~ Alone he stands and sore downcast
Who loves with pious warmth the past. ~ Novalis
An embarrassing fact about me, readers: I’ve got fifteen dollars left to my name, a quarter tank of gas, and enough food to last a few more days. I’ve sworn off taking financial aid from family or friends and I don’t have it in me to appeal to the state. As a millennial, I don’t have any real skills to offer the plantation and, also as a millennial, I can’t see myself flipping burgers or pumping gas for a living. [insert baby-boomer wrath at my ungratefulness here].
Actually, that’s not quite true: I’m not shy about manual labor, I’ve got a machining degree, and I was a photographer in the military for a decade. None of that seems to matter though. When it comes to prostrating oneself at the alter of a potential employer, I’ve got a severe disability. On numerous occasions, I’ve thought this indicated an entrepreneurial streak, but all my business ideas require me grovelling to hundreds of masters instead of one. To top it off, I’ve been raised to feel a deep guilt about my hatred of the plantation. I’ve got to keep that way in the deep-down and never let it surface around my family – who, in a sane world, would be the people I talk to most about my inner life. As it is, I blurt out my deepest feelings to you all – well-meaning, but complete strangers. Ahhh, at least I have the joy of blogging left to me.
I suppose I could coast on fumes until I got a job pumping gas or flipping burgers, but would that really solve my problems? Those jobs only pay enough to keep an individual alive; God forbid a car breaking down or finding a new living situation. And forget about savings, women, or a family. No, those jobs are firm as the shackles on a slave’s ankle. There’s no escaping them.
I’ve prayed about my situation, of course, but despite all those promising verses in Scripture (the one’s preachers appeal to for inspiration on Sunday mornings), whatever God’s up to these days, feeding His people isn’t on the agenda. Well, wait. Let me back up…
I’ve got fifteen dollars left of faith. That has to be at least a mustard seed’s worth. I’m open to pretty much anything God offers at this point, even if it requires flipping burgers. If that’s what he thinks of me, so be it. My hatred of the plantation makes me think of criminal activity. Any moral inhibitions I have were thrown out a long time ago. When a man’s hungry, morality gets blurry. The populace is pretty much working to destroy itself anyway; why shouldn’t they finance me instead? Some organizations are outright hostile to Christ and the white world; surely they can afford a little robbing? But God needs to provide the opening. He may. Or, fifteen dollars is enough for a few lottery tickets I guess. That can’t be worse than being an outlaw.
The only problem with crime is the high risk isn’t worth the small reward, certainly not doing it for a living. So I guess, even on that option, I’d still be in roughly the same boat. The problem is, life, for me at least, is meaningless. Anyone who disagrees has to answer Solomon who, with the authority of God behind him, tells us outright life is meaningless. And without money, you can’t even enjoy the “little things”, like sunsets or watching the stars.
Don’t judge me too harshly unless you’ve been hungry and unable to feed yourself. It’s bad for women and children, but for a grown man, it’s humiliating. There’s a way to end it; you all know so I wont name it. But I’ve got fifteen dollars to go before putting it on the list of options.
…stay tuned to see what God does.