keeping content

Better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the appetite.

Ecclesiastes 6:9

Now there is great gain in godliness with contentment, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content.

I Timothy 6:6-8

I heard her whine at 5am. I hissed, “Hush up, you!” and rolled over, hoping she would just go back to sleep. Her whine turned into a low moan. If I didn’t get up, she would start barking, and wake the whole house up. Reluctantly I got up and let her outside, knowing that wasn’t really what she wanted. She looked up at me with her big, brown, hound dog eyes, and I knew that she just wanted to come crawl in bed with us. But brand new carpet, a house for sale, and a dog in the bedroom just don’t mix. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re going to have to be content with sleeping in the laundry room for a while longer.” I smirked at my choice of words – looks like discontentment is plaguing more than just my heart here in our home.

Some days it feeds on my soul like an unwelcome guest, yet I open the door every time it comes knocking. With it comes unhappy, unthankful thoughts that roll over my spirit like giant waves kicked up by a hurricane, relentless and destructive. I live with malcontent, and for reasons I have yet to understand, I hold on to it like it’s something precious. I’m not thinking of any one instance right now. Just daily, consistent grumbling in my heart:

Why in the world do they need that?

Seriously, I could do so much if I only had half of what they have.

Good night Irene, could this house be any smaller?

I can’t believe they’re getting another one of those.

Why did we make that decision again?

I wonder if they can do anything quietly.

Biblically, it seems that contentment mainly deals with stuff. It’s being satisfied with what the Lord has given. Trusting that it’s enough. For my own use, I have to expand that definition to deal with more than just stuff…it’s about my attitude toward situations, and people. I have to realize that discontentment is an utter refusal to trust the Lord. It’s doubting His good hand, His good shepherding, and His love and care for me. It’s choosing to grumble, against Him.

So lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about intentionality. In the midst of my days, which often feel thrown together, people who are intentional, purposeful, thoughtful about the way they do things just impress me. The thought struck me that I can be intentional about contentment. I can choose to live satisfied. I can choose to trust that the Lord is working things out for my ultimate good, and His glory. I can decide that what He’s given is enough. Every. Single Time.

On a simpler level, I can just laugh when the noise starts again (my husband and children adore Irish music. Me, not so much.), or go out on an errand or a walk around the block, alone, if I’m in a place where I just can’t laugh. I can choose to be content, and I can decide to find contentment, especially when it seems hard to come by.

Father, contentment is a difficult thing for me. I hate that. I hate that I am not one of those who just delights in enough – hate that I constantly desire more, other, different. It’s offensive. Forgive me, and help me to see the joy, the wonderful gift, in the enough You’ve given. Help me to choose contentment, every single time. And when I don’t, let me see it and repent. Because You have given enough…and SO much more.

Soul-fill

It’s back. It’s all back.

For months I had labored to clear the yard—in preparation for an Easter party—only to uncover trash a former owner had dumped and been too lazy to dispose of properly. A Frisbee. The roof of a doghouse. More shingles. Glass shards. Trash bags. A Skittles wrapper. A plastic cup. A chain grafted into a tree that had once shackled a poor dog. I was appalled that anyone could be so lazy. So irresponsible. So callus as to cover it up as if it was not even there, ignoring the obvious mess. What little regard for others.

Then conviction: I do this, I thought, drawing in my breath.

I tend to be lazy about dealing with what is littering my soul. I cover it up, ignore that it’s there, that I made a mess. How irresponsible of me. How careless, how thoughtless, how disrespectful of others. The buried, covered-up trash we discard in our souls rots there. We can cover it up, but someone will discover it. The consequences of not putting it in its proper place are pollution in our lives—and hurt in the ones we love.

Yet I have filled the broken places with more broken pieces.

Jesus came to make me clean, to gather up the broken pieces, to fill my soul with his life-giving spirit. Just when I am about to despair at the landfill of my heart, I recall the words of Hebrews 9:11–14 that show how Jesus replaced the sacrificial atoning the Hebrew people performed on their own, “B.C.”

When Christ came as high priest of the good things that are already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not man-made, that is to say, not a part of this creation. 12 He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, having obtained eternal redemption. 13 The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkled on those who are ceremonially unclean sanctify them so that they are outwardly clean. 14 How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!

I am thankful that I live A.D., in a time when Jesus’ work on the cross means that all the striving to rid myself of sin, of death-inducing ways of relating, can be “All Done.” For Christ on the cross means “All Done.” The wages of sin is death—and Jesus paid it with his life. What sins or harmful wounds are you trying to bury or cover? What would it look like if you allowed Jesus to unearth them?