Before I left school to come home for Christmas break, I shipped an oversized suitcase on a Greyhound bus.  That suitcase disappeared, along with all the stuff inside.  Throughout the holidays and into the next semester, I have prided myself on how well I have survived without all my lost stuff.  I am really resourceful.  I am like Tom Hanks in Castaway, using an ice skate for knife, axe, and dental hygienic tool. 

    That is, until Blue Ridge Mountain Sports announced the coming of their annual “Avalanche” sale.  Every stinking thing in the store was 50% off, which was way too enticing for a gear-head like myself.  In hindsight, I can acknowledge the absurdity of my mission.  At the time, however, there wasn’t even a moment of hesitation.  I actually set my alarm clock two hours earlier than normal so that I could get to the store right at opening. Over the next hour and a half, I pinballed around the clothing displays, hemorrhaging money that could have been much better spent toward furthering the Kingdom or at least paying off overdue parking violations. 

    It all culminated at the shoe rack, where I could not decide between one pair of hiking shoes and another.  Each pair beckoned me like seductive Sirens, melodious, luring.  I am embarrassed to confess the end result, but as I walked away from the store with a shoebox under each arm, I had an assortment of justifications keeping better judgment at bay. 

     What is it that fuels this materialistic drive?  Why am I so easily convinced that I need more things and stuff?  Paul Zahl addresses this concern in his book Grace in Practice saying, “Human nature drives the mall, it feeds and extends it, and it finally lies exhausted in the rubble of things that cannot satisfy.”  The tendency to settle for the ephemeral is in my DNA, it is characteristic of my broken humanness.  I can touch the shoes, I can lace them up and feel empowered, but in the end their ability to satisfy will only last as long as the soles hold up or a cooler pair is for sale.  I don’t need new shoes (much less two pairs)- what I need is something ultimate.  I need grace to ease my restless soul where things fall way, way short.  In grace, I can stop groping for something to sustain me because Christ has done it on the cross and it is finished.  Avalanche sales will continue to disappoint, but Jesus satisfies my needy soul.