In this moment, I am content.

It's so incredibly hard to say those words throughout our lives--for whatever reasons God has put in front of us. However, on Saturday morning, I could. Jeff and I had spent a wonderful evening up in Baltimore. We visited the Baltimore Aquarium (filled with little ones who Jeff rivaled for unbridled enthusiasm about sharks, rays, and tropical fish) and then had a delicious bite to eat at a nearby wine bar. Over that late dinner, we were able to talk about things weighing on our minds and work through putting words to frustrations or anxieties we hadn't consciously acknowledged before. After a good night's rest, we walked to a nearby breakfast spot for egg sandwiches and cups of coffee. There, seated across from Jeff at a hightop table, I was able to sip from my mug, look at my husband, smile broadly, and honestly say "right now, I am content."


Of course, the next place my head went to was trying to puzzle out how to recreate that moment again. Was it the place where we went for dinner or the particular glass of wine or the number of hours of sleep I got? Perhaps if I could just script another weekend night with exactly the same circumstances, I could attain that moment of bliss once again. And yet, even as I started to ponder that option, I realized that I would take all the joy out of feeling contented if I was constantly seeking to recreate something spontaneously wonderful. 


Contentment is not something I can mark on my calendar or add to my to-do list--it's simply an unexpected gift I can choose to receive.