I come across this article when I was browsing Max Lucado website. It's been such a blessing for me.
Count Your Blessings
Ahhh…an hour of contentment. A precious moment of peace. A few minutes of relaxation. Each of us has a setting in which contentment pays a visit.
Early in the morning while the coffee is hot and everyone is asleep.
Late at night as you kiss your six-year-old’s sleepy eyes.
In a boat on a lake when memories of a life well lived are vivid.
In the arms of a spouse.
At Thanksgiving dinner or sitting near the Christmas tree.
An hour of contentment. An hour when deadlines are forgotten and strivings have ceased. An hour when what we have overshadows what we want. An hour when we realize that a lifetime of blood sweating and headhunting can’t give us what the cross gave us in one day—a clean conscience and a new start.
But unfortunately, in our squirrel cages of schedules, contests, and side-glancing, hours like these are about as common as one-legged monkeys. In our world, contentmen is a strange street vendor, roaming, looking for a home, but seldom finding an open door. This old salesman moves slowly form house to house, tapping windows, knocking on doors, offering his wares: an hour of peace, a smile of acceptance, a sigh of relief. But his goods are seldom taken. We are too busy to be content. (Which is crazy, since the reason we kill ourselves today is because we think it will make us content tomorrow.)
“Not now, thank you. I’ve too much to do,” we say. “Too many marks to be made, too many achievements to be achieved, too many dollars to be saved, too many promotions to be earned. And besides, if I’m content, someone might think I’ve lost my ambition.”
So the street vendor named Contentment moves on. When I asked him why so few welcomed him into their homes, his answer left me convicted. “I charge a high price, you know. My fee is steep. I ask people to trade in their schedules, frustrations, and anxieties. I demand that they put a torch to their fourteen-hour days and sleepless nights. You’d think I’d have more buyers.” He scratched his beard, then added pensively, “But people seem strangely proud of their ulcers and headaches.”
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