O Me of Little Faith

It occurred to me this morning, while brushing my teeth, that while many people suffer from “not enough,” I am fortunate to suffer from “too many.” Complaining about having too much of something reminds me of something Matthew Perry’s Chandler once said, sarcastically, on an episode of Friends. “My wallet’s too small for my fifties, and my diamond shoes are too tight!”

Right. Don’t complain about blessings.

So instead of complaining, I’m going to list the things I have too many of.

I have too many shoes. Two pairs of running shoes. Two pairs of regular tennis shoes. Two pairs of slip-on casual shoes (black and brown). Two pairs of flip-flops (black and greenish). Blue Chuck Taylors. Two pairs of nicer slip-on shoes (yes…black and brown). Work boots. Snow boots. Trail runners for hiking. My sweet-looking klash from Iraq. And probably some other shoes I’m forgetting about which I haven’t worn in months. (When I look at all my shoes, it helps me remember that lots of kids don’t have shoes.)

I have too many blog posts making fun of famed Puritan preacher Jonathan Edwards. Three posts is far too many. Two posts, though, is exactly right.

I have too many questions about God. It’s good to have questions, I think, but not so good when your faith is overwhelmed by those questions. How do I turn off my brain?

I have too many ideas for novels, but too few ideas that go beyond the what-if-this-happened initial concept. If I could only flesh them out into a real plot…

I have too many weeds in my front yard. Also my alley.

I have too many thoughts along these lines: Who ever determined that certain plants were weeds and not legitimate plants? What kind of random subjective value judgment is that, anyway? Who are you, gardening expert, to tell me that my garden should have certain kinds of desirable plants (tomatoes) and not have certain less desirable plants (soapweed)?

I have too many disappearing tattoos. At my count: one. I got it in 1995, on my ankle — black ink — and it has pretty much completely faded away at this point. Aren’t tattoos supposed to be, you know, forever?

I have too many copies of Pocket Guide to the Bible remaining in my warehouse. The first edition of PGTTB, published by Relevant Books. Waaaaay too many of those babies. Anyone interested in buying a thousand of them? I’ll sell them cheap.

I have too many toes on my left foot. Not really. Just making sure you’re still paying attention.

I have too many people in my life named Jason. Not sure what happened in the mid-1970s, but you parents kinda dropped the ball in terms of son-naming creativity. Girls born since 2006 named Bella? I feel your pain.

I have too many things to be working on instead of this blog post.

I have too many flies in my flybox. Realized that while camping last weekend. I probably own two dozen different types of flies. But I use two of them almost all the time: Orange Stimulator and a Prince Bead-Head Nymph.

I have too many blog readers who have absolutely no idea what I just said. Orange what?

I have too many books on my reading list, including The Road and Outliers. Why have I not read these yet?

I have too many movies I have not yet watched. To give you an idea how behind I am when it comes to popular culture, I just watched Iron Man last night. For the first time.

I have too many phone books on my desk. There are three. I don’t use any of them. When was the last time you used an actual phone book anyway? At least, for something other than a door stop?

I have too many items in this list of “too many,” so I’ll end it here. Your turn. What do you have too many of? (Hint: “IQ points” is not an appropriate answer.)

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