The Happiness of Contentment
Sometimes happiness rises up and wraps you in a cloud of the most beautiful contentment, where all the ordinary, everyday parts of your life are magic and perfect, just as they are.
The dust on the end tables, the crumbs on the car seat, the creases you see in the mirror, the missing button on your shirt—all of it seems like a movie set, made to make the story look real. And you love it.
You love who you are, and where you are, and what you do and all your dreams. You love the context of your life and where you’ve been and all the people who surround you.
You love that you have no idea how we got here or where we’re going or who God is, because the mystery is full of beauty and grace, however the answers unfold.
You love what you have created. You love your hopes and dreams. You look at your life as if from outside you and find yourself touched by how poignant it is, by how hard you try, by your imperfections, by your bravery anyway, by all you give and wish for, by the light you contribute, the sorrow you hide, by your wonderful laughter, your amazing talents and skills and strengths, by your all too human limitations. And it’s all good.
You look at the abundance that surrounds you and marvel. You feel the beating of your heart, the ceaseless pumping of your lungs, the pulse of life expressing through your body. You wonder at the miracle of consciousness and self-awareness, of all the gifts that mere humans possess by the very nature of their being, and you’re warmed by it.
Contentment comes, and blesses it all with its aura of perfection, and you overflow with gratitude and joy.
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