Martyr of a materialistic world

I tell people I'm a frugal Non-consumer, a minimalist, a proud re-user. This is my way of explaining stuff like our ratty recliner that smells like breast milk cheese, our table that looks like its surface was featured in a horror film, and the blocky, two-ton television that for a long time commanded our living room like a time machine designed to drop you back into the 1990's.

One of my oldest son's friends, over for a sleepover, asked why we didn't get a new, sleeker television.

I'm always ready to teach the "everything-released-this-minute-is-better" generation about not being a mindless consumer, so I replied, "Well, in this house we don't believe in replacing things unless they're broken. If they still work, even if they don't look that nice anymore, we keep them around until they break."

The friend responded, "Oh, is that why you've stayed in this house?"

Grrrrrrrrr.

I have lofty ideas about living small, re-purposing and conserving, but these lofty ideas somehow have not protected me from real world derision or from my own self-doubt. Am I really against consumerism, or am I just a homebody who hates to shop? Is it really unreasonable to want a bigger house for our large family, or do I just dread moving? Do I really support re-purposing or do I stink at picking out my own furniture?

I may say that I don't believe in buying things just to have something fresh, sleek, and odorless, that I don't believe in replacing my burgundy couch just because the dog threw up on it three months after I purchased it, but living with my haphazard, used and sometimes stinky possessions gives me anxiety about judgement every time a stranger walks in my door.

Similarly, I routinely say that we're blessed to have our cramped home, that we could stay here until we keeled over from the fumes of rotting furniture and still be incredibly blessed, but the moment I walk into another person's larger, grandly furnished castle, I am ready to pass out in pure, unadulterated envy. How do they make it look so nice? How on earth do they design and maintain their large home so beautifully?

By cavorting with those alluring devils called credit and consumerism, darn it!

New furnishings, tasteful art work that actually contributes to the design as a whole, expensive photography, home remodels, constant cleaning - I have sworn off all those things; they all cost money and require accumulating things. Except the cleaning. I would love to actually pay someone to do that, but only with the currency of cranberry scones and chocolate-chip cookies. And only if they cleaned up the kitchen afterwards.

I'm not a spender. I'm a saver. Not sure exactly what I'm saving for - the apocalypse, investment in the chocolate black market once the world runs out of cacao, a backpacking trip to Ayers Rock in Australia - but it's certainly not a fancy bedroom set. My husband and I have slept on a mattress on the floor and kept our clothes in his childhood dresser for many years now, and we're getting along just fine, thank you.

Yes, I know. Is that called being a non-consumer or just plain cheap? If my therapist and I ever figure it out, I'll let you know, but I certainly love to think I'm a martyr for my cause.

If I don't visit other people's homes, I am quite content with our choices, at peace in my little home. However, my envy in others' carefully crafted, newer, and bigger spaces is such that I am thinking about drafting a questionnaire to be given out to any potential new friend of mine or unvetted mother of one of my kids' playmates. Each question will require a simple yes or no answer.

Have you recently remodeled your home? Is this a habit of yours?
On your walls do you have thousands of beautiful, professional photos of your family in a studio setting looking happier than any human family could realistically be? 
Did you purchase your own decor? Or has it been thrown together from the castoffs of friends and family?
Does your home have a design or color theme that often changes based on magazine articles or the opinions of interior designers?
Do you regularly replace fixtures of any kind in your home, merely because they are "outdated"?
Is your home immaculate? Is that a facade for guests only or does it look that way at ALL TIMES?

Too many yeses quite frankly means that I cannot patronize your home. Not ever. I am really trying NOT to be a consumer here, and you're sorely tempting me with your grand lifestyle. I will become nauseous as I tell myself that I am a faithful representative of what matters and simultaneously swear never to allow you to see my own humble home.

I know I'm supposed to be poor, not just in habit, but in spirit, too. Unfortunately, I'm no saint, so let me know when you move to that tiny house to lesson your footprint on the planet. We'll stop by!

Modesty, That Hard Battle

I'm just going to say it. I have struggled, and I still do struggle with modesty. I wore a tube top on my honeymoon, and unfortunately I have the pictures to prove it. (Stinkin pictures!) During the early years of marriage, I sometimes donned a tight, short jean dress that I can't believe I ever wore out in public. And even now I must confess that my favorite everyday look is a simple, brightly-hued tank top with a pair of  dark jeans.

Sigh.

What is so ironic about my past and present clothing choices is that there is nothing I hate so much in mainstream media as the constant glorification of immodesty. I absolutely despise ridiculous commercials with fully attired men gawking at women in string bikinis - worse yet if the women are giggling like idiots. I am furious that it is always women's bodies that are used as advertising bait for everything from alcohol to fast food to vehicles.

