Sense of Entitlement

Something happened the other night, wait... strike that. It didn't just happen, it slapped me across the face and made me realize I take waaaaaaay too much for granted.

And it started with a futon.

Jon and I rearranged our back room/dinning and decided that a futon would be a great way to not only make it roomier, but also add extra sleeping area. So, I did what anyone would do and turned to the swipswap pages on facebook.

Not too long after posting that I was searching for one, someone posted that they had one. She sent pics and I set up a time to go look at it. I asked what she wanted for it and she said to make her an offer.

Let me explain something... I hate making offers on anything. 1. Because I feel like I'm gonna get screwed and offer more than it's worth. 2. I feel like I'm going to insult the person selling the item. (PS don't even ask me to negotiate. "Oh, you want $20? Let me give you $25, I don't want to put you out.")

So, I wrote her back and said, "How about $40 is that ok? I really don't know what to offer."

She immediately wrote back, "I'll take that!"

I should have known then that something was up.

The following night, Jon, Moose and I loaded up in the truck, put the address in the GPS and headed for Deland. Here's the thing with GPS's, they don't tell you what kind of neighborhood it is. We may have chosen not to go.

The more we drove and the closer we got we realized that this may be a bad neighborhood. Then, we had to turn at a little run down convenience store. Across the street was a group of about 10 men who looked questionable to say the least (now, I'm sure I was jumping to conclusions and they were holding a road side bible study, but I digress...). We could literally feel them staring us down as we drove by.

We came to the neighborhood to turn into. It was a trailer park (not a mobile home or modular home development). The trailers all looked as thought they had seen better days. There were children playing in the streets and dogs roaming around.

I'm ashamed to admit that I looked at Jon and said "Is it too late to turn around?"

Then I saw her. The trailer she stepped out of was one of the smallest and seemed to be one of the oldest. She was all of about 18 years old and was preceded by her pregnant belly. Her boyfriend (and the father of her child who looked equally as young) was with her as was her dad.

Jon looked at it first and came back to ask what I thought. I said I'd look at it, but we would buy it no matter what.

When I got out to look at it, she said "I'll take $35 or $30, really whatever you guys want."

Jon handed her the $40 and we loaded it up and left.

As we drove away, I looked at Jon and said, "We don't even know how blessed we are. We take so much for granted."

We aren't entitled to anything that we have. In fact, we don't deserve any of it, especially if we aren't using it to serve others.

The pastor at a church we are attending said, "The money in my wallet is a tool to change the world, not buy more comfort." How are you changing the world? It doesn't take much. 

I'm not saying that you should be giving away everything you have, but are you using every penny you earn to buy your own happiness? The name brand purse, the fancy shoes, the expensive car, the over priced coffee (my word, did I just say that?)... Are you constantly searching for that one thing that's going to fill you up? You aren't going to find it until you find out how to serve others and give with a joyful heart. 

to the moon and back,

Not funny "haha" but funny strange

It's funny how life goes on and days go by and you don't cross my mind. I mean, you're there, always ready to leap to life in a story, but not in the forefront. It's easy to push it back because I didn't see you every day.

Then some days, you're a whisper. You're a song on the radio, a scent in the breeze, a daydream at a familiar place.

Then... then, there are days like today, when you should be there. When all of the family is there. You should be laughing, singing and making us dance. You should be telling your stories and looking impatient not letting anyone know you're having fun. You should be cooking and smiling and hugging your son. And it hits me like a ton of bricks, you're gone.

I can see you in photos, and recall fading memories of moments that have passed but nothing is sufficient. I want another day. A day at the springs, in the mountains, at your dinning room table waiting for dinner. A day to mend fences, a day to aggravate you, a day to laugh at your bad jokes.

Life isn't fair, and death certainly isn't either.

to the moon and back,