I crave contentment. I’d love to nestle into a hammock of comfort, secure in the knowledge that I have everything I could ever need.
But we live in a consumer-driven culture that tells us there’s always one more thing to want, and hungry, restless souls that whisper to us that contentment is something we can master…or, at the least, something we might eventually acquire or earn.
I’ve spent more than four decades in suburban churches where I hear the word “contentment” used as sort of a mark of sacrifice in responding to consumer wish lists: “I wanted to remodel my kitchen, but God is helping me learn to be content with a new glass tile backsplash instead.” We drain contentment of its meaning when we treat it as though it is a consolation prize or a place-holder for the thing we really want. Contentment is not about settling for a less-fancy version of something we’ve seen advertised on basic cable.
Photo Credit: Unsplash/Serrah Galos