Being contented - Letter to a Daughter - Column

Christian Century, March 16, 1994

DEAR ELLEN: Of course you're right that when I said you should find something you care about and devote yourself to it with a whole heart, I didn't mean you had to do just one thing your entire lite. As Rousseau said, my ideas are all consistent, but I can't say them all at once! I've also said that we must learn to think of ourselves as characters in a story Someone else is writing. Your role may change as the story develops, but in any moment you must find it and play it as best you can. And be content to do so.

Contentment is not a virtue much praised these days. When Mrs. Houston, in her perceptive if rambling sort of way, said something at last Sunday's Bible class about the importance of contentment, three people jumped down her throat. They saw praise for contentment as a way of trying to keep people from bettering their lot in life or seeking simple justice. And, of course, I'm sure it's true that contentment has often been praised by the rich when speaking to the poor.

But I have in mind a different way in which contentment seems almost essential for living well. Don't you get the feeling that nearly everyone you meet has the same ideal--to be about 30 years old, at the peak of their powers, healthy, and in control of their life? It's as if there is one ideal moment in life and all would be well if we could just freeze the action right at that point. Not that many years ago you had a fit because we said you couldn't go to a sixth-grade prom. You thought that what was good for the high school kids was good for you. We, to your dismay, thought that being in sixth grade and being in 11th grade were quite different chapters in the story of your life. (And even you thought it ridiculous that some of the sixth graders arrived at the prom in limos.)

Is it any wonder that turning 40 becomes a crisis for so many people? Or that women who are clearly senior citizens traipse around malls in stretch pants? (You and Carrie were sitting in your room laughing about that just the last time we visited you, but, of course, you are still young.) Or is it a surprise that every sports team David plays on must be dressed up like professionals and end its season with a long tournament--just like the older boys?

Just the other day I was thinking. about how you and I used to rake leaves together in the fall. Somehow you always seemed more susceptible to the splendors of autumn than Paul or Hope. (The jury's still out on David.) The leaves really are splendid, but you can't hang on to their beauty. They have to fall, so that we can have winter--which, after all, has its own beauty, though you have not yet learned to appreciate it as you ought.

People love to quote Ecclesiastes: "For everything there is a season." But we don't live as if we believe it, as if there were stages in life to be passed through (each of them, as something I read put it, equidistant from God). And then the professor in your government class wonders how we are to get a grip on health care expenditures. I can't imagine that we will ever manage that unless we learn to cultivate the virtue of contentment--which frees us from forever wanting to exist in just one stage of life. (Think how dull a story that would be. )

So relish the moment in life that you've been given. When assignments pile up and you'd rather be a little girl again, don't be too nostalgic for the past. And don't be ridden by dreams of the future--which may never materialize. Think of these few years as a gift you have been given. (Not just from us. Thank your scholarship as well.) Never again will you be set free just to read and think. Don't act like a child. But appreciate the fact that others are bearing responsibilities that set you free. And I would not be your mother if I did not add in closing: don't act as if you were married before you are. For everything there is a season.

Love,

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