the cost

I'm part Scottish, but sometimes I think I must be full-blooded. My proof for this is an intriguing cost-saving substance called "skim milk powder." While all other kids growing up 'got milk,' my sisters and I were sat in front of an over-diluted pail of this watery white substance that had the audacity to claim the name of 'milk' while every sense receptor on my tongue screamed the falsity of such an association. 

For the longest time I probably wondered if my mom merely printed her own blue bags with 'milk' written across the side wherin she could deposit these powdery grains of dried food colouring, because I had never seen one of these bags outside of our house on God's green earth. To this day I haven't seen anyone actually drink the stuff besides the Dow clan, but I have seen the odd bag here and there, tucked in the deepest, darkest corners of grocery stores. I think they're made just for my mom, though. Possibly by my dad, who used to work at a milk processing plant in Mitchell. 

Another evidence for this Scottish heritage is the fact that, growing up, I don't think any of us kids understood that all these used clothes we were wearing were, at one point in time, new; and perhaps they even came from some place other than Value Villiage or friendly old Beatrice from church. What do you mean, underwear comes in other shades than brown? What crazy talk is this? I'm just kidding, of course. We didn't wear underwear. That would be a frivolous luxury. 

So perhaps my parents weren't that thrifty. They always bought us the necessities, and consistently sacrificed things that they might've wanted in order to bless us with gifts. They have always been hard workers for the Lord and we have never been truly in need, but they were certainly cautious when it came to the daily cost of living. They had to be, in order to live below the poverty line. One doesn't work for God for the pay. 

I can see traces of their cost-saving attitude in myself when I go to the local Macs and undergo a lengthy deliberation process as to which size slushie to purchase. "Well, at the other Macs the 525 mL slushie is $1.29, like the small one, but here it's $1.59! Do these people not want me to get an education?!?" Darcie does well to bear with my penny-pinching posession. She doesn't expect anything too expensive. In fact, on those romantic nights when I take her out to treat her to something special, she graciously takes a small slushie rather than the large one. 

There are other times when I couldn't care less about money. When I have planned to make a purchase in advance and know that it will be expensive, I am ready to accept this cost, and pay it without a second thought. Even large purchases for me can be made without any twinge of miserliness if I know in advance that this is something I have chosen to do. It's the unexpected costs that make me anxious, because I feel as though the money is disappearing without me giving it. 

A classic example of this is the restaraunt scam. These con artists will entice you into fairly simple but elegant social atmosphere, have you sit down and present you with plates, cutlery, and water. They will make sure to have dignified-looking patrons sitting at nearby tables; those people that you know will despise you if you make any indication that you wish to upset the traditions and habits of people of culture. After some witty banter from the waiter or waitress, which could also be described as a thinly-disguised request for a huge tip, you are handed a menu. This is what you have been waiting for. Like Abel, you are willing to give almost anything for that steak on the first page that looks more succulent than any steak could possibly be. Then you look at the price. Steak, à mourir pour: $ your life and firstborn son. You know that you could buy the entire slaughterhouse and restaraunt for this amount, but at this point you realize your feet are chained to the floor. King Norm will have your head on a platter should you even think about getting up and going to another restaurant. 

I suppose if I was really concerned about prices at a restaurant I could call ahead of time and find out their price range. When I'm out with people I care for generally money isn't an issue because I'm investing in people, which is priceless. For everything else, there's petty theft. Unfortunately, though, the money going into my account at the moment is a few pennies short of a nickel, and apparently Bill Gates isn't going to pay my credit balance any more. 

The moral of the story? Sitting by and watching life eat away little by little at the self you grasp so tightly to in your unwillingness to choose cannot compare to choosing to spend your entire life with joy in the service of our Savior, for whom no cost was too great to feast in eternity with his friends. 

"It is no small thing for a man to forsake himself, even in things that are very small"

-Thomas À Kempis, The Imitation of Christ