Since moving to California Allen and I spent two and a half years wandering around California and the Pacific Northwest. We took Thanksgiving trips to the coastal redwoods and weekend jaunts to the Sierra Nevada range. My last birthday was spent exploring the northern California coast. For those years I lived in a sort of chaco clad fairy tale. It was a fairy tale of trying to fit in and paying insane amounts in rent and flying home for Christmas (and funerals - too many funerals), but at the end of the day we were only four hours from some of the finest scenery our nation contains. And once a month on average we went off and snapped pictures and climbed trails and feasted our souls on God's creative generosity. Now it's my turn to sit and watch my Facebook feed as other people dash off on trips to Yellowstone, Canada, and D.C. Once again I'm trying to be content in my circumstances.
And that's the rub. We bought a new house, remodeled, bought a slew of furnishings... It's been a good year. By any account we are blessed beyond our merits. And yet I'm sitting here confessing that I still struggle with being content. Because when you've got an apartment in California your itchy feet can carry you away most anytime. Now I've got a house in Alabama, and when you've just sunk a bundle, it's 95 in the shade, and the mosquitoes are biting you end up staying at home organizing your C.S. Lewis collection. But my traveling feet are itchy and longing for an evening spent around a campfire sipping hot toddy and watching the moon rise.
I don't think there's any conclusion I can draw here. God calls us to contentment. I struggle with it. Sometimes I struggle because I'm not settled and don't have a home, and sometimes I struggle because I'm feeling too settled. As Shakespeare said "Man is a giddy creature," and I'm as giddy as any. This is my confession.