Bait and Switch and the Perfect Wedge

I like to shop. In fact, the mall is one of my favorite places to spend an afternoon. My idea of a good time is thumbing through a Pottery Barn catalog. And Target? Well, let’s just say Tarjay is a vile temptress.
Of course, everyone knows money can’t buy happiness. Yet I pine for better clothes, area rugs, and seasonal candles. I can’t wait until we get the kids new bunk beds, and the outside of the house needs to be painted. Oh, and there’s the high-def TV and bookshelves for the family room, and I could really use a better digital camera. Heck, I even like buying toiletries. Just give me a store, a list, and a Diet Coke, and all is right with the world.
Which is, of course, not true. And I know better.
Four years ago we remodeled our house. We tore down walls, mak­ing three small rooms into one spacious family room. We redid the kitchen and the bathrooms, added a laundry room, and put in hardwood floors. I didn’t care that we couldn’t afford to decorate and furnish it completely, because it was adorable and it smelled new, which was good enough for me—for about six months.
I was content in my new house until I wasn’t. Eventually I wanted new furniture. I wished I’d chosen a darker shade of ecru in the living room, and as the kids grew, our spacious room started feeling less spa­cious. And that’s not the only time I’ve experienced fleeting thankful­ness. I loved our new car until I realized we needed better gas mileage (can I get an Amen?). I owned the perfect pair of boots until I realized, “Oh my gosh, this heel is so last season.” I was happy with my refrigerator until I saw the one with the bottom freezer drawer.
And so it goes.
Because just as God says, money—along with all the stuff it can buy—doesn’t satisfy. It’s never enough. And even when there is a new-purchase-high, it doesn't last.
Case in point, a couple weeks ago I was invited to a dressy event, but didn’t own the right pair of shoes. And by that I mean, not one of the seven pairs of heels in my closet would do. I was convinced I needed the winter wedge I'd seen at Target the week before. Since Dallas and I are in a season of life where every dollar counts, I justified the purchase by doing a little mental gymnastics—and voila! I bought the shoes. They looked fab during dinner, but came off once I hit the dance floor because shin splints are a real thing, and I quickly realized a mother of four doesn't belong five inches off the ground.
Now that the party is over, I can confidently say the shoes weren’t worth it. Not worth the cost to my wallet  or my shins or my relationship with the Lord because I ignored what would've honored Him with my finances—and ultimately my family. My greed won the day.Again. I’m not sure why I continually end up in this familiar place of spending regret, except that money is a constant  idol I battle. Those shoes where an idol, just like my home and everything else when they become more important than God and doing the right thing.

So I'm back to believing what God says about money. Which also means I'm back to confessing my materialism before my merciful Lord, praying for a renewed mind, and staying out of the shoe dept at Target.      Whoever loves money never has enough;
whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income.This too is meaningless. Ecclesiastes 5:10