This past weekend, I led a group of seniors at my church, Champion Forest for their yearly disciple-now (called Freedom Weekend). The weekend was great (more to come…), and we were placed at a very nice house, to be succinct. The weighs in around 30,000 sq. ft. and sits on several acres within the city. The architecture is simple and tasteful; you could easily find it overlooking the Mediterranean in Spain.
The house is nicely decorated, with lots of natural hues. The floors are wood, stone, and a plush carpet. The doors are something of beauty–oversized for the human scale, but gracefully matching the scale of each space. The house has no gold-leaf overlays, and is not filled with gaudy paintings and artwork. The center courtyard is large but intimate. The pool glistens with a deep blue color that invites you to dive right in.
Elegant. Tasteful. But not overly extravagant.
And yet I’ve never heard so much about a house before I arrived. Rumors flew about their library, their house (houses in some cases), landscaping, and parties. Every description was chocked full of envious slop–a porridge that would make even the most content jealous of this family’s immense wealth.
In fact, many people commented on how lucky I was to be spending the weekend at their house. I’ll be honest: I said the same things… things like, “I will suffer through the weekend” or “Can you believe it, they’re going to be catering food for us.” I was the same as everyone else. And I secretly yearned for that very same wealth when I joked, “I’ll be studying for the LSAT starting this week…” (He is a very successful lawyer.) I was chasing a siren…
We were all entranced by this wealth. By this money. By the prestige, I suppose. The thoughts of acres of land. And the thought of your very own racquetball court.
But sadly, the descriptions and gossip failed to mention the generosity (opening their house, for example), graciousness (not being arrogant to any of us), or ability to communicate freely with us supposedly “regular” people. They were simply steeped in a greedy and jealous admiration of the family’s wealth.
I feel badly for the way people treat them. People see them as a huge pile of cash; eagerly waiting to see how they spend the next bag. And I guess they (we) all secretly hope that some of that money will make it their way.
And that makes me sad. Why can’t we be happy for the people who have done well financially? Why do we need to make so many comments about something that has so little bearing on our lives? It seems we live vicariously though others, and this is no exception.