coveting

I turn the slick pages, one after the other, my feet propped on the metal patio chair, chickadees trilling in the white pine. “Ooooh, that’s nice,” I murmur, gazing at pristine dishware, dazzling fabrics, glass hurricanes and smooth pillar candles.

Noah perches next to me on the arm of the chair. Together we admire the lavishly decorated tables displayed across glossy pages. We stop a moment on page 10, pointing to the sumptuous leather chairs and the rustic but chic chandelier.

“Wow. Now that looks just like perfection to me,” I say to Noah. “A gorgeous table set with beautiful dishes, crisp linens and candles, all ready for an evening dinner party. I don’t think it gets much better than that.”

Noah nods solemnly. I turn more pages as he walks inside.

I’m pining, coveting the opulence orchestrated so perfectly on those pages. I want the monogrammed napkins, the mercury glass votives, the plush throws. I want the Pottery Barn stuff and the Pottery Barn life, the seeming ease that comes with high-class living. I’m sick with envy over the fact that people I know actually own a lot of the furnishings and home décor displayed on these pages. I’m envious because I want to own it, too.

The screen door slams shut, and I look up from the magazine.

“Now you have perfection, too,” Noah tells me, stepping carefully over the acorns strewn across the patio. I lean forward as he places my grandmother’s blue Fiestaware dish on the green metal table. A scattering of scarlet, foil-wrapped Dove chocolates sits in the center of the dish. Delicate stems of burnished Autumn Sedum and golden beech leaves are arranged around the candies just so.

Noah sits next to me on a tipping metal chair, striped cushion faded dull from the burning summer sun. We unwrap the foil and let the smooth sweetness melt in our mouths.

I close the Pottery Barn catalog and lay it on the table, tuck my feet beneath the worn cushion and unwrap another chocolate. I smile at the boy next to me as a gust twirls pine needles from the tree-top to the leaf-cluttered lawn. A squirrel rustles his nest high above us, and acorns plunk onto the patio umbrella like raindrops.

It’s not Pottery Barn … but it’s perfection indeed.

Questions for Reflection:
What do you covet? Have you thought about what might be fueling that coveting? Is it envy? Resentment? Anger? Insecurity?

Edited repost from the archives.

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For years, every Friday at 2 p.m. you could find me in the exact same place: on the couch with a cup of tea and the phone to my ear, my best friend Andrea on the other line. Those conversations, especially in those first lonely years in Nebraska, were my lifeline.

We talked about everything from potty training to shoe sales to home décor, and often, we talked about our husbands. Or, I should say, we complained about our husbands. We bemoaned. We rolled our eyes. We shook our heads. We commiserated. We didn’t typically complain about big things or important stuff. We simply griped about the everyday annoyances of living day in and day out with the same person.

Finally, during one of those Friday afternoon phone calls, Andrea put a stop to the complaining. She admitted that when her husband got home from work on Fridays, she was often so riled up from picking him apart over the phone, she picked a fight with him in person. Andrea was right – I realized I often did the same. Turns out, what we’d assumed was harmless complaining was actually fueling an undercurrent of negativity and discontent in our marriages.

I was reminded of that lesson as I thought about the reading and sermon for this week on Exodus 20:17: You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife.

At the heart of coveting is comparison: dissatisfied with our own lot, we want what others have. Complaining about my husband may have seemed innocuous enough, but over time, it began to weave subtle but pervasive threads of dissatisfaction and discontent.

Suddenly, instead of appreciating Brad’s many gifts, I couldn’t get past the damp towel on the bathroom floor or the sneakers left not in but right next to the shoe basket by the door. Instead of celebrating his many fabulous qualities – like the fact that he cooks dinner from scratch every night (and I don’t mean frozen raviolis) and makes my coffee every morning, even though he’s a tea-drinker – I focused on his few flaws.

Coveting and comparison – whether it’s your neighbor’s spouse or your neighbor’s house – can sneak up on you. Before you know it, you’re pining for what you want, rather than grateful for what you have.

I’m grateful Andrea put an end to our husband-griping, but I still fall into my old habits from time to time. Recently, as my sister described the renovation work her husband was doing on their kitchen, I found myself wishing aloud that my husband was handier around the house. “Yeah, but when Brad’s home from work, he’s really home,” Jeanine pointed out. “He’s not working on yet another project.”

Last night, I watched from the window as Brad and the boys engaged in a full-out water-balloon war in the backyard. And instead of focusing on the kind of husband he’s not, I was grateful for the husband he is.

Questions for Reflection:
Do you ever catch yourself complaining about your spouse or partner? Have you ever thought about how complaining might be connected to coveting?

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Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code below) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in — thank you!

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: It’s Not Pottery Barn…but It’s Perfection

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: When Complaining Leads to Coveting

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