The Land of Stuffitis

Yesterday, I was in Mount Pleasant, SC to pick up a book I had ordered. I dearly despise going to that area. It never fails to impress me with how superior people can truly act. As I came out yesterday, I was getting in my car very carefully because the parking spaces were super small and my door tapped someone's side rear view mirror. When I say tapped, I mean as in it didn't even make a noise. I looked over and mouthed the word "sorry" and smiled apologetically.

Oh. My. Word.

They gave me a look like I had encouraged a toddler to commit a felony. It was an older couple and they both sat there with their brows furrowed and shaking their heads (yes, they were literally shaking their heads at me). I got in and they backed out enough that their doors could open. The passenger then got out and bent down to examine EVERY INCH of the door. She, of course, found nothing since I didn't even touch their old door. But I'm amazed they didn't insist I pay to wash it in case some of my hooligan pollen blended with theirs. I had to back out and follow them to the exit in order to leave and I watched as they sat and blocked all incoming traffic to take a place in the exit line. They both had looks like they eaten sour lemons. I'm sure that their conversation probably revolved for the next hour around that reckless idiot who tried to destroy their car. And if I had to guess, I wouldn't have been surprised if their whole day was ruined by that innocent encounter.

I wouldn't have tried to damage anyone's property on purpose and I would have paid to repair it if I had. But I really don't see the point of behaving that way. While I believe in being a good steward of what God has given me, it is only, after all, stuff. I think that God is more concerned with how we treat each other. I see "stuffitis" as Dave Ramsey calls it way too much in our world. And it frightens me a little.

Many years ago, we were visiting someone and my son's head found a sharp corner somehow. He came to the living room, where the adults were, in tears and looking like one of the extras in a horror movie. Even his socks were stained from the blood on his head. We got him in the bathroom and started cleaning him up and calming him down. Then we heard the host on the phone talking to what sounded like an emergency service. My husband went to assure him it was okay and that we didn't need an ambulance. It wasn't necessary though. The host was speaking to an emergency service, all right. The carpet cleaners. To get them there to remove the blood on his carpet. He was so involved with it that, as we along with the other guests left, he didn't come to tell any of us goodbye or check on my son. Driving home, I told my husband that if I had to act like that to live in a nice house, I'd take a shack. Later, we determined that it would be best if we never went to their home again -- not out of anger, but because there would be no point. None of us would be able to relax and enjoy the visit for fear of making a mess or acting like a fallible human being in some other way. And it certainly wasn't a house for children. Some time later, that host asked us to pray for his stuffitis attitude. He had come to recognize it for what it was.

I think its very easy to get caught up in all this worldly stuff around us. After all, we haven't seen anything better yet with our own eyes. But we know its there. And I hope that if I ever get caught up with stuffitis, all of you will slap me. Hard. Until I snap out of it. And if I forget, I'll sit down on my stained, old, badly installed carpet and hug what really matters (my husband, children, family and friends) until I remember.