Abundance and Scarcity
It's amazing how quickly a "good" thing can become an object of scorn.
When I was first deployed to the Transit Center at Manas, I was amazed by the relative luxury of my surroundings. No Army tents. No Air Force tents either. No, not for me! I was staying in a hard billett. For those of you who don't know that that means, I'm living in a steel frame building, full of little 8x12 ft. rooms, that have air-conditioning and, down the hall, a latrine room and a separate bathroom, with multiple sinks and showers that, mind you, are cleaned daily. Did I mention that I have my own room? It may only be 8x12, but it's mine. All mine until I leave. For a while, I thought I might get a roommate, but he never showed up. Guess why? Because they don't assign roommates in my dorm! Did I mention that it's MY room?
Outside my housing, there's a paved sidewalk that leads to a Dining Facility. As soon as you step inside of it, there are sinks and soap to wash your hands, and then there are several lines of food. That's right! Several lines (plural, mind you!). There are the hot food lines, the deli line, the salad bar, and then areas for snacks, drinks, soups, muffins and breads, an ice cream station, and a dessert bar. So you don't feel too bad for me? Come on! I'm in the military. This is the Air Force!
When I arrived, I thought it was the best spot in the world to be deployed. I still think it may be. No one is shooting at me. Grenades don't launch. Mines don't explode. It's not even 110 degrees. It's been nice and temperate. The dining facility is open 24 hours a day, and so is the gym, and so is the Chapel and the local "bar" called "Pete's Place." Of course, an Airman can only imbibe two drinks in any 24 hour period, but what's not to love? It's not Afghanistan after all! Right?
It's not the Ritz Carlton either. Just ask any person who has been here for 5 months. Somewhere around the end of 4 months, according to my calculations and diagnosis, a strange disease afflicts Transit Center residents. It's the disease called, "Discontent-itis." Here are the symptoms: Taco Tuesdays aren't delicious anymore. Instead of thinking about how fortunate I am to eat a taco, I'm thinking of South Texas Mexican food and grumbling all the way through the food line. Here's another symptom: Surf and Turf Sundays? A person smitten with "discontent-itis" doesn't care if they eat steak and lobster at Manas! I want to eat some Lone Star BBQ with Marianne and Elliott, and laugh while we're licking our fingers.
If it's not the food, how about the lodging? Here's another symptom: my 8x12 room is no longer the private, clean, spacious room that other military personnel would envy. It's a prison cell. It's a gerbil cage. It's a stinky, smelly shoebox. It's..it's...you get the idea.
When I preached on Elisha and the Widow of Zarephath today, I was convicted by God's Word. Who am I to be discontent? Who am I to view abundance as scarcity? God has not promised me abundance (sorry, Beth Moore and Joel Osteen). God has promised me what I need. I am responsible for my attitude, and the "discontent-itis" that it can engender. God is able to bring forth abundance, even in times of great scarcity. If you don't believe me, just look at Exodus 16:1-18, or look up 1 Kings 17:1-16 and read about that dear widow.
I love the way the Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann, puts it. He sees Americans, the richest people of the world, as the main coveters. “We never feel that we have enough,” says Brueggemann. “We have to have more and more, and this insatiable desire destroys us. Whether we are liberal or conservative Christians, we must confess that the central problem of our lives is that we are torn apart by the conflict between our attraction to the good news of God’s abundance and the power of our belief in scarcity — a belief that makes us greedy, mean and unneighborly. We spend our lives trying to sort out that ambiguity."
Indeed! I'm sorting it out, Dr. Brueggemann. I'm surrounded by people who live with an unstable government, and who can only dream, in Kyrgyzstan, of the abundance that lies far off, in America. Meanwhile, I bite my tongue when I'm about to complain about Chicken Wing Wednesdays or Fish Fridays. I pray that God will soften my heart, and cure me of the "discontent-itis" that afflicts me, so that I might thank Him for the grace that I receive, day after day (1 Kings 17:15-16).