“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” Philippians 4:12, NIV
Those words from Paul should be my life’s theme verse. Not because I’m such a content person, but because in every season of life, I find something to cause me unrest. When I was single, I just wanted to know RIGHT NOW if I was ever going to get married. Being single was an adventure, but I still wanted fortune-teller eyes on the future so I could prepare myself for whatever that future held.
Staring at the ugly pumpkin walls of my tiny motel room in Honduras, head itching because yes, after all, some lice survived the last pick-through by Glenda at the orphanage, I felt lonely. Every time I left the room, I got warned by some security guard to go back (maybe because of the drunk man who sat with me for so long in the park). I wondered why on earth I was here by myself just fifteen minutes from the most dangerous city in the world–what could God possibly be thinking?
Months later, I sat at the top of a volcano in Nicaragua. A beautiful view of the lake and mountains surrounded me, a cool wind refreshed me, contrasting sharply with the heavy humidity and heat at the bottom of the volcano. And I couldn’t help thinking that I would enjoy all this so much more with someone else.
Then I got married, and that was going to fix all my loneliness.
One of my favorite views from my travels in Central America. Honduras, near Las Cataratas de Pulhapanzak.
I envisioned the two of us backpacking around Central America together and viewing the mountaintop vistas with shared enthusiasm and wonder.
Life turns out differently than you think it will.
We didn’t go abroad; we moved to a mid-size city in the South. We bought a house, tilled a garden, saved for retirement, replaced ugly light fixtures in our home. The hazy dream I had of climbing volcanoes with someone was replaced by the solid reality of building a life together.
And then my husband started traveling. Without me. I was no longer teaching ESL, the job I’d passionately loved and enjoyed and for which I’d spent long hours of study in college. Last summer, I sat alone in our house in a new town, sick, pregnant, and lonely. He sent me pictures from Florida and California beaches. And I was discontent.
Why had I worked so hard to learn Spanish, only to move to a town with hardly any Spanish speakers? Why had I driven myself to keep improving my teaching skills, only to stay home and read cookbooks? Okay, so I enjoyed the cookbooks. But I wanted more in life. I wanted a vision, a driving passion for what I did in life.
And now?
I am woken up early every morning by the cry of a little baby boy who is hungry and wants to eat NOW (not after I change his dirty diaper). My traveling horizons are measured by how long he lasts in the carseat (usually about 20 minutes). I still get pictures from beaches from my husband. My mind conjures up comparisons with other women who are more successful in the eyes of the world, more beautiful, more intelligent, more productive.
Discomfort comes not just from being in a foreign country and dealing with head lice or a broken bone or no washing machine or cold showers or no showers at all–all things I’ve experienced in the last few years. In those situations, you can usually “man up” and think about how much God is teaching you by putting you through these trials. Discomfort may manifest itself as discontentment more readily when it arises from the seemingly simple home-things. [clickToTweet tweet=”Discomfort may manifest itself as discontentment more readily when it arises from the simple home-things.” quote=”Discomfort may manifest itself as discontentment more readily when it arises from the seemingly simple home-things.”] When you have to leave behind friends and think about making new ones in a different city, when you have to turn down one job and then immediately look for another, when you have to clean that bathroom for the fifth time this week, when you have to learn submission to another person.
The secret of being content.
Why does Paul call it a secret? Because it’s hidden from those who don’t seek it.
Do I seek contentment? Do I really want it? Or do I enjoy my discontentment? Do I enjoy the spikes of jealousy, the wallowing in self-pity?
Conviction stabs.
I’m reminded of an old song. Count your many blessings, name them one by one.
My very favorite morning view of all: Baby J getting excited about his books!
My life is overflowing with blessings, so many that I can’t count them. I have a husband who loves me and is faithful to me. He forgives me and bears with me. My baby boy is healthy and strong. He clings to me with trust and love because I am able to be with him every day, fulfilling his needs and loving him as hard as I know how. We have a roof over our heads that doesn’t leak. Every day, we eat as much food as we want. Our families love us and pray for us. Our church upholds us in grace and truth. We live in a country where we are free to worship and work as we please.
Beyond all that, the Creator of the universe decided to make me His child. He sent His only Son (oh, how much better I understand that concept now, as a mother) to take my sin upon Himself and die under the divine justice which I deserved.
How can I remain discontent? And yet, so often I do.
So what is the secret of contentment, Paul?
As I reflect on this question, another Scripture comes to mind.
“By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God….
“They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” Hebrews 11:8-10, 13-16
[clickToTweet tweet=”Does God ask us to be content in this life? Yes. Does He ask us to be content WITH this life? No!” quote=” Does God ask us to be content in this life? Yes. Does He ask us to be content with this life? I would answer with a resounding no.”]
Until heaven, we will never have found our home.
We will always be expecting something better, something that satisfies the desires of our longing hearts.
Until heaven, we will always want something more.
So what is that secret Paul is talking about? Clearly, he wasn’t finding his happiness on earth. Look at this statement from earlier in the same letter to the Philippian church:
“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.” Philippians 1:21-24, NIV
He is torn, yet he is content. How?
Perhaps because he had found his contentment in a higher place than his location and his work. His heart longed to be with Christ, but he had work to do on earth. He trusted in God’s timing. He found joy in fulfilling His will. He was abiding in Christ.
My mistake is in looking to my circumstances to bring me fulfillment. I want to travel, or have a certain kind of job, or be recognized for something I’ve done. And yet all those things will leave me empty and still longing.
Your physical location doesn’t matter.
When Paul wrote Philippians, he was in prison. In prison and content.
What matters is the location of your trust.
Christ gives you contentment, whether you are working as a toilet-cleaner or in your dream job. Christ can give me, and you, fulfillment, whether we are doing things we perceive as exciting and rewarding or are changing an endless supply of dirty diapers. This life does not fulfill.
Christ does.