Where the river runs deep
the waters are calm
Only in the shallows, with rocky, uneven bottom
do the waters foam and bubble
Our lives are in the shallows now, Lord
shallow in the count of days
rocky with the toilsome, wearying labor
of preparing to move
Yet even on the banks of raging rivers
lie quiet pools
where feet and hearts may find their cooling rest
Give us peace, Lord.
Give us peace.
“Contentment is learned,” he said. But how? Like patience—tested by waiting and the temptation to impatience? Is contentment learned through discontent, through wanting, through thinking that more will satisfy? Or is it learned through having—and finding dissatisfaction (or even fear and anxiety) in the possession?
“Give me enough that I don’t steal from real need,” wrote the psalmist, “but not enough that I don’t need You.” And “with You as my shepherd, I am content—green pastures, running water, protection … nothing lacking.”
And it’s good.
Oh, that I may be discontent with my discontent—and content with my content.
This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.
Need is a funny word. So short. So used. So abused.
“I need a drink,” says one after a long day at work. “I need it!” wails a child, reaching with its whole body for the toy just out of reach on the store shelf.
I need coffee. I need to eat. I need you. I need ….
Every plaintive cry reveals our poverty—not real poverty, of course, just a perceived lack of something, or someone, without which our life feels less than we’d like.
And it is less. Not for lack of a toy or a drink or a partner, but for want of contentment, of satisfaction.
What I need is is contentment. Without it, I will always need more.
This entry is part of the 31-Day Writing Challenge 2021 from Five Minute Friday.
