“But godliness with contentment is great gain...for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content...And having food and raiment let us be therewith content...be content with your wages... be content with such things as ye have.”
(1 Tim. 6:6; Phil. 4:1; 1Tim. 6:8; Lk. 3:14; Heb. 13:5)
In one respect life is a fairly simple thing. There are not many imperatives connected to it but one indispensable ingredient that must be poured into the mix: contentment; that is, if we expect to be delivered from the cares of this world. Contentment is against our nature, and therefore it must be learned. It’s in the school of Christ that we best learn this subject.
Discontent and misery are Siamese twins; where one is you’ll find the other. To allow discontent to enter our earthly tabernacle is to sin against our own souls. The Puritan Thomas Watson writes, “A Christian doth but sin to vex and torture himself upon the rack of his own discontent.” Or as another has said, “An ounce of contentment is worth a pound of sadness.”
At the root of all discontentment is dissatisfaction with God! It shows a saint is not satisfied with God’s providential and predestined dealings in their lives. A child of God in the will of God has no cause for discontent. He is in control of every aspect of his or her life. Submission to the Lordship of Jesus Christ is the secret to a contented life; sitting in a king’s palace or a dungeon, it matters little.
A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.
Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please,
Doth listen to my song:
He caught and he bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.
My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart’s at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.
Oh! It is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in His mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom, of the mind.
A poem written by Mme. Guyon; a French noblewoman who was thrown into prison on trumped up charges by jealous church officials. She stayed in that dungeon for ten years.
An Old Disciple
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