A friend of mine bought a small plaque to hang on her kitchen wall because she liked its terse reminder: “Contentment is not found in things.” I asked her why, if that was true, she had bothered to buy it in the first place. I think the irony was lost on her.
But I do believe contentment is one of the proofs of God. Despite the fact that we too often use the incredible gift of free will to try to beat the stuffings out of each other, we also tend to believe that fairness and right and goodness do exist and are still viable choices each of us is called to make everyday.
The tragedies of the world, it seems to me, argue for a God; if He does not exist, then there are really no tragedies. Smashing up meaningless blobs of protoplasm is no cause for sorrow. But we all know sorrow, pain, and sadness are real—so something is real, important, valuable, and treasured. Bits of God, you and me, aching and loving and caring and hitting.
The poet reminded us, “God’s in His heaven; all’s right with the world.” Even when it doesn’t seem that way, I see reminders constantly. A few days ago I wandered out my front door and saw my grandson had set up his “Indian” camp just a few feet away. For an hour or so he stayed in character, communicating only in grunts and motions, and was perfectly content. For me, at least, it was also a reminder of the smile of God.
