These days I often have the privilege of sharing the drive to and from work with my grandson, a beginning driver with his first regular paying job. I love our conversations on those trips, and grab every opportunity I have to know him better.
“I have bad gas,” he told me once. “G. A. S. Can you tell me what that is, Nana?”
My baked beans? I wondered. He chuckled. “Guitar Acquisition Syndrome.” It’s true. Benjamin plays exceptionally well, but barely has the reverb drifted away on a new guitar before he spies another one to add to his collection. He’s up to about eight now, I think, and his job is nicely fuelling his syndrome. A few weeks ago, he purchased his first classical guitar. (What’s the difference? I asked that too. Nylon strings, and a wider neck.)
Adult desires generally cost more and may be more sophisticated. But who hasn’t drifted off into a daydream of something (or someone) other than our present reality? And who hasn’t chased something or other? The human spirit persistently reaches for more. Nicer. Better. Further. Faster. Higher. Lovelier. Smarter. List any superlative in the dictionary, and someone has pursued it.
The maxim,“good, better, best; never let it rest, until your good is better and your better, best,” may spur some of us to excellence in certain areas. However, relentless pursuit of a material “best” comes with the steep price tag of inner peace.
I’m reminded of that every time we move and we (especially me) strive day and night to make the new place our own. I forget, at those times, God’s orders to “Be still and know that I am God.”
Our recent move is no exception. I have painted and decorated, switched and transitioned furniture like a mad woman. For two sixty-ish youngsters, the Preacher and I (with the assistance of others) have done a peck of renovating and landscaping. We’re not finished yet. We may never be. There’s fun in that work—until the fun stops and all that’s left is a revving engine stuck in neutral. Lots of noise and fumes, but no progress for all that internal combustion. (We’re not there yet, thankfully. The bathroom isn’t done yet.)
On a recent trip from work, I reminded Benjamin of what I have learned, but regularly need to remember—that Satan likes to use our desires to his own advantage by promising that the next guitar, or piece of furniture (job, spouse, house, pet, renovation, degree or ???) will satisfy us completely.
“More” is a siren song. Relentlessly pursuing it leads only to emptiness and waste—unless what we want “more” of is a deeper relationship with the Son of God. Instead of constantly striving for the “something” just out of reach, when we connect with the “Someone” always within reach, we will find satisfaction far deeper than imaginable. Peace beyond understanding. Contentment despite difficulty. Joy beyond describing.
Jesus doesn’t promise material magic, but he satisfies completely, no matter what syndrome plagues us.
