this weekend as we were moving in, i told someone that i feel a little guilty about our new house.
“oh, that’s good!” she said.
she explained that she hoped it was the delicious kind of guilty that comes with getting and enjoying something that is just so good…. like a bar of expensive dark chocolate enjoyed slowly and after the kids are in bed.
and it is sort of that kind of guilty. but also it’s a bit of the other kind… the not so good kind.
i have a long-standing problem with believing that God really wants to give me good gifts. before i got married, before i had my children, and before i get almost any other sort of amazing dream-come-true kind of thing from Him, i get petrified with fear that He’ll be displeased with me if I take it, or I feel guilt for having something good when i’m so aware of others who have much less or have worse situations.
i don’t really think Papa appreciates me thinking and feeling those ways, but it’s something i tend toward. consistently. i keep thinking i’ll learn, that i’ll outgrow it.
but here, now, with this house. this amazing dream of a house (no, it wouldn’t be anyone’s dream come true… my mom wouldn’t want it)…. again it crops up. guilt.
“you shouldn’t have this house.”
“if you have extra rooms, you need to fill them with someone ASAP. preferably a poor person or an orphan.”
“you’re idolizing this house and you care about it more than your children.”
“don’t show photos of it because people will judge you for having a house like this when you’re an urban minister. ministers aren’t supposed to have nice houses.”
and so on and so forth.
well, Guilt. i don’t like you hanging around.
Papa, I want to know YOUR heart and YOUR will for giving us this house to call our home. come into this place of false guilt and bring a combination of your joyful grace and your merciful conviction.