Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

faith & spirituality

The secret of contentment can’t be in wiping noses, can it?

It’s the winter of my discontent. Poetic language is sometimes lost on me, so I’ve always thought there’s something about winter that makes a person discontented. For some reason, I dwell on all the things I want or don’t have more in the cold, snowy, dreary months of winter.

This winter, my discontent includes:

  • our house
  • our income
  • being a stay-at-home mom
  • my husband
  • the present
  • the future
  • church
  • seminary

And those are just the things that come to mind immediately. I know I’ve dwelt on other areas recently. Earlier this week, I was convinced I was not cut out for motherhood and God had no use for me in His kingdom. The reason? I’ve spent the better part of the last week battling illness (in myself) and wiping the children’s noses. This latter activity brings me no fulfillment whatsoever. So, I began to wonder, what use I could possibly be to the kingdom of God while wiping noses every couple of minutes. My heart longs for greater things; my mind has dreams of glory.

Somewhere inside me, I know that motherhood is a blessed gift, the HIGHEST calling maybe, but in this instant-gratification, microwave dinner world, the payoff of parenting is like slow roasting a turkey. I feel like I have to wait years before I’ll see any reward from this gig. I used to work in newspapers. The results of my labors were daily. Motherhood seems to be the same thing, day in, day out.

That’s not exactly fair. Our days are not boring by any means, but sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who experiences the madness, and what good is that to anyone else?

The apostle Paul said he had learned the secret of being content, and people usually follow that with his statement, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” So Christ is the secret to contentment, but how does that live itself out in my world? I know I ought to be content, but I’m not really sure how to get there. When I find myself wanting to be content, I discover something else with which I’m discontented.

And I’m a little afraid I’m going to spend my whole life like this — wanting what I can’t have or don’t have, wishing for another season of life, wondering why I’m not OK with life as it is instead of longing for life as I wish it was.

What are your secrets to contentment? How do you live with your life as it is while still hoping for better things to come?

Yesterday, three auction trucks pulled up in front of the house across the street. Our neighbor had been sick for a few weeks then was moved to an assisted living facility. Her family, it seems, had been through the house. What was left was left to the auction company to haul away.

Two trucks of stuff. One truck of garbage. A person’s whole life, as it were, all her possessions, gone in a day. Someone else determined what was important enough to keep, what could be sold and what should be thrown away.

Watching the process was sad, in a way, even though I didn’t know our neighbor at all. But it reminded me how quickly life passes, how easily “stuff” comes into our life and leaves it.

I’m trying to start this process myself in our house. One of my areas of discontentment is the size of our house compared to the amount of “stuff” we have. It’s not the house, really, that’s the problem; it’s our accumulation of things. I’ve begun boxing up things we aren’t using right now. I’ve started a give away bag. I’ve bagged up newspapers and magazines to recycle.

I’m not convinced it will solve my discontentment, but it’s a start.

When Shakespeare wrote the “winter of discontent” line, he meant that discontent was dying. I get it now. And I’m hoping that this really is the winter of my discontent.

The difference a day makes

I’m one of those strange people who sort of enjoys cold and winter. When I had to be to work at 6 a.m., though, I hated winter, especially Illinois winters, when snow was practically a guarantee and the plow hadn’t reached my street by the time I had to leave. I have vivid memories of digging my car out of snowbanks, gripping the wheel for the 15 miles to work, shivering while the heater warmed up.

Things have changed. We live in Pennsylvania now, in a part of the state that is apparently immune to snow, at least so far this winter. I don’t work outside the home anymore so I usually don’t have anywhere to be, especially not at 6 a.m. And my husband typically digs our car out of snowbanks.

Winter’s not my favorite season, but I like the change it offers. The reminder that we’re in a different time of year, that something new and fresh is coming, if only we’ll hang on for a bit.

The kids and I took a walk around the block yesterday afternoon. We aren’t in the habit of doing that in winter because of the cold, but I just needed to get out of the house for a little while. When we reached the street that parallels ours, I noticed the temperature change and realized we were on the “wrong” side of the street because the houses blocked the sun. In summer, we relish this side of the street because it keeps us cool and protected from sunburn. But in winter, we need to be in the sun to stay warm.

I thought about the winters of my life, and how the cold, dreary, dark days made, and still make, me yearn for the Son and the Light. I’d be miserable, near death even, if I stayed in the shadows of winter.

And when life brings me summers, I need the respite and protection of the shadows. I think of the Psalms’ references to the shadows of the wings of the Almighty.

How good it is to have a God who both keeps us in the light when the days are dark and gives us protection under his wings in the heat of the day.