of our house so I have my things, but they don’t have me.

How are things with you?