Dear friend,
I am forever chasing a feeling.
The feeling I chase isn’t to feel successful, or important, or powerful. Those are almost humorous to even type in a world where we control far less than we realize and all, eventually, die. How’s that for an intro sentence.
Maybe, years ago, I would have hoped for such feelings — feeling like I had achieved something grand, like I was somehow “important.” I think there was most certainly a time with my work when I thought life would look much different than it does now. Opportunities seemed to present themselves easily, like publishing contracts or show pilots, and as such I figured The Elliott Homestead was on its way to grander and greener pastures. I’m sure I prayed for such.
But I’ve prayed for a lot over the years… and through that act have been given that feeling I’m so keen on finding. I want that feeling to be with me always, regardless of earthly matters like budgets and open-rates and laundry piles.
The feeling I seek is the reason I don’t live in Italy (love it as I do) and the reason I am focusing on loving my current home well. It’s the reason I want to make chocolate chip cookies and am perhaps a bit annoyingly persistence about celebrating the joy of every day with simple pleasures. It’s the reason that I can take on the thousands of small tasks that come with a family, a job, and a place to call home, with peace.
This feeling isn’t a secret that unlocks more money, bigger accolades, a fitter body, or grander work successes.
It’s just the feeling of contentment. And here’s how I got it.
I wanted to feel it, but circumstances could always be better. Perhaps once we finally finished this project, I could feel content. Or perhaps the contentment would arrive after the heaviest portion of parenting had been completed (with success.) If one lives long enough they begin to witness real, hard life circumstances, like separation, sickness, and tragedy. So if favorable circumstances are the source of contentment, frankly, I felt hopeless. Life is anything but a straight line and surely my contentment of heart shouldn’t be dependent on if my children cleaned up their messes and everything I loved was in perfect health. That’s far too fickle and elusive. And so I prayed about it, desperately. My prayer wasn’t about wanting life this or that way, but rather in wanting what the Lord had for me. I was desperate for contentment and so I opened myself up to willingly take what it was He wanted to give, the story that He wanted to write with my days.
I literally sat with my hands open as I prayed, day after day. I want what you want for me.
I often think of Elisabeth Elliot, a missionary and widow. Her husband was speared to death in his attempt to spread the gospel. She was practically a newlywed when she became a widow and was left alone with their eight-month-old daughter in a hostile land. Yet throughout her long life, Elisabeth was a beacon of contentment, willingly and (truly) joyfully accepting the cup that she was given. She voiced her desires to the Lord but she willingly took what he had for her. I won’t pretend to understand our Great God and why he orchestrates the world so. I don’t need to. What I need to do is open myself up to say:
Fill my hands with what you will.
After my prayers, I tried to get to the root cause of what kept me from contentment. It’s not complicated, but it does take a bit of honesty. My exercise goes like this:
Problem: life feels chaotic and disorganized.
Why? I haven’t been sticking to my systems. I haven’t been making a calendar of events. We are involved in too many activities. I’m not setting aside time to meet the needs of my home. I’m not being proactive about efficiency and scheduling. The house needs a bit of decluttering. I’m not asking for help when I need it. Etc, etc.
Root cause: I’m not using the tools at my disposal to manage my life well.
Such an exercise keeps me from feeling like a victim of circumstance (and playing the martyr, yuck) and instead, gives me a simple and measurable way to move forward. Spoiler: the root cause for discontentment is usually some version of “I think I should have more than I have.” It’s an ugly and prideful truth, but it’s an answer nonetheless.
Perhaps I’ve shared this a dozen times before, but it’s still been such a helpful truth for me to carry around in my pocket all these years, so I’ll say it again. Elisabeth Elliot once said: what God has done to me, God has done for me. Imagine saying this, and believing it, after your young husband had been speared to death. For too many years I lived under the illusion that I was supposed to like all of my circumstances: where I lived, the size of my paycheck, the thousands of inconveniences that pepper my days, the strong will of my children, the constant disappointments in work, the unsettledness I can feel in my circumstances, the monotony of making supper again. Yet liking my circumstances has nothing to do with contentment and as annoying/awful/horrifying/destructive/backwards/messy/painful/infuriating as they may be, God promises that they are for me. They are for His glory and my joy. And so I say it again and again and again. What God has done to me, God has done for me. This holds as true to a cancer diagnosis as it does to bickering children.
So what is left to do: delight in it. Not when the kitchen is cleaned and the kids finally ace their Latin quizzes, but right now. We cannot save such delight for a future we are not guaranteed. With a bit of effort (see above), it’s easy to see the gifts that sit before us in any given moment. My friend Sarah (the one I traveled to Italy with in May) is such a lovely example of this — she loves the Lord faithfully and in her, he has grown a peace and contentment that is visceral. The way this manifests in her daily life looks like a heart of constant gratitude.
She is audibly in conversation with the Lord all day, recognizing the good gifts that are already at hand, not the ones that she thinks she deserves, such as: a cold glass of water (“Thank you Lord! I was thirsty!”), a parking spot close to town (“Thank you Lord! Now we don’t have to walk in the rain!”), a safe plane trip (“Thank you Lord! We are so excited to have arrived safely and are grateful to be here!”), a warm pastry (“Thank you Lord! That was delicious!”), a funny conversation (“Thank you Lord! That belly laugh was just what we needed after today!”), a new experience (“Thank you Lord! What a cool adventure!”), or preservation (“Thank you Lord for seeing us home safely!”). These are all good gifts and reasons to be thankful and to delight, though they often go unnoticed.
I know. This seems a bit weird to us, culturally. We like complainers. It makes them seem “real”, “down to earth”, or “authentic.” But complaining is easy and unproductive.
If you’re currently wallowing, it may sound annoying indeed to sit down with a piece of paper and list out these good gifts you already have. But to do so is a radical act against mindless consumerism, bitterness, and discontent. It’s training ground for the heart. I promise, it works.
I’ll slow down for a moment now and do the same. I am grateful for: a warm cup of coffee, the safe and clean bed I am able to type these words from, technology that has allowed me to reach people all over the world with these humble words, the sets of feet I can hear stomping around upstairs, a refrigerator of food from which I can make breakfast, the work in front of me today that will impact homemakers and their daily lives, the good book I’m currently reading (Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens), warm water, clothing, provision.
I suppose, all that to say, contentment isn’t an elusive feeling we can only hope to stumble upon. We lift up our hearts, open our hands, and practice it. Then, it comes.
Love,
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