I really think people need to slow down.  Old farts told me to do that when I was little.  That you don’t need to run around like a chicken with your head cut off.  Be patient.  Take things slow.  Despite the fact patience doesn’t often find an adolescent, they were right.  The old farts had something.

I’m not an old fart yet, but I’m old enough to realize that life isn’t worth rushing.  We think that the faster we do things, the more time we’ll have.  But we all know it just means that we’ll have more time to do more things on our list as fast as we can.  It’s a cycle of activity that drowns the human conscious and muffles thoughts of higher things.  And it makes me sad!

I believe it to be divine provocation that my mind naturally feels burdened by such a pace.  I often have things to do or plans to make but I become desparaged and depressed with the monotany of it all.  It’s not that the things I must do aren’t worthwhile or thoughtworthy…it’s simply that they’re not worthwhile and thoughtworthy enough.  They don’t “do it for me” to put it bluntly.  They last as a distraction most of the time but my mind is pulled away as though they were a toy I was tired of playing with.  An old truck that’s been used until it’s tires fall off and the color’s faded.  It’s utter discontentment despite utter provision.

I have all I need and at heart I’m truly content, at least in a worldly sense.  I don’t desire fancy cars or a bigger house, more money or a better job.  I have a great job, great relationships, a great school and a wonderful family.  Not enough.  Sorry.  Doesn’t do it for me.  Give me a fancy car and a big new house and it’ll last a day.  Like putting a grain of sugar on a disgusting vegatable.  It doesn’t really do that much when you want to eat cake.  Perhaps it’s even a small hint of the cake you can’t eat, but it sure ain’t the cake.  You have to eat the vegetable first.  And it’s gross.

I don’t mean to construe an absolutely downtrodden or Eeyore-ish life mentality.  I simply want to construe my inner longing for bigger and better, “out-of-this-world” life.  To put it another less hard to understand way, my heart divinely desires to be home.  All the time.  And yet I must bear this world.  I do not yet get to share in the eternal glory with my creator.  To have vices dissapear and peace everlasting.  I have to bear the world, for the sake of Christ.  Is it a joy?  When my hearts in the right place, when my treasure is Christ.  But He’s not always there.  I don’t always put him there.

I ask why I can’t find utter contentment, and yet I know the answer.  I struggle to stay “happy” in a sense, and yet I’d be more concerned if I truly was.  How distant would I have to get from heavenly thought to find this world good enough.  I hope I never reach that while I’m here on earth.

Yet we all long for a hapiness that doesn’t end and isn’t burdensome.  A happiness that’s not contingent upon personal needs or circumstance.  Such a joy is found in my savior, Christ Jesus.  When my heart dwells on his grace, I find peace.  When my heart dwells on his love, I find hope.  Who can find such in this world I ask?  There is no peace like that which he grants, no consolation like that which he offers, and no hope like that which he bestows upon His own.  Only in Him am I content.

My fiance’ and I talked about true contentment the other day.  We conceeded the hard-to-swallow fact that despite how godly or perfect our relationship is, it can’t bring peace.  It can’t bring consolation.  Not the kind that truly nurtures the soul and breeds virtue.  We can offer each other so much, but it’s always limited.  How humbling a reality that was, and yet such a freeing one, knowing we both had to turn to him on our own.  A conscious decision to live for Him and not ourselves breeds a purity of life, a hope unmatched.  Worthy of my heart to dwell eternally.