Lessons From a Dying Minivan Part 3

Privilege check

I love a good, quotidian privilege check.

There is great value in ordinary and everyday reminders of privilege because they are proximal and relevant. They allow us to leverage the power of our own context- each of us has something specific urging us not to grow numb to our comfort and convenience. There is great worth in paying attention, especially since overlooking privilege is the broader path.

It’s shockingly easy to become numb to the luxuries around us. Shockingly. Hot water, upgraded phones, faster internet, food delivery…there’s no way that this numbing onslaught of convenience is good. But how do we fight back? That could be a whole series, but one I don’t feel particularly qualified to write, so I want to focus on just one method today: attention.

True to the title of this mini-series, this lesson was inspired by my dying minivan. You might not have a dying minivan, but you probably have something waiting for an upgrade. Feel free to replace “minivan” with phone, carpet, dishwasher, shoes, whatever you have that’s in decline and ready to be replaced with something new.

It does not take long to adjust to something new. Do you remember the last time you got a new phone? That feeling of relief when you finally traded in the cracked screen and buggy camera for an unblemished, newer model? It’s only a matter of days until you stop noticing just how much nicer the new one is. Its increased speed becomes your new norm. The vibrant colors picked up by the camera become your new standard. And soon, it’s just your phone. Wonder and delight are muted by acclimation and utility.

New vehicles come by less frequently than new phones, but the phenomenon of quick acclimation was buzzing in my consciousness this month as my husband and I prepared to trade in our old minivan for a newer model. I knew it wouldn’t take long for the shock of “look at this screen! Smell the freshly cleaned carpet! Hey, the power doors actually work!” to wear off. I didn’t want it to wear off. Acclimation is normal and, to a degree, inescapable, but the power of paying attention is great enough to overcome even these natural forces.

I’m taking the first weeks after buying the upgraded van to consciously engage with the benefits that come with it. I want to intentionally remember how the old van felt and let that magnify the relief of having a newer one. When I get it in the driver’s seat, I take a minute to engage sensorarily: I note the new smells, appreciate the seat’s minimal staining, absorb the sound of the transmission’s healthy (whir? Buzz? Insert technical car term here) and find satisfaction in that lovely little turn signal.

From attention, it is a natural step to thankfulness. I am so thankful this van popped into my husband’s radar the week we needed a new one. I’m thankful for the low mileage. I’m thankful I can push a button and open the door to let my kids out at school instead of yelling at the attendant, “Can you close the door? It’s broken!” I’m thankful for the smooth

After attention and thankfulness comes application. What has the work of attention accomplished? What is the fruit of thankfulness? This is where I’ve arrived:

Replacing what is broken is a privilege. We can’t replace or fix everything. Sometimes, the checking account is too low. Maybe the checking account will always be too low. We all have broken things; we don’t always get to fix them. When we do, it is a privilege. It is something to rejoice in.

The less we pay attention, the more entitled we become. This is another echo of my first post of the series; when our attentiveness to the Lord decreases, all sorts of undesirable mindsets seep in. Without attention, we become numb to our surroundings. Privilege won’t seem like privilege; it will seem like normalcy. The status quo. Without attention, we will lose sight of the magnitude of what has been given and the magnitude of the One who gives.

We can easily be consumed with the cost of improving our lives. And the best way to fight that is to give money away to the things the Kingdom says are of greatest value. I fail at this; I need this to be preached to me over and over. At the heart of the Christian ethic is putting the needs of others before the needs of ourselves. Any increase in privilege should serve as a temperature check in this area- am I using my money just for myself, or do I have others in mind? Am I giving away or only consuming? My answer to that is sobering.

In my last post, I wrote, “If a minivan is going to cost you an arm and a leg, it might as well teach you some life lessons.” I stand by that. I would much rather not have purchased a vehicle this year, but through it I’ve learned and been reminded:

A habit of thankfulness increases our awareness of God’s presence. The reverse is also true.

Silence is a necessary spiritual discipline.

Through silence, we push back at technology.

Through attention, we resist the forces that numb us to privilege.

As always, thank you so much for reading.