When my husband and I were newlyweds, we lived in a tiny cottage that was built in the 1950s. Oh, the memories we made in that house. The oven was original to the era, so I had to light it any time I wanted to bake. Our bathrooms boasted brightly colored tiles signature to the era of construction. A few things had been updated here and there, and I was full of ideas but short on funds to make our new house a home. Every day I would look at the outdated chandelier over our dining table. My dislike for this chandelier turned to disdain. I fixated on that fixture and was sure that changing that chandelier would make our house so much more beautiful. And I would be so happy. Fast forward one year and my dreams came true. We’d saved up enough money to buy a new, on-trend chandelier. Installation day came and I couldn’t have been more excited. I’d invested so much energy contemplating the many ways our home would be perfect with a new light fixture over our table. That day was finally here. These were the days well before Fixer Upper, but I couldn’t wait for the big reveal.

My husband was able to install our new fixture and it was glorious. As soon as he hopped off the ladder I marveled at our House Beautiful-worthy (to me) dining area. I spent the next five minutes admiring the change I’d dreamed about daily for almost a year. My admiration was cut short by the buzzer on our dryer yelling that our sheets were finished. I went to get the sheets and my husband and I went into the bedroom to put the fresh sheets on our bed. He went to his side and I went to mine and we were spreading the warm sheets over our bed. As we were tugging corners and smoothing wrinkles, I looked up at the ceiling fan that hung over our bed. 

And the words came out, “I think we should take out this ceiling fan and replace it with a new light fixture.” My husband, the one fresh off the ladder in the dining room, looked at me and said, “That didn’t take long.” What didn’t take long? “It’s been a full 10 minutes since we hung the new fixture over the table.”

The chandelier I spent a year dreaming about – and was sure to bring me endless happiness – gave me 10 minutes of contentment before I was on to the next “gotta have” item.

Not long after the chandelier situation, I zeroed in on a purse I “needed”. This purse was very expensive, and I was just sure I had to have it. Again, I saved up enough money to buy it and couldn’t wait to make the purchase. Just like the chandelier, I’d rehearsed all the ways this purse was going to make my life better. I vividly remember the day I went to the high-end department store to make the purchase. They boxed it up beautifully and I brought home my new purse in a large, pristine, and prestigious shopping bag. A few hours after I got home, it was still boxed up in a shopping bag near our front door. I sat on the couch across from the large shopping bag and had the thought, “My life is no better and I’m no more satisfied since buying that purse.” And again, it was still in the box. That realization was all at once disappointing and life-giving.

As unflattering as these memories are, I’m so thankful for them. These are the two memories that come to mind as soon as I start fixating on material things and I’m being tempted to believe “things” will satisfy me. I know they won’t. They never have. I’m thankful I got what I wanted – the chandelier and the purse – in order to learn how fleeting “things” are.

For the life of me, I can’t even remember what the new chandelier we put up looked like. It’s baffling that I spent so much energy on something and I can’t even picture it. And that expensive purse? It’s in the duster bag it came with because I made the decision a long time ago that I don’t want to be known by logos and brand names. (I have absolutely no judgement on those who carry purses with logos; the Lord convicts us all of different things. Carry on… literally.)

John Calvin said, “The human heart is a perpetual idol factory,” and my heart is no exception. In the almost two decades since both of those instances occurred, I have learned what satisfies me: Jesus. As much as that sounds like a Sunday School answer, it’s the truth. I am most satisfied when I’m abiding in Him. Focusing on Him. Hearing from Him. No mountaintop experience is as awesome as abiding in Him, and every valley is bearable only because of Him. My last 20 years have been varying cycles of this truth.

We live in a world that tells us thousands of times a day we need more, better, newer of anything and everything, and that our lives will be lacking if we don’t “add to cart”. Constant marketing tempts us to live in a scarcity mindset all while living in abundance. I’m so thankful for the lessons (I have to learn over and over) that teach me nothing in this world will satisfy my heart’s craving for “more” except the One who created my heart. And that’s my true desire – more of Him.

Paul was in prison when he wrote, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (Philippians 4:11-13). Paul’s secret, and the secret for all of His children, is Jesus.

Dear Lord, Thank You for being enough – and that Your “enough” is absolute abundance. Please forgive us for the times we run after things, people, or status to satisfy us. You tell us not to love this world or the things of this world (John 2:15). Remind us that it’s all a lie to distract us from You. May we see the lie clearly and focus on You. We love You and we thank You for being a generous God who keeps His promises. I can’t get over how much You love Your children. Thank You, Lord. You are only good. Maranatha! Amen.