Affluence

We're pretty rich. I've mentioned before, my outrageous superfluity, almost excess, of amazing friends. I am astounded by it often actually. And of course, we're regular rich - one of the top 0.72% richest people in the world (next time you're feeling broke, check your income here - it's quite sobering).  We have enough money to pay for more than adequate housing, above-average medical care, food & drink and footwear.  We drive a safe car and can always put fuel in it. And we holiday in amazing spots (14 days....) and have a frikkin' boat.  We are regular rich.

Sometimes of course, we forget. Most days actually.  Much like the friend thing whereby even though I have so many amazing friends, I still feel lonely with surprising regularity, when it comes to our richness, we usually feel broke and poor. So broke and poor do we feel that we become blind to the perks of our other-worldly affluence, which I'm pretty sure makes Jesus so mad he wants to drink gin out of the cat dish (did I get that quote right? I know Ms. Lamott mixes Jesus and gin with aplomb but I can't bring myself to actually look it up to make sure I have it right).

For the last week or so, Nate has been chewing on his hands and pointing to his teeth anytime he's asked what hurts. Very teething-ish, except for the part where he has all his teeth.  When he wouldn't sleep last night, Scott wondered aloud how much discomfort I would need to see before I called the dentist.  I had been putting it off because I was afraid that an abscess would ruin our upcoming glamorous holiday. But I sucked it up and phoned this morning.  Sandra the kind phone-answerer slotted us in for 11:45, assuring me that it was exactly the right thing to do to get it checked out. At the appointed time, we found ourselves in Dr. Gerry's Happiest Place On Earth dental office where said Dr told me that in fact young Nate hadn't finished with his last molars and that this was really just teething with a bit of gum inflammation at the site that would require a bit more diligent brushing while the tooth finished erupting (I LOVE that word for teething. Yes. It. Is. Erupting).  Relieved, if not feeling a bit foolish, we found our way back through the ocean wonderland to the reception area where Sandra waved me out  - "Don't worry about it. See you next time."

Now let it be said that I hadn't really worried about it to begin with. Well, maybe a little, in that I figured I wouldn't get reimbursed by the insurance people for at least a week and maybe that would be a drag. But now I really, truly didn't have to worry about it at all.

And this is the part where I realized how ludicrously rich we are. Because I used to live in a community where children didn't see dentists, ever. Or if they did, it was in a crappy public clinic where they got crappy care and because they hadn't had decent care ever before, they required major intervention and so it was terrible and crappily-provided.  And if they did ever have to pay for it, it wasn't an inconvenience for a few days, it was a grocery bill or maybe a rental payment.

And now here was me just taking my kid into the happiest place on earth to have his teeth checked for free because I was kind of worried about ruining my exotic holiday. I didn't think twice about calling, about how to get there, about whether they would be kind to me, or respectful.  I didn't think about who I would call to borrow money from if it turned out to be something serious, or how I would explain to my husband that he would have to double-shift all month so that the kid wouldn't be in pain, or loose a tooth.

That's what makes us rich.  Not just the balance in black in our bank account. Or even the boat and exotic holiday. It's the social ease, the not-worrying moments that work out because we in the top 1% and the world is set up to take care of us. It's that part.

Jesus didn't have a lot of patience for the rich and that always makes me nervous.  I worry about showing up and having the Lord say, "I don't know you."  I'm not sure what to do about it. I feel a lot like the rich man who wanted to follow Jesus but just couldn't bring himself to sell all his possessions.  It's not so much that I can't let go of the boat, but more that I can't let go of the privilege.  And if my time in Camden taught me anything, it's that even when I'm poor, I can't shake the things that make me rich, so deeply sewn into me are they. 

So then I guess I just get to hope that knowing the depth of the poverty of my own soul, or at least the shallow parts of the abyss that is me, will be enough for Jesus to look a second time and say, "Oh wait... no, I think I do remember you. We met once.  Well, come on in and let's see if we can get this figured out."