Finding Contentment in a World of Comparison and Discontent

I watch people look at their friends and neighbors and ask,” Why can’t I have that?” This “keeping up with the Jones” mentality brings strangling debt and tense nerves.

Exquisite cars, elegant vacations, and designer clothes shout, “Not enough–more.”

How much more do you need?

The despots of the Soviet Union smashed all criticism. So when Alexander Solzhenitsyn did just that, authorities sentenced him to a Siberian work camp.

It was hard and harsh.

Winters blew through his threadbare