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Contentment.

I feel like I'm being bashed over the head with this concept lately. At the beginning of the year, I expressed my desire to live in the here and now – essentially, to be content. Last week, I came to some pretty harsh/beautiful conclusions regarding my compulsion to plan for the worst, the faithlessness that displayed, how hope is the remedy, and contentedness is the evidence. This week, my pastor has discussed contentment in church and both a friend of mine, and a total stranger whose blog/life I follow (because yes, I am a Creeper - capital “C”) have written about contentment. It makes me wonder if this is to be my lesson for this year.

Last year, (and continuously, it seems) God had to take a firm hand with me regarding plans – specifically, the frailty of mine, the unfailing quality of his, and how to trust the latter over the former. The year before was all about the beauty of grace and the incredible fact of my adoption into God’s family as one of his own children, indistinguishable from his original chose ones. Welcomed wholly and indiscriminately.

These lessons were so needed. They were, and continue to be such revelations that I am full of awe still when I remember them. Their timing was perfect because I needed to know these things right then, and I needed to be able to look back on what I learned during trying times in the following years. Those lessons have been essential in my growth in the Lord.

I think the thing about this contentment kick is that there’s a large part of me that wants to believe I don’t need this lesson. I mean, surely, of all possible virtues, I've got contentment down pat? Why, in just the past few months, I've had 3 different people express (repeatedly) their amazement that Hubs and I are so happy with so little. Obviously, this is coming from people who have more than us (which, honestly, isn't that hard to accomplish), but they’re amazed that we smile through the little inconveniences. How have we remained so calm through sharing one vehicle? How did we manage to laugh and have fun while commuting 75-100 hours every week? How are we happy when we sometimes have to turn down fun opportunities because we can’t afford them?

The truth is, in many situations, we have learned to simply Be. When we could do nothing to change the circumstances, we made the choice to be content, to be happy while we wait for such a time that the circumstances could be changed. And of course that’s what contentment is – joy in your

here and now, wherever “here” and “now” happen to be. Surely I've learned that already?

But then I think about my obsessive planning. And then I notice that the lessons God has focused me on in the past two years, if terribly, twisted-ly over-thought, (my specialty) could be construed as his preparing me for the beauty of adoption and the surrendering of my lifelong-held plans to carry my own children. And then I am deeply afraid. And in my fear of his plans, I realize I am still clutching my own.

I am the queen of indecisiveness. If you give me two options, you won’t get a decision for hours. Give me more than two and I just hope you’re not on a strict timeline. In my life, I believe I have changed my mind more than I've ever made it up.

I have never changed my mind from this. 

I have known since I was a child that I would be a mother, and I have known for just as long that those children would be born of my body. And as I contemplate contentment, I realize this is an area of my life that I do not want to open up to God.

I know his tendency to want to grow my faith, and that often involves him changing my plans and having me dwell in highly uncomfortable areas. And I so don’t want him to change this plan. I so don’t want to face challenges in this particular area. This dream of how things will be is clenched so tightly between my fists, the bloody imprints in my palms may never fade.

And so: Contentment.

What better way to teach the lesson than by taking the one earthly thing I've lived my life for and asking me to sacrifice it? To be content with infertility; to maintain joy in childlessness; to be okay with only ever adopting or going the surrogacy route? These would be such hard lessons to learn. At this moment, I can’t even see myself doing it. And that tells me that I need to at least ponder why that is.

My husband thinks I’m over-thinking this entire situation. I believe he is correct. I am in no way hoping or preparing or setting myself up for anything other than the hope I have in Christ of His seeing the dreams He’s given me to fruition. But I need to think about and overcome this fear I have of letting God have all of me, of giving him control of all I have and all I hope and all I desire. I have to learn – I want to learn – to follow him through everything, even when it doesn't look the way I want it to.

There’s a song out recently that I have been listening to and singing, and desperately wanting to be true of me. It’s by Vertical Church Band and is called I Will Follow. In it, the worship leader, John Guerra, sings:

When the sea is calm and all is right/ When I feel your favor flood my life/ Even in the good I’ll follow You/ Even in the good I’ll follow You

Easy, right? Easy to rejoice when there’s sunshine around every corner, and you’ve been managing to read your Bible every day, and you just can’t seem to go wrong, and prayers of thankfulness overflow from your mouth, your tongue tripping over the words because they’re just so plentiful. But then there’s this:

When the boat is tossed upon the waves/ And I wonder if You’ll keep me safe/ Even in the storms I’ll follow You ... When I find myself so far from home/ And you lead me somewhere I don’t wanna go/ Even in my death I’ll follow You/ Even in my death I’ll follow You

This is for those times when you haven’t picked up your Bible in a month. Work is spiraling out of control. The tenuous grip on housework you had is long gone. You and your husband have suddenly forgotten how to communicate in more than monosyllables and dirty looks. But “Even in this storm I’ll follow You. Even in my death I’ll follow You.”

That’s much harder to say; much harder to stick with. But it’s such a hopeful place, even in the devastation. There is such beauty there, and I want to know it.

I believe everything that You say You are/ I believe and I have seen Your unchanging heart/ In the good things and in the hardest parts/ I believe and I will follow You