Contentment. It’s not granted by the sun’s embrace, the mountains’ towers, the cavern’s diadems, or coast’s songs. You can find it while surrounded by Venezuelan trash and in a Chinese internment camp.
It’s given undeservedly by He whom the fools deny. It grows in that part of the body that the fools ignore.
Silly children who lack it till and sow and seek it through disobedience. But to capture contentment with rebellion is to capture a unicorn with a butterfly net. There has never been and shall never be an instance where contentment was so possessed.
It is for children only, and only for those children who fix their eyes upon Jesus, who till and sow obedience to Jesus.
What life could be better than the contented life? Joyful in plenty and lack, in comfort or plague or persecution?
Contentment. How sweet the sound.
Unheard, untasted, unknown from Egypt’s flesh.
Receive. Eat and drink. After day and night on the farm of obedience and duty and honor.