And I'll tell you where I'm most guilty—not in shoes or clothes or bags or even jewelry, though occasionally something might catch my fancy. Truthfully, my greatest temptation is school curriculum. As a matter of fact, let's broaden that to anything education-related. A new catalog, a sale email, a link in a blog post—suddenly I'm ushered into a realm of utter delight and ecstasy, running my mouse over the virtual image in nothing less than desire and covetousness.
I don't click "finalize order." I don't always "add to cart." Sometimes, I can even resist the "add to wishlist" button. But I dream.
During my school day, I'll dream about owning that game. As I make out lesson plans, I imagine how perfect that particular curriculum would be. I've got many pleasant names for this: planning, researching, exploring, evaluating. But often, it's plain and simple coveting.
I intensely want what God has not given; (and/or) I'm not satisfied with what He has provided.Grant it, there are times to look for the perfect curriculum, to shop and research and explore, to evaluate how best to afford the switch. But then, many other times, I find myself blinded by desire for a particular item, to the point where maybe I haven't been open to a more affordable and equally substantive solution.
The test? When there is a little extra in the budget, when I have finagled and scrimped to get a little extra out of my allotment, does my heart immediately jump to the more expensive fabulous item that "everyone raves about" or do I prayerfully consider what God would want me to do with the extra? Am I stewarding my children's education, or am I fulfilling my own selfish desires?
Ironic, isn't it?
How the best intentions can be so unintentionally twisted into something much less than best.