Good Morning friend :-) Ahhh… an hour of contentment. A precious moment of peace. A few minutes of relaxation. Each of us has a setting in which contentment pays a visit. Early in the morning while the coffee is hot and everyone else is asleep. Late at night as you kiss your six-year olds sleepy eyes. In a boat on a lake when memories of a life well lived are vivid. In the companionship of a well worn, dog-eared, even tear-stained Bible. In the arms of a spouse. At Thanksgiving dinner or sitting near the Christmas tree. An hour of contentment. An hour when deadlines are forgotten and strivings have ceased. An hour when what we have overshadows what we want. An hour when we realize that a lifetime of blood sweating and headhunting can’t give us what the cross gave us in one day—a clean conscience and a new start. But unfortunately, in our squirrel cages of schedules, contests, and side glancing, hours like these are about as common as one-legged monkeys. In our world, contentment is a strange street vendor, roaming, looking for a home, but seldom finding an open door. This old salesman moves slowly from house to house, tapping on windows, knocking on doors, offering his wares: an hour of peace, a smile of acceptance, a sigh of relief. But his goods are seldom taken. We are too busy to be content. (Which is crazy, since the reason we kill ourselves today is because we think it will make us content tomorrow.) “Not now, thank you. Ive too much to do,” we say. “Too many marks to be made, too many achievements to be achieved, too many dollars to be saved, too many promotions to be earned. And besides, if I’m content, someone might think Ive lost my ambition.” So the street vendor named Contentment moves on. When I asked him why so few welcomed him into their homes, his answer left me convicted. “I charge a high price, you know. My fee is steep. I ask people to trade in their schedules, frustrations, and anxieties. I demand that they put a torch to their fourteen-hour days and sleepless nights. You’d think I’d have more buyers.” He scratched his beard, then added pensively, “But people seem strangely proud of their ulcers and headaches.” Can I say something a bit personal? I’d like to give a testimony. A live one. I’m here to tell you that I welcomed this bearded friend into my living room this morning. It wasnt easy. My list of things was, for the most part, undone. My responsibilities were just as burdensome as ever. Calls to be made. Letters to be written. Checkbooks to be balanced. But a funny thing happened on the way to the rat race that made me slip into neutral. Just as I got my sleeves rolled up, just as the old engine was starting to purr, just as I was getting up a good head of steam, my infant daughter, Jenna, needed to be held. She had a stomachache. Mom was in the bath so it fell to Daddy to pick her up. She’s three weeks old today. At first I started trying to do things with one hand and hold her with the other. You’re smiling. You’ve tried that too? Just when I realized that it was impossible, I also realized that it was not at all what I wanted to do. I sat down and held her tight little tummy against my chest. She began to relax. A big sigh escaped her lungs. Her whimpers became gurgles. She slid down my chest until her little ear was right on top of my heart. That’s when her arms went limp and she fell asleep. And that’s when the street vendor knocked at my door. Goodbye, schedule. See you later, routine. Come back tomorrow, deadlines, hello Contentment, come on in. ~Max Lucado~ Have a Great day my friend :-)
Posted on: Mon, 07 Jul 2014 11:40:30 +0000
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