How I Got Here
An Introduction Post
The Puritan preacher, Jeremiah Burroughs called contentment a “rare jewel,” while the Apostle Paul told the Philippians he had “learned, in whatever circumstances, to be content.”
If contentment is both rare and something to achieve, is it safe to assume we, by nature, are discontented people? Is it more natural to have a heart and mind which feels satisfied and full, or one which is unhappy and ceaselessly seeks more?
Anatomically speaking, it is easier to smile than to frown; but does smiling equal contentment? I’m generally a happy, optimistic person, who smiles and laughs easily, but am I truly content? Over the years, I’ve had a few unplanned “heart-checks” sprung upon me which provided opportunity to do some honest self-evaluation. The results, of which, surprised and disappointed me.
No. Generally speaking, on the whole, I am not a contented person.
And according to Charles Spurgeon, the 19th century “Prince of Preachers,” I’m not alone.
“Contentment in all states,” he says, “is not a natural propensity of man. Ill weeds grow apace; covetousness, discontent, and murmuring, are as natural to man as thorns are to the soil.”
What does it mean to be ‘content?’ The Oxford Dictionary defines it simply as “a state of happiness and satisfaction.” But Burroughs gets deeper. Christian contentment, he says, is a “sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God’s wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.” This is the contentment I’m pursuing.
It Began with Minimalism
I stumbled upon The Minimalists podcast sometime in 2015; and their insights into America’s obsession with “stuff” really resonated.
I completely identified with host, Joshua Fields Millburn’s, self-description as “an organized hoarder.” I could have attended a meeting. Hi. I’m Vanessa. And I’m a hoarder. (“An organized hoarder!” my inner voice would assert to soften the shame.)
It started with a spare closet.
Excess blankets. Linens. Towels.
It moved to my drawers.
Tshirts I never wore. Leggings with tags still attached. Jewelry I forgot I owned.
It grew momentum. What else don’t we use anymore?
A waffle iron. Candle sticks. Books I’ll never read. Do I really need every card I’ve ever received?
Soon I had over two dozen large moving boxes packed with things and clothes and decor lined up in the hallway outside our bedroom. I could not even remember what each box contained.
It became known as “The Great Purge of ‘15.”
It felt incredible.
After our things left, our home felt lighter. I felt lighter.
But it wasn’t just shedding the weight of stuff that made the difference; it was what I learned about myself in the process.
When I stepped back from the cluttered world around me and peered into my inner world, what I saw troubled me. It began by evaluating the things I owned, but it evolved to questioning myself regarding the things I still wanted.
One can shed the weight of accumulation quite easily if one becomes honest—and even ruthless—about how much one actually needs; but unless the relationship with stuff is dealt with, we will find ourselves drowning in excess once again.
It’s not only the physical burdens weighing us down, it’s also the emotional baggage we carry. Unfortunately, the donation truck can’t carry that away.
That work of the soul—the deep, slow, (at times) agonizing, labor— is ours to bear.
Decluttering the heart, it turns out, is much harder than decluttering a closet.
But as I discovered, peeling back the thick layers of the discontented heart is as freeing as letting go of over two dozen boxes of accumulated excess— even more so.
The Minimalists served as a catalyst into the toil of self-reflection the last 10 years would entail. Their desire to understand the “why” behind our obsession with materialism and fears of letting it go encouraged me to ask myself the same questions. Their candid exploration of how personal traumas shape our relationship with stuff gave me courage to face my own past.
Something’s missing… (and I don’t mean my stuff)
I admire The Minimalists greatly and appreciate the work their work inspired me to begin; however, I always sensed a missing piece in their search for a meaningful life.
The accumulation of things don’t give our lives meaning, but neither does the jettisoning of those things. So, what does? Is it found in career? family? wealth? As wonderful as these things can be, ultimately, if we’re really honest, we still feel a sense of nagging unhappiness disquieting our hearts.
Not because something is wrong with our careers, families, or wealth (necessarily), because in themselves they are good things; but because by themselves they cannot satisfy the longing we feel in the depths of our souls.
The Missing Piece
In one of his most influential works, Confessions, St. Augustine poignantly declares,
“You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.”
What gives life meaning? Simply put, God.
Even more so? Resting in God.
And if this is true (and I know that it is), why then, does my heart continue to search for fulfillment elsewhere?
Oh, how I long to sincerely declare with my mouth, as well as my heart:
“…earth has nothing I desire besides You.” (Psalm 73:25)
Until that heart transformation is complete, I find myself continuing to struggle against and resist what Burroughs says about “freely submitting to” and “delighting in” what God chooses for me, including, how much and when He chooses to give, and if He gives me anything at all.
My Challenge to You
In my writing, I hope to explore these areas of resistance with candor and humility and edge along consummated satisfaction in the Lord. Through the study of Scripture and with the help of shepherd-pastor Puritan authors including Charles Spurgeon, Jeremiah Burroughs, and Thomas Watson, and contemporary writers including Elisabeth Elliot, Melissa Kruger, and Nancy Wilson, I aim to challenge my readers to examine their own hearts for discontentment in the truth revealing light of Jesus.
With the Lord’s wise counsel as our guide, let us endeavor to learn what it means to be content in every field and valley of life.1
To read what the “Fields and Valleys of Life” include, please see my About Page.
Loved this—So well put!
P.S. The writing nerd in me also appreciated: “It’s not only the physical burdens weighing us down, it’s also the emotional baggage we carry. Unfortunately, the donation truck can’t carry that away.”
Your Heartfelt exploration of your Soul is Absolutely Beautiful!! My Spirit so resonates with All of Your Sentiments!! Love you & know that this cleansing, spiritual endeavor will make an incredible difference in the lives of all of us who are fortunate to be Fed by it!! ❤️