I think it was the first time I remember feeling contentment. I pulled out my thin, yellow, nylon jacket with the flannel lining, instead of my heavy parka. We piled into the station wagon just before the sun offered its pinks and oranges. The windows were down. I leaned forward, rested my forearm across the window’s opening, tucked my chin on my arm. I inhaled the crisp smell of emerging green, soaked in the sinking sun, and closed my eyes against the long-awaited warm breeze on my face.
You know that feeling. When a moment locks itself into your heart, because everything is as it should be. Nothing lacking. Nothing nagging.
I felt peace.
At that age, those moments of contentment came easier. Now, they spread out thinner, more fleeting. It’s not that those moments aren’t here. Infinite small moments of perfection offer themselves daily. And it’s not that I don’t notice—I am a noticer by nature. In my family, I’m the one who will point out the moon’s peek or the sky’s ribbons of color.
It’s just that, in the overwhelmed times, the running late times, the disappointed times, I miss it. When I am weighed down by nagging thoughts, I miss out on the constant evidence of His presence. My emotions block the beauty.
I miss the simple gift of contentment’s sigh.
But His invitation to join Him in small moments is just the same as it was back in those station wagon days. His whispers are still here. The beauty is still here.
The iced coffee.
The good morning hug.
The nuzzle of the puppy.
The trusting “Mama?” that calls from the other room.
The giggle.
The s’mores on a Tuesday.
The thunderstorm.
The tucking in.
The offer of help from a teen.
The car dancing.
The field of sunflowers.
Lord, let me notice, when my heart and mind are pulled by the world. Let me see Your wonder. Lord, let me see You in the every day, every day. Let me accept Your invitation to contentment.
“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you” (Isaiah 26:3).
