The phrase "embarrassment of riches" has been running through my head today. Despite my current state of perpetual sleepy dizziness (I'm tapering a medicine I've taken for 9 years, and it has icky withdrawal effects) the fact remains that my life since I quit my job has been laughably sweet. I get to make my movie, try to monetize my hobbies, and all with a roof over my head...in a downtown high rise. Sometimes when I tell people what I'm doing now, I feel as sheepish as if admitting a sin. That Protestant work ethic dies hard.
Yesterday I won tickets to see Ricky Gervais, only to realize it was the same night I was getting to see Candide at the Goodman; today, I found out that my father was able to change his Goodman tickets. Now I get to see both. See? It really is a little embarrassing.
I started using the phrase "embarrassment of riches" to describe the conditions under which I left my job. The details of this are something would be mean to discuss on the Internet. So I will make it a parable. After 27 years of church, I think I might be able to write a pretty convincing parable. Let's see.
So, a hardworking man was planning a feast, and was looking forward to sharing the fruit of his labors with everyone in his village. No sooner had he sent out his invitations than he got word that a newcomer to the village had been inviting everyone else in town to a feast the same night as the hardworking man had planned to have his own feast. Everyone had already agreed to go to the newcomer's party, and while they were filled with sorrow on finding out that the man's feast was the same night, it was too late for them to change their plans. The man angrily hoped that the newcomer's party would be a disaster, until a wise friend advised him to put aside his anger. It was pointless to wish for the feast to be ill-prepared or bitter-tasting, when all reports from the newcomer's former home told of his richness and skill at entertaining. Resigned, the man decided to cancel his feast and attend the newcomer's party.
By the time the night of the party arrived, the hardworking man had been told by many friends that they were sorry that couldn't come to his party, but the man assured them that the newcomer's party would likely be fabulous. No one would regret attending. But lo and behold, the newcomer's feast was awful. The music was insipid, the meat was overcooked, there weren't any vegetarian options, and the decorations had been an afterthought. The man observed this, but thinking he was biased because of his private bitterness at canceling his own feast, he tried to have a good time any way. No one else, though, was able to enjoy the party, despite the fact that all their friends were there, because everyone was in such a foul mood. Quietly and in turn, nearly every guest came up and spoke to the hardworking man, whispering "If only we'd known! If only we'd refused to come to the newcomer's party!" Some were even crueler, wishing the newcomer ill. The man wanted to be pleased, but he felt more shocked. His wise friend had smartly warned him that such an outpouring of a regret was wrong to hope for. Now, the man was truly the possessor of an embarrassment of riches.
So, yeah. If you want to repurpose that for your Sunday School classes, feel free. Those of you who know me personally may be able to fill in the blanks, but hopefully enough time has past since the parable above (sort of) happened to me that it's become a non-issue, a historical event relevant only to me. I have enough to be embarrassed about.
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