My dog and I were around the meadow and into the woods behind the barn when I destroyed the work of a very industrious spider. I know that spiders can be beneficial because they kill other unwanted insects. I also think their webs can be beautiful when covered with dew in the morning, but I didn't see this web until I was wearing it. I wasn't particularly thrilled about having a cobweb in my hair, because while I continue to have birthdays, I am trying to put off cultivating the "creepy old lady" look for as long as possible.
Since I regularly walk my dog through the woods, I know that occasionally meandering into a cobweb is part of the "cost" of enjoying our outdoor walks. I am reminded yet again of a life principle which has served me well thus far: the realization that everything has a cost.
Somehow, through the miracle of modern advertising, we have become convinced that we can live in an environment where there are only spotless homes, stylish people and pleasant fragrances if we simply purchase the right products and drive the best cars. In tv home decor shows we see lamps without cords, sinks without dirty dishes and "sexy" washing machines. (Really? Do appliances breed?) Fashion magazines display shoes with heels which attempt to defy gravity, while news magazines tell us which cars -- or beers -- are guaranteed "chick magnets". As a result of this incessant marketing, some of us actually believe that we can live an idealized life if we simply make the right choices and purchase the right products.
But here's the catch . . . and, it's a big one. New cars, designer fashions and sleek silver appliances cost a hefty chunk of cash. If we purchase them on credit, they cost even more. If we treasure them too much, they can be the source of relational strife when the finish gets scratched or a kid spills a chocolate milkshake on the backseat. If we purchase too many of them, we can find ourselves filing for bankruptcy and divorce in close succession. Life -- and relationships -- will be messy at times. The moment you insert human beings through the front door, perfection leaves out the back. The only guaranteed method of keeping things in pristine condition is to seal them in a dust-free environment and not allow humans to enter.
Of course, there's a cost to not buying or owning certain things as well. If you drive a used car, you may have less status and more repair bills. Wear threadbare clothing to an interview, and you might not get the job. There is a cost to saving our money, too, if we become miserly and selfish in the process. Thrift without generosity can make us obsessive rather than purposeful.
So, if everything really does have a cost, whether it is to our finances, our relationships or our characters, where does that leave us? While they may be different for many of us, we all have options. If we carefully weigh our options in light of their costs before we make decisions, we can have more satisfaction with every decision -- or expenditure -- we make. That's why the price of a health club membership is, for me, too high. If I walked on an indoor track, I would probably never again have a face full of cobwebs. But my funny little dog couldn't be with me as I walked, and I would miss seeing the wonders of creation in the meadow. For me, that's far too high a cost to pay.
--Susan Rodebush © 2010
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