In the world, not of it

St. Paul made tents. I fix computers. And write stuff. And raise children. And keep a house clean (sort of). St. Paul wrote, too. And dealt with myriad communities that probably acted not unlike children. Wasn't he notorious for cleaning house, so to speak? Hmm, we have a lot in common.

Except for one substantive thing: St. Paul, at least in my imaginings, exuded holiness. He might have been rough around the edges, but his personality must have had liberal doses of piety in the mix.

Not me. I would love to be gentle, glowing, walking on a cloud, shifting through life on an angel wing and a prayer, smiling peacefully all the while. Unfortunately, reality and personality seem to have limited my success at this.

Perhaps, though, one of my problems is preoccupation. Was St. Paul preoccupied with the art of tentmaking? Did he subscribe to all the tentmaking magazines and go to canvas-sewing seminars? Somehow I doubt it.

Again, St. Paul and I diverge. I spend countless hours focused on the art of copywriting (I think that's what I want to be when I grow up: a freelance writer), studying commodities trading for the farm (December '05 corn closed at 2.38 today - a lousy price), and researching the latest computer issues. Why spend all that time focused on something other than being a christian, a wife, a mother, and homemaker?

The shallow answer is that I want -desperately- to ensure comfort in the future, for my children and myself alike. And by future, I mean I want to be able to pay my electric bill next month, buy Christmas presents next year, subsidize a college education for 3 boys who will be there before I know it, and pay my property taxes when I'm 80 without having to having to be a Walmart greeter.

Pressure to achieve success is overwhelming. I want to be successful. This in itself does not present problems on its own -- it's the definition of success that throws the rod. We are expected to provide for our children -- and I want to do that. But where do we stop? Could I comfortably run a household on $20K a year? $50K? $100K? And what does comfortable mean, anyway?

When St. Paul made his tents, I'd imagine his goals were simple: To pay his own way, keep food on the proverbial table, maintain a good reputation, remain self-sufficient, and evangelize to "clients." I doubt St. Paul would approve of Ebay searches for "Prada" -- his money was assuredly spent on the necessities and the surplus donated.

For those of us who want to strive for holiness, but have our intentions divided among familial, professional, civic, and Godly concerns, how do we set limits on ourselves, so that our efforts, spending, and preoccupation with financial comfort don't bleed over the edge? Will silk curtains and a new tile kitchen floor hinder my spiritual life? Should I keep the floor and window treatments I have and donate the excess money to the poor?

I don't know, and I'm not sure that I'll draw any solid conclusions soon, short of divine intervention during the discernement process. I just hope I don't trick myself into self-soothing justification for irresponsible spending. St. Paul, tentmaker and man in the world but not of it, pray for us, that we may find the line God has drawn in the sand.