wanting what i have (part one).

In the name of transparency, after my house progress post a couple weeks ago — and with the Christmas-shopping-season almost upon us — I want to share what I’m learning about contentment.

The joy of having our first very-own home is a perfect example of how my gifts and desires can be very good, but how they can also turn bad and have an unhealthy hold over me.

One of my desires is for beauty. I love beautiful things. I love color and texture and the way the light falls across surfaces. I love cozy, unique-yet-inviting spaces. I enjoy nice clothes and shoes too, but I’d choose to spend money on my house over my appearance any day.

I think it’s fine to love and appreciate beauty in this particular way. It’s fun to learn about design and how furniture and textiles and art can work together to create a mood in a space. I follow design blogs the way some people devour magazines. I desperately miss my favorite home stores in South Asia. I enjoy seeing people who are truly gifted in this area and how they can transform places — sometimes with lots of money and sometimes with almost none at all.

I think it’s great to want to create a home that’s a haven, that’s comfortable, that’s a place where my family and friends are eager to spend time.

But. I feel like the gift of enjoying our first house and my visions for the way I want it to look can at times cross over into the murky waters of greed. Sometimes I’m startled to realize the amount of energy I’ve expended in a given week dreaming of the next change I’m going to make instead of being grateful for what’s already right here.

And so I confess to you that I sometimes struggle with discontentment even in our new, beautiful house. There are so many more things I still want to do. There are just a few tweaks to make our living room truly complete. Our front yard is sandy and rocky and practically devoid of grass. We still have hardly anything hung on the walls. And so on and so on.

As I’m showing friends around, I’m tempted to make disclaimers, “Well this is what we plan to do with the back yard . . . I know we need a coffee table . . .etc., etc.” Which is just as selfish and awkward as apologizing for the food when people come over for dinner. It communicates, This is all about me and my insecurity; not about making you feel welcome.

Don’t get me wrong; I have certain friends I love brainstorming house ideas with. And there’s nothing wrong with celebrating and enjoying the gifts of a new sofa or finally finishing a remodel. All good things are from God.

But lately I’ve crossed the line in my heart more often than not; I’ve spent more time and energy wanting what I don’t have rather than wanting what I do have.

David and I hold different views on money: on saving, on giving, and on spending. Even if we agree on an amount of money to spend we still often disagree on where exactly that money goes. Sometimes we just have to stop and laugh at how different our plans and expectations can be.

So our nine-and-a-half years of marriage have been a process of learning to have the difficult conversations, of repenting to God and each other, of praying that we’ll be less defensive and judgmental, of bringing our temptations toward greed and discontentment into the light together — and even bringing them into the light with friends — so that we can both grow in freedom and grow more like Jesus.

David has learned that being a “saver” (or a “hoarder,” as he calls it) can be just as much motivated by greed as being a “spender.” And I’m learning that my refusal to think about or openly discuss our budget and finances does not mean the issues go away: it just means I’m an avoider-of-problems (and there’s no freedom to be had in avoiding problems, in case you haven’t figured that out).

So we’ve pressed on. And I can tell you right now, just like with other areas in our marriage, that it’s been so, so worth it. I wouldn’t have told you this every year. Some years we’ve both held onto resentment. We’ve believed the lie that the other person will never change. We’ve succumbed to a fatalistic view of the Christian life that says, The way we are now is the way we’ll always be; we just have to suck it up and get through (which by the way is a lie straight from the devil).

So I’m writing here, in this space, I suppose partially as accountability. Also partially because it’s easy for me to see some of your homes, read some of your blogs, and think, How could _____ struggle with discontentment? Her house is awesome! But I’ve lived long enough and met enough people to know that having nice things does not guarantee contentment. It just doesn’t. And conversely, being poor does not mean you don’t struggle with greed. Because things don’t make us happy. So I guess I’m sharing because I want you to know I’m a real person and this is an ongoing struggle for me. I write as a learner.

And also I write to encourage you. Because over the years I have grown. I’ve been convicted and forgiven and refined. I’ve had desires shaped. And I’ve discovered that God’s rules are always given for my freedom — not to spoil my fun. I’m more happy and more relaxed and more fun to be around when I live life like He intended: when I want what I have.

(Part two of this post will give you a few practical ways I’m learning contentment right now)