I do my best to turn these commercials as quickly as possible. My daughters should not be exposed to these cardboard cutouts of our sex or feel compelled to compete with flimsy portrayals of womanhood. I am upset that my 12-year-old son is bombarded with these cheap (because they are so very easy to come by) but alluring images as he watches anything from a football game to a sitcom. If I am not careful, all my sons and daughters will be slowly inculcated into a culture of progressive immodesty by a bombardment of redundant and insidious but attractive messages.

So I turn the channel as quick as I can, and likewise I turn the radio in the car when songs about hot girls in tight jeans or short dresses at a drunken party come on. (My kids all like country music, but the aforementioned lyrics are a common problem with the formulaic genre aptly dubbed "Bro Country" by a music critic.)

Women have always been judged more based on appearance than men. I know that. I also know it is the reason why so many of us struggle with modesty. An unhealthy competition among the female sex has been praised and an unhealthy appetite in males has been encouraged by all forms of media. And we pay for it in the ways we treat each other based on these appearances.

The last thing I want to do as a mother and wife is to speak one message while projecting another. I do not want to be a hypocrite. It's a hard battle. We none of us want to be frumpy or plain, but we also, I sincerely hope, do not want our cleavage or bum ogled by every weak male who passes by or to scandalize others with our "daring" wardrobe choices that rival the outfits of music video performers.

This has been brewing for awhile in my mind, and today I read some very interesting takes on modesty, and I thought they hot the nail straight on the head. They are from a Christian perspective, because I don't think modesty is valued very highly in the secular sphere, as is pretty obvious.

Modesty is an Opportunity to Love examines how modesty shows love and respect for ourselves and others, including the men in our community. Jennifer Fulwiler also wrote about how it improves female friendships in Modesty Helps Women Be Friends. That last one is spot on. Lies I Tell Myself About Modesty is perfect to share with daughters or young friends who are fighting to retain their dignity and freedom on this important issue.

Gripping

I walked down the candy aisle of a neighborhood store last week and saw, to my dismay, that all the chocolate crème eggs were gone.

"No...no..." I uttered woefully as my four children watched me shove boxes around in the 75% off Easter candy, frantic for my fix.

They must be buried. Yes, surely, so I looked behind every chocolate bunny and cross, every box of egg-shaped confections. But they were gone.

Gone.

How was I supposed to battle my dejection, for what now could feed my chocolate addiction with so little inconvenience and such yumminess? Darn it! I should have bought more boxes when they were a mere 50% off.

Never mind that for the last month, while stuffing myself with boxes of chocolate eggs and English tea every Sunday, I had been feeling sluggish. My fatigue had gotten so bad that at first I wondered if there was an underlying health issue that was going to call my card any day. Then it occurred to me that I might possibly - just possibly - be suffering from a dangerous cocktail of chocolate-crème/high-fructose-corn-syrup poisoning. And, not for the first time in my life, I daydreamed about what life could be like without chocolate and sugar.

I might be truly healthy inside, as energetic as a two-year-old, own fewer wrinkles, and have substantially smaller grocery bills if I could just learn to give up the sweets.

This led me to consider other things I hold dear. Being the broadminded, expert daydreamer I am, I pondered an array of plagues on my freedom. I wondered what life could be like if I could renounce every other silly little addiction that keeps me grasping at trifles as if my life depended on them.

For instance, what might happen if could I give up the TV series Lost? A recent addiction, it already grips me in such a way that I try to hurry my kids to bed as soon as I can many nights. And it is really a double whammy, because I cannot resist the chance to finally sit and veg in the evenings, and I cannot bear to ignore the siren call of a good mystery, every episode of Lost being a good mystery!

But if, just if, I could vanquish the urge to find out what happens next, I might be more successful in many things. I might write here more often. I might improve my mind by studying constellations, learning all their names. I might play more games with my kids on Saturday afternoons.

And what if I could give up all mysteries - detective novels, crime shows? Maybe then I could stop assuming that every car that remains behind me too long on my route home is following me and stop thinking of new, crafty ways to lose the hounds.

Yet...what if, instead of giving up completely that which brings me pleasure, I really practiced moderation in all things? - ate only one chocolate crème egg at Eastertime, only watched an episode of Lost a week, only ate sweets - and just one slice or one square - on special occasions? What if I only desired those things that could improve my well-being and bring more happiness to my family? What would life look like then?

Well, then I might be free, free to be the hardworking, healthy, successful, unselfish, wife/mother/writer I was always meant to be.

A moderate...democratic...in all things.