Something's Rotten in the State of Denmark

 One of the opening lines of the play Hamlet reads, "Something's rotten in the state of Denmark." This line became a phrase used for anything foul that is at play underneath the surface of something. Last week I discovered something foul that was at play in a backpack belonging to one of my kids. A decomposing pear. 

It was another school morning in the Martin house, and people were in full swing getting ready. I was barking orders while simultaneously packing the kids snacks. In a hurry, I grabbed their lunchboxes and began to pile them for emptying and refilling, only something was a little off about one of the lunchboxes. I sniffed the edge, and winced at the acrid sweet smell of fermented fruit. "What is that? Spilled Anti-Bac? Juice?" My mind rushed to a conversation that I had with one of my kids who complained that it smelled like beer in the minivan. "That's impossible, Hun- there isn't any way it's that." I flashed forward to the mystery at hand, and decided to use my extra sensitive nose (thank you, 4 pregnancies for that blessing and curse) to track down the unpleasant odor. I stuck my head inside the backpack that I pulled said lunchbox from, and the smell overpowered me. "Ain't NOBODY got time for this on a school morning!!!" I seethed under my breath (or what was left of it). 

I carried the back pack to the kitchen counter, and inspected the contents of the bag under the bright lights. And I saw it- whatever it was, it was brown, mushy, stunk to high heaven, and was nestled in between a few folders and papers at the bottom of the bag.  Now completely repulsed, I grabbed a wad of paper towels and extracted what promised to be a legitimate (stinky) setback to an already hurried morning. I felt anger rise up in me. I called up the child in question, and held out the putrid produce for him to see. "Oh", he sheepishly responded, "That must have been the pear that I didn't have room for in my lunchbox, so I left it in my bag. I guess I forgot about it." Understatement of the year.

We got busy with the task of righting every rotten wrong inside the bag, and decided what to keep and wash, and what to pitch. I was shocked at how many papers were leaked on to. One little shriveled up pear causing that much damage, and that big of a setback. When it was all said and done, that putrid pear cost me about 25 minutes. 25 minutes that I honestly didn't have. We were late to school. As I drove, my insides were still at a rolling boil. I was angry at the child. Angry at the pear. Angry at the setback. Suddenly, my angry thoughts were interrupted by the bickering of kids. There was a rotten, sour spirit in my van. And it all began with me.

You see, if I had the luxury of rewinding the tape from that morning, I would see the moment that I extracted the pear, and seen a clear cross roads. I could have a) decided to laugh it off, joking around about the irony of having his own personal compost heap in his back pack on Earth Day. I could have eased up on the time factor by putting it into perspective. I could have used grace as a cushy place to have this setback land on. Or I could have b) gotten seething mad about the whole thing, creating tension in my home, tension in the kids, and tension in the van. Sadly I chose the latter.

There was a source to that stench in the bag. It didn't appear out of nowhere. The odor was coming from a mushy, brown, forgotten and forlorn pear. And until I dealt with that pear, and everything it leaked on, I wouldn't have peace for my nose. Much like that scenario, there was a source to that tension in our house, in the kids, in the van. I was the one who perpetuated that sour spirit because of the root of anger in my heart. The root of pride that didn't want to be late. The root of a bad attitude. And just like that pear leaked on everything it touched, so my bad attitude leaked onto everything I touched. The kids, the house, the van. Had I chosen to let it go, they could have had the freedom to let it go too. The good news is that my mothering isn't defined by my rotten attitude in that moment. It's defined by a God who allows me to fall on my face so I can recognize my need for a Savior. Friends, it's in those moments of rottenness of spirit that we can trust that God will show us, if we're willing, the source of that bad attitude. The process will be messy, as He sorts through our baggage with us, and it might be a perceived setback. But in the end, we'll be better for it. Case in point, my child's backpack and lunch box are now clean as a whistle. That's already an improvement! It's a pit stop in the process of keeping his bag clean. I'm sure there will be another pit stop in the future, as we will experience pit stops in our quests to keep clean hearts.

Much like the backpack that held my child's belongings, our hearts are the epicenter of our lives. There's no such thing as one area of rottenness staying contained. There is always cross-contamination. 

Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life. Proverbs 4:23

The contents of your heart are precious, my friend. So when you have something unpleasant coming to the surface, choose to be brave. View this setback as a setup for success. Lay all the contents of your heart bare before God, and let Him lovingly show you the root of that ornery attitude. Because when it comes to your heart, content determines course. May your course be clean. May your willingness to stay clean be tenacious. And may the aroma coming from your heart be sweet, coating every area of your life.

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.