Before I had children, I owned possessions. Now I share community supplies.
“Who took my stapler?” I yelled upstairs from the basement office, where I’d just spent 60 fruitless seconds searching through desk drawers and under stacks of manila envelopes.
“What, Mommy?” My seven-year-old called back from the kitchen.
“My stapler,” I said, emerging from the stairs. “Do you know where it is?”
“Oh, I borrowed it. I needed it for my craft. I’m writing a book.”
Really? I’m writing a book, too. And I need my stapler.
“Can I have it back, please?” I glanced behind my daughter at the kitchen table where my stapler sat tipped on its side amid a pile of construction paper scraps and Elmer’s glue bottles. Of course, there were no more staples left in it.
Such is the life of a mom.
Nothing is mine anymore. My hairbrush is fair game for any female, my bathroom cabinet is overrun with sparkly pink hairclips and Tinkerbell Band-Aids, my slippers are now a pair of jet skis for plastic dinosaurs, and my private stash of Rolos is half eaten before I even get a craving to rip open the bag.
Why can’t I just have my own stuff, for crying out loud?
“Then he said, “Beware! Guard against every kind of greed. Life is not measured by how much you own,” (Luke 12:15, NLT).
Imagine if everything we moms possessed were left untouched by other people.
No more missing staplers.
No more chocolate fingerprints on the piano keys.
No more piles of someone else’s laundry spilling out the hamper.
No more scratches on the furniture or crayon marks on the walls.
No more favorite faces peeking around the shower curtain.
No more sweet voices filling our quiet hours.
No more laughter, dreams, or memories generated by the chaos of community beneath one roof.
Hmmm. Do my Rolos really matter that much?
Well . . . .
Never in a million lifetimes no.
So I’ll risk my desk supplies, my makeup drawer, my slippers and my sanity—all for the precious payback of day after day shared with the people I love far more than possessions.
When I measure my life in those terms?
I am filthy rich indeed.
And so are you.