"At least you're not homeless"

I've been in a funk recently. There's a huge burden hanging over my heart, but I don't know what it is. I feel like I'm in the middle of some great big riddle or something.

I was having a whinge about this yesterday at Powell's. I must have been loud (no surprise there) because the guy next to me stood up to leave and muttered "at least you're not homeless."

A part of me wants to rebut that statement. Ultimately all of our worldly possessions fade away, right? And the most important thing -- more than my iPod or MacBook or Posturepedic pillow -- is that I've accepted the Lord in my life. Really, it's not the most important thing; it's the only important thing.

On top of that, "at least I'm not homeless" asks me to feel better based on comparison to someone else. Something about that doesn't feel right. Couldn't I easily go in the other direction, feeling badly because I don't have more?

Yet somewhere in there I guess there's an element of truth. I have stuff. I live in a house. I needn't worry about running out of money (I don't think). My major issues usually involve avoiding the urge to self-destruct. Somewhere in there I need to be thankful. I guess I just don't know how much. In some ways, it seems like the more thankful I am for Stuff, the more I start relying on that Stuff.