entitlement.

We find ourselves thinking that we deserve things.
Time off.
Showers.
Good meals.
Time to relax.
Our way.

But when I take a step back, I see all of those things as privileges, not entitlements.  Many of the girls struggle visibly with entitlement, especially in a place like Shelterwood where they don't have the freedoms that they used to abuse and enjoy.  It is not uncommon to be asked to take a girl to her room to drop off a book/waterbottle/sweatshirt, say no because there isn't enough coverage, and then get a dirty look, a scowl, or a raised eyebrow.  How important is it, really, to put away that item right now, at this very moment?  Not really at all, yet she thinks it is imperative that she gets to go put it away.  And then who am I to say no?  I, too, have selfish motives for not wanting to take her, but my selfishness trumps hers and she has to wait.

These moments of time off are so precious, so valuable.  Yet even these are not my own.  I do not deserve the time off.  Though it certainly is necessary to do my job well, to stay positive, to have energy to give - I am not entitled to it.

When we give our lives to God, to our Creator, we give everything.  We give our time, our energy, our love, all for God to use however He sees fit, however will bring Him the most glory - whether that be through spending time with His people, spending time with Him, working extra hours to make something the best that it can possibly be for the glory of God, taking energy to spend with family, doing dishes late at night so that someone else doesn't have to worry about it in the morning... All for the glory of God.

My life is not my own.  My time is not my own.

A poem struck me this week as I thought about these things, about what I think to be mine, and what I find to be most important.  Here it is:

The Noise of Politics
by Walter Brueggemann


We watch as the jets fly in
     with the power people and
     the money people,
     the suits, the budgets, the billions.

We wonder about monetary policy
     because we are among the haves,
and about generosity
     because we care about the have-nots.

By slower modes we notice
     Lazarus and the poor arriving from Africa,
     and the beggars from Central Europe, and
     the throng of environmentalists
          with their vision of butterflies and oil
               of flowers and tanks
               of growing things and
                    killing fields.

We wonder about peace and war
     about ecology and development,
     about hope and entitlement.

We listen beyond jeering protesters and
          soaring jets and
     faintly we hear the mumbling of the crucified one,
     something about
          feeding the hungry
          and giving drink to the thirsty,
          about clothing the naked,
          and noticing the prisoners,
          more about the least and about holiness among them.

We are moved by the mumbles of the Gospel,
     even while we are tenured in our privilege.

We are half ready to join the choir of hope,
          half afraid things might change,
               and in a third half of our faith
                    turning to you,
               and your outpouring love
               that works justice and
               that binds us each and all to one another.

So we pray amid jeering protesters
          and soaring jets.
     Come by here and make new,
          even at some risk to our entitlements.