Some people seem to have a way with words. Words, sentences, paragraphs—they all just flow out of those people, all polished and pretty. The fact that I don’t despise those people is a testament to how truly spiritual I am. (If you’re not rolling your eyes right here, then you’re obviously even more spiritual than I am. Impressive.)
Most of the time my words have to be coaxed, wheedled and prodded. My muse cops an attitude and is all like, “Not today, suckah.” Then when I finally do get some words down, I still have to edit them up one side and down the other.
Writers of my caliber? We’re the ones who want the words—written or spoken—all perfectly packaged. And we’re constantly stepping back to look at the package, thinking things like, “That package really could’ve used a bigger bow. Maybe a red one. Perhaps an entirely different paper. Also…a different package altogether.” Incidentally, we’re the same people who spend a good minute and a half practicing to get the wording just right in our heads before ordering into the drive-through speaker.
Word-discontent. I have it often. As a matter of fact, I just edited those last few sentences, like, six times. Then still left “word-discontent” in there, pretending it’s grammatically sound. And pretending it’s actually a word.
Discontentment is a tricky rascal. All kinds of discontentment originates in thinking we need something different than we have. Something better. Something in a different package. Something with a red bow. Something more. And at every level of discontentment is that next little niggling thought that we will never be truly happy until we have that something more.
That kind of dissatisfaction always breeds conflict—within ourselves and with other people as well. “What is the source of wars and fights among you? Don’t they come from the cravings that are at war within you?” (James 4:1, HCSB).
Are you warring with dissatisfaction—maybe even warring with others because of it? Want to change that? There’s only one way to stop wanting more. And that is to want a different kind of more. More Jesus.
Wanting more of Jesus than anything else in life—that changes everything. Focusing on Him shines a light on any selfish wants and they’re seen for the empty, unfulfilling distractions they really are.
Wanting more Jesus is a life pursuit. Maybe not so much coaxing, wheedling and prodding, but it is learned, day by day, and it requires our attention. As we give that attention to times of seeking the Lord’s face in prayer, making His word part of our everyday life and our everyday thinking, and letting those connections with Him make us quick to get rid of sin, we find the temporary things of this world less appealing. And we find His love, His truth, His “Him-ness,” so much more desirous than anything else we’ve ever known. (Yes, I just wrote the word, “Him-ness” in there—with nary an eye-roll.)
At that place of praise-filled closeness to Him we’re drawn into worship. It’s impossible to worship in His fullness and still want what we’re not supposed to want. In worship we’re reminded we truly do have everything we need. In Ephesians 1:3, Paul praises the Father who “has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing.”
Discontentment? Bye-bye. Because…not today, suckah!
Wait, did I word that wrong?