Have you ever stopped to consider if you’re living content?
Are these things enough? Am I pretty enough? Put together enough? Provided for enough?
Have you ever sought these answers through the eyes of a young one, still too early in life to know the poison of discontent?
I delight in my son’s little accomplishments - how he’s learning to walk… how cute he is as he grows… his strong little legs carting him all around the grass next to the playground. I think about how much delight I have in who he is. His cute little body, learning so many new things for the first time. First steps. First tumbles. First time throwing wood chips down the slide.
In the midst of all these joy filled moments I see a little one completely content in his own skin. He doesn’t have a care in the world. Not worried about how much he has or if he’s handsome enough. Not concerned when he has dirt all over his clothes or morning dew soaked grass stuck between his toes. And I realize... I was like him once.
He’s a little baby so of course he’s content. He’s not old enough to know otherwise. But should I accept otherwise? Just because I’m older doesn’t mean I have to live as if I’m not okay with what I have … right now. Life is too short to live wishing I had something I don’t or was something I’m not.
In the presence of my son’s simple contentedness it seems silly for me to believe I’m somehow incomplete. How sad I’d be to hear those words from his little lips. My child is teaching me to settle into what I’ve presently been given and opening my eyes to live content filled days.