I have been thinking the last couple months about money. It is true that most of us fall into 2 camps; either we desire to have more cash on hand, or we carefully admit we have more than enough. It is not the need for money that has me thinking, it is the connection that it brings.

In Western culture we are pretty good at isolating ourselves from just about everyone else. Thinking that our lives do not intersect with others is something on which we pride ourselves. Comfortably settled into our own routines, we often give little regard to the world happening around us, that is until it impacts our world. Even when things that shake our existence, we tend to keep them close to heart and never mention.

I worked all through high and college with various grocery stores.  I worked every department except liquor.   I loved working customer service, the more responsibility the better.  I have even done part-time work at a local gas station, and while that was not my career of choice, I learned so much about human nature.

Each time I waited on a customer and exchanged money the link we share came to mind time and time again.  I have seen many groups gather to comment on a certain other group of people, and I am guilty of such behavior myself.  It strikes me as interesting how often we tear down one another and yet we never realize that money we just spent goes into the hands of that someone else.  I think of it when I hear the generations ahead of me complaining about the lack of respect the kids growing up have today.  Well, that kid that just spent $5 on a gatorade and candy bar probably received the change or dollars we just spent on our own merchandise.  Minute by minute cash exchanges hands, having traveled thousands of miles.  What is the story it holds?  Whose pocket or purse did it just inhabit?  For whose allowance did a child work to spend that precious dollar or two on a treasured piece of candy.

On the flip side, in whose pocket who struggles with any one of the addictions that claim us?  Who lost a parent, grandparent, or loved one who left them some sort inheritance?  Whose loss is also a moment of gain?

Maybe when we break that down, we can admit we are not so separated from one another.  I might even venture to guess the four walls of our homes encompass some of the same stories in which we wrap ourselves for comfort.  the currency we spend, we rarely think about was in the hands of someone else, another member of humanity.  Could it be that currency is a current which binds all of us?  A tough thought to think that a hardened criminal might have touched the same money I hold in my hand now.  Harder still to think that money I just forked over may end up in similar hands.  I don’t want to admit that my finances may wind up in the hands of someone I do not like is more than I want to swallow, I find myself choking on the crumbs.  Now, I begin to wonder what the stories these bills and coins hold…are they spent?  Spent in a metaphorical sense, in a way where they would like to scream out that they are tired of what they have seen?  Spent in a way which begs the opportunity to tell their story, share their journey and impart some wisdom to us?

I know that these are inanimate objects, of little worth in the long run as compared to faith, family, and friends.  Maybe, however, the link which they represent ties us to a legacy which we cannot escape.

Maybe food for thought or for fodder.  Who knows.  Until I pen again….

Shalom, dear ones.



1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Mike
    Jul 21, 2013 @ 08:40:14

    I was going to tell you that I thought about blogging along the same lines after I heard people come in and complain about Obama using racially charged words and a commentator that said, it would be nice for people to acknowledge that while it might not have happened to them, it has happened to other people. Nice job.


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