I am officially a grown up.

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I’ve gone and done it. I’ve purchased, and had installed, a brand new commode.

The old one in our very experienced mobile home had a leak. The tank was cracked. Also it ran. And ran and ran after flushing. Costing us lots of cash through water waste.

Once I started looking a few weeks ago for a replacement I moved pretty quickly into shock. Commodes can be surprisingly expensive for such humble items. The average price hovered around 400 dollars. And I learned that I had to watch out when reading the ads. I’d get all excited about a model that I thought I’d found for around 200 dollars, only to figure out the tank was sold separately. Or that the cost didn’t include the seat.

I also learned about one of the most important measurements I’d have to take before figuring out which unit to buy. This measurement is called the “rough in”. This is the distance from the wall to the center of the bolt which anchors the toilet to the floor. You have to buy one that fits your current rough in. That seems pretty straightforward. It’s not.

There is the “standard” rough in, which is 12 inches. There is a rough in that is not standard, and that’s 10 inches. Several measurements of our rough in gave us 11 inches, which according to the kid running the bath section of our local big box retailer doesn’t exist. To be on the safe side we would need to buy the 10 inch to make sure our new unit would fit. And of course the units with 10 inch rough ins were special order. And not cheap.

I really started to feel down. As first world problems go this wasn’t even a major one, but it was still a challenge to my faith. I struggle with anxiety around money and about whether God will take care of me. A problem like this just spins me right out. After all, I’m not made of money, this was all sort of unexpected, and I wasn’t entirely sure God even wanted me to have an actual roof over my head. Now this.

Several weeks, crazy bad customer service, and hundreds of dollars later–she’s in. And she is a glistening white throne.

Should I love it this much? It’s a hunk of plastic and ceramic, but it’s almost an extension of myself. It gives me solace. Since it’s installed I’ve been less depressed. I think my hair looks healthier. I walk a little taller. I feel my faith life has improved. Sometimes I go in there just to sit and feel better about myself. Safer. Deserving. Isn’t that a bit much?

Am I on the verge of worshipping this object?