Pick a Luxury
The day I said “I do,” I understood that I married a man who doesn’t do “town” unless absolutely necessary.
(Even when his career ironically required us to travel across the country for the first several years of our marriage, trips to town were few and far between.)
When I said yes, I knew I was saying yes to an 85-year-old man who was trapped in a very attractive young man’s body.
On the plus side, if the truck engine is running, I know he is most likely headed to a pasture or hauling something to somewhere. And while Lucas introduced me to a life full of inconsistency, his whereabouts are one of the few constants I can count on.
If the man is seen out in the societal wild without his family, odds are he can be found at one of the few places that enable him to accomplish the two tasks mentioned above—the hardware store, the tire shop, the feed store, the gas station, the salebarn or the feedlot. (And during the school year, Tuesday through Friday, he might also be spotted picking up his non-hired hands from elementary school or daycare.)
Consequently, managing grocery shopping for our household has always been one of my responsibilities. Even on the rare occasion he does find himself within the walls of our local grocery store, there is an 87% chance he is FaceTiming me asking for directions to navigate the isles.
I say all this to emphasize one simple truth: Lucas has never had to experience the astronomical, budget-busting reality of the paper goods section of the supermarket. One minute I’m headed to the back to pick up some toilet paper, and the next I’m questioning whether we will be able to afford our upcoming electric bill once this household essential hits the cart.
This reality was brought to my attention a few short years into our marriage when one day Lucas walked out of the bathroom, roll of toilet tissue in-hand, and delivered the following insult to my face:
‘What are you, a janitor?!’
Caught off guard, I began fumbling through an explanation about the financial decision-making process that led me to purchase the translucent squares he was slowly ripping from the roll. Just as I was about to review price comparisons, he interrupted me mid-sentence to confidently declare:
‘We will NEVER be THIS poor.’
At the time, I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t bear bring myself to inform him that we were, most definitely, THAT poor which was exactly why ground beef mixed with barbeque sauce was one of our most frequent “meals” on the weekly menu rotation.
Nonetheless, I let the man have his first high-maintenance request on the shopping list and made the decision to buy off-brand SPAM for that particular season of life. (Yet another detail that seemingly had no effect on Lucas’ overall perspective of our financial situation at the time.)
While it’s going to be hard to make this story mental health related, I’m going to give it a go. If you are in a tight season, whether it be financially, mentally, emotionally, professionally, or spiritually—pick one small luxury to extend yourself.
Overtime, putting the high-dollar toilet paper in my cart became a simple act of faith. A quiet reminder that it’s okay to appreciate the finer things in life even when variations of SPAM are part of the very same life being lived.
Find something that makes you believe in your future prosperity; something that reminds you that your needs matter too, even when resources seem stretched thin.
At the end of the day, the details and desires of your heart do matter, even when the limitations are glaringly obvious, or, in Lucas’ case, entirely unimportant.