Of course, this speech comes from one of the two gentlemen who visits Scrooge's office on Christmas Eve, soliciting money for the poor. Of course, Scrooge isn't buying what he's selling. Scrooge doesn't buy much of anything, unless it somehow puts more money in his own pocket.
As I've said a few times before, there's a little of Ebenezer Scrooge in me. Not out of greed or gluttony. Out of necessity. This morning, as I was sitting in church, writing out the check for my weekly contribution, I actually considered not giving anything, or reducing the amount. For a few fleeting moments, I almost gave into the Scrooge side of myself. I didn't, but I was sorely tempted.
I still don't know how I'm going to pay those taxes that are due on Tuesday. I'm waiting for some kind of miracle to happen. I hoping that I'm going to come home and find an envelope with four, crisp, new one-hundred-dollar bills taped to my front door. I'll settle for eight, crisp, new fifty-dollar bills. Or twenty, crisp, new twenty-dollar bills. I'm not that picky.
I don't think of myself as stingy, but every time I buy something right now, or contribute financially to some cause, I cringe a little bit, think about the piles of unpaid bills on my dining room table. I've become obsessed over the last week or so with figuring out ways to make some extra money. I've haven't come up with any feasible ideas that are legal and ethical. Instead, I crank the thermostat down a few more degrees at home, and I contemplate which of my organs would garner the highest bid.
Saint Marty isn't a miser, but he's feeling Want keenly.
Confessions of Saint Marty
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