Hope. Such an interesting word. Lately, the seemingly paradoxical relationship between hope and contentment has consumed my mind. The two concepts appear, at first, to be exclusionary. To hope (the verb tense…the action of hoping) means: “to cherish a desire with anticipation; trust (archaic); to desire with expectation of obtainment; to expect with confidence.” Simply stated, hope is the anticipation of a desire transitioning from ‘wish’ status to ‘granted’ status. Hope directs our gaze beyond current circumstances. Hope focuses on an as of yet un-obtained desire (a “conscious impulse toward something that promises enjoyment or satisfaction in its attainment”). [m-w.com]
What does contentment denote? Ironically, Merriam Webster’s online dictionary offered no definition of this word aside from utilizing some form of “content.” I turned to the thesaurus and found this: “feeling that one's needs or desires have been met.” Contentment, then, is hope’s fulfillment. Do you see my point about paradox?
The Bible instructs us to be content. Consider Hebrews 13:5. “Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” This is only one example. Time and again the Scriptures remind us that God is our ultimate fulfillment. That earthly endeavors are not eternal. That we are to store up our treasures in heaven. For a specific example: Paul penned an infamous statement determining that singleness is ‘better’ than marriage. We’re to be ‘heavenly minded’ as opposed to ‘earthly focused.’
The Scriptures equally emphasize hope. I’ll extrapolate examples of hope from the lives of men and women in the Bible to further my thesis: Adam and Eve hoped for redemption, Israel (so many times) hoped for deliverance from enemies, Esther hoped to be chosen by the Persian king, Hannah hoped for a son, Jonathan hoped David’s life would be spared, Rahab hoped her family would be saved, Joshua hoped Jericho’s walls would fall down, Ruth hoped she could provide for Naomi (who hoped Boaz would be the kinsman redeemer), Job hoped he would not blaspheme God’s name, different apostles hoped to be released from their chains and (or) reunited with fellow believers, Joshua and Caleb hoped their fellow Israelites would believe their witness of the Promised Land, Abraham hoped he wouldn’t need to kill his son….
Let’s return to the adjective “paradoxical” in the first paragraph. How are we, as believers in Christ, to simultaneously “[feel] that [our] needs or desires have been met” while “cherish[ing] a desire with anticipation…with expectation of obtainment…with confidence”?
At this point in a discourse, a reader would naturally assume a clearly defined answer would follow. Not gonna happen. This was my answer as I pondered the question:
Think about a time when you have beheld a painting. Within the frame, the painting portrays a scene – a moment encapsulated in time. The painting captures a vivid yet immutable image. The image represents a finite moment that once existed in the future, was experienced in the present, and then became part of the past. The viewer gazes at the story on the canvas, but the viewer’s perception is limited by the confines of the frame. The viewer cannot see beyond the horizon, nor around the objects in the forefront. The viewer cannot see the extension of the scene to the left or right, nor above or below. The viewer’s comprehension of the scene is naturally restricted to the visible elements in the painting.
The viewer can assume a few things. First, the painting was colored by an artist with a more complete understanding of the scene’s surroundings based on observing the entirety of the subject’s existence, from beginning to end. That understanding resulted in a perception of the moment in time. The artist then translated the perception into a story on the canvas. The colors and techniques utilized represent the artist’s sense of meaning, design, deliberateness of purpose, engagement with the object.
This answer to my pondering provides a pictorial analogy to Psalm 139:15-16. “My frame was not hidden from You when I was being formed in secret [and] intricately and curiously wrought [as if embroidered with various colors] in the depths of the earth [a region of darkness and mystery]. Your eyes saw my unformed substance, and in Your book all the days [of my life] were written before ever they took shape, when as yet there was none of them.” I love the Amplified translation of these verses! This Psalm had popped into my mind as I was considering the visual representation of the painting and the author, but in the NKJV. I felt like I should read it in the Amplified as I mentally prepared my thoughts for the blog. When I came across verse 15, specifically the parenthetical “as if embroidered with various colors,” I understood the connection between the Psalm and the pictorial answer much more deeply.
God is the Artist of my life. At this moment, my gaze allows me to see my current circumstances, but my humanity limits my ability to see beyond the horizon. I can’t see beyond the frame of this scene. I perceive many elements, and I appreciate much of the deliberateness and design. Yet I cannot comprehend the significance of each element, of each colored thread embroidering my life, because the horizon and borders inhibit my sight. Undoubtedly, the next painting will illuminate the previous, and many things presently questioned will be answered.
While I cannot enunciate a logical method of successful coexistence between hope and contentment, I can say that God challenged me this week. I have been living in a mentality of “preconceived no’s” for a few years now. I found myself rejecting hope on the basis that God will never change this circumstance or that obstacle or fulfill an earthly desire, and my duty is work daily at choosing an ascetic version of contentment. I verbalized this rejection of hope a few times to a friend…followed immediately by a deeply sensed chastisement from my Artist. Who am I, Jody, to paint my future for God? Yes, God wants me to be content, but He also wants me to hope in Him. “No” may be the answer I’ve heard for years in certain areas, but that doesn’t mean that my future is filled with an inevitable, predetermined, eternal NO. Perhaps the successful or paradoxical relationship between hope and contentment resides not in how much one tries to ‘get it right,’ but in whose “No” is being spoken.
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