Casa Content

The day we moved in to our little 2 bedroom townhouse in 2003, I was amazed by how much space we had. Going from a 500 square foot apartment to 1,052 square feet was a welcome change for us. Steve and I had been married for two and a half years, and our 4 month old Wes was as cute as can be. As each box was unpacked, we realized we had room to spare. Room to grow. Room to live. My family may have moved in to our new home, but my heart moved into Casa Content. Casa Content is a state of mind where a heart is at rest and steady. I was content to be where we were in town, and in life. We had enough, because we had each other. Our needs were met, and we lacked nothing. 

I don't know when it happened exactly, but unwittingly, my mind moved out of Casa Content while my physical body remained at the same address. Maybe the thundering footsteps stampeding down the common hallway that is adjacent to our unit thundered one time too many. Maybe when my family grew again, and again, and again it made the condo seem to close in. Maybe one too many episodes of HGTV's House Hunters was watched. I began clamoring for a bigger home, and loathing the four walls I had once loved. My family remained in the condo in Hudson, but my mind had moved into Casa Complain.

Casa Complain was smaller- much smaller than Casa Content. Casa Complain was also a state of mind; except this state of mind made living in this condo unbearable. In this new state of mind, nothing was right with our condo. Not the wall color, not the number of bedrooms, not the floor plan. I found myself resenting the home we live in, scorning the lack of room, and dreading inviting others in. Through the years, I celebrated with friends or family that moved to bigger and better homes, but inside, I wondered when it would be my turn. I developed a jaundiced eye toward my house. No longer was it easy to come up with things to be thankful for; I had to stretch to be grateful. Finding a list of cons, however, was effortless. Casa Complain did nothing good for my spirit, and I found myself packing the boxes in my heart once more. Before I knew it, I was closing on a new property: Dwelling Despair.

Dwelling Despair was even smaller than Casa Complain. Dwelling Despair seemed more like a jail cell. Complaining evolved into a despondency over our living situation. I took the dreams I had for a bigger house, stripped them off like old wallpaper, and threw them in the dumpster. Dwelling Despair was deceptive in that although the complaining was gone, the hoping and dreaming was also gone. I resigned myself to the fact that we were always going to live here. Indefinitely. Until the end of time. And I might as well get used to it.

How about you? Have you ever lived at Casa Complain or Dwelling Despair? Have you ever looked around at your house and had your stomach sour? Has discontentment over the season you're in stolen your joy? There has to be a better way than pressure washing your home with bitterness, or throwing your hopes and dreams into a bonfire. The path that leads to life is moving back into Casa Content. In 1 Timothy 6:6, Paul tells us that "Godliness with contentment is great gain." And Philippians 4:13, one of the most popular verses in the Bible, happens to be tucked into the context of contentment:

"..for I have learned how to be content with whatever I have.  I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

I can move back into Casa Content through Christ who gives me strength. Strength to sort through my motives of wanting a new house and realign my desires with His. Strength to pack those desires into boxes of thanksgiving. Strength to load those boxes into the truck of obedience. And strength to unpack those boxes, once and for all, and more than that if necessary.  Strength to begin to dream again, except this time, to dream while not adding the pollution of discontentment. Strength to celebrate with friends and family when God blesses them with beautiful new homes, because that same God can bless me with the gift of contentment right here where I am. God can give me the strength to personalize those verses to be my new heart's cry:

"For I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live in a 500 square foot studio apartment, or a 2500 square foot ranch. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is in our dream house with a white picket fence and generous back yard, or this condo that lends itself beautifully to cozying up with my family. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength."

And so, my friend, I welcome you to live in Casa Content. It's turn-key, and just what you need. The windows of grace let plenty of light in, while the floor plan is open for God to give, take, and rearrange. It's no palace, or even a mansion. But I promise that no matter what the season is on the outside, you will be steady on the inside. And if you ever feel tempted to move back into Casa Complain or Dwelling Despair, may you recite the address of contentment: Philippians 4:13, knowing that He will give you the strength to stay there.

Of Bath Robes and Silly Putty

Embedded in the fibers of my bathrobe is SILLY PUTTY.

It was an ordinary day last week when I noticed it. I went to pick up my beautiful L.L. Bean light purple bathrobe that my husband got me last Christmas, when I noticed that interrupting the bright color was another color. A light beige gummy texture had adhered to the terry. That's when it hit me: someone had put Silly Putty on my bath robe. I felt the mercury rising in my frustration-o-meter. "This is one of the only nicer things I own, and now it has SILLY PUTTY on it?!?!" I channeled my inner Sherlock Holmes, and pieced together a plausible story that explained this minor tragedy. Janessa (my 6 year old) was probably playing with the sinister goo, and instead of putting it back safely in its egg shaped case, she left it to its own devices. The putty then decided to make extra friendly with my bath robe, and the rest as they say, is history.

My frustration peaked again yesterday when I discovered that my newly organized bedroom  had ended up in a state of minor disarray. My spaciously streamlined dresser was now covered in various art pieces by Janessa. The Monopoly card game that I had tossed in my bedroom's waste basket had been resurrected again, and placed in a pile on the floor. "I JUST cleaned this room!!!! What is this?!?!" Steve and I have joked around through the years that there's only one word for mysterious messes, broken belongings, and abolished agendas. Sabotage.

Being a Mom has been one of the most honored privileges that I am blessed to be part of. I used to dream of what my kids would look like, sound like, and grow up to be. And yet, being a Mom, sometimes I get trapped in discontentment in the here and now. Being a Mom has chiseled me into a learned Type A. I make plans, I write lists, I clean messes. Sometimes I get frustrated when the kids take my two steps forward and turn into one step backward. And then I remember lyrics to a song by Trace Adkins called, "You're Gonna Miss This":

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

Discontentment settles like an itch on the skin of my soul, and instantly I'm tempted to scratch it with wishing away. Wishing away the frustrations, the messes, the ages and the stages. The "Why can'ts" and the "Someday when's" connect with my current irritations, and I'm given the false hope that the future will be better in some way shape or form. But the truth is that even if today's troubles are over, tomorrow will have new ones. I'm past children in diapers, but teens dating are ahead of me. I'm done with teething, but wisdom teeth are yet to come. I may have navigated through training wheels, but I'm raising 4 future student drivers. Shocking, but true.

I look at my bath robe in a new light. The stubborn substance enmeshed into those thirsty threads was placed there by the dainty fingers of a little girl who is absolutely priceless. A girl who uses those hands to draw me pictures of Mommy and baby animals, because she treasures the mother daughter relationship so much. 

A girl who grows a little older every day. A girl who will one day be a teenager, who'll be a young woman. A girl who I will one day try to wish back, because I miss her so much. Though I won't be able to bring her back, but what I can do is celebrate today.

This is the day that the Lord has made.
    Let us rejoice and be glad today! Psalm 118:24

Today, she is 6 and lives at home. She goes to kindergarten half the day, and comes home to eat lunch with me. She is my mini me in a million different ways. She has a feisty sense of humor. Today, I will celebrate who she is. Today, I will celebrate where each of my kids is at. Today is a day not for wishing away, but for slow savoring. So slow that when today becomes 20 years ago, I'll still have the taste of these fleeting days on my palate. I'll probably forget about the bath robe with Silly Putty. However the Janessa of today, I'm going to miss her. Let's look at the temporal in the light of the eternal. Let's overlook today's pebbles in the light of life's big milestones. After all, today's "sabotages" are tomorrows sweetest memories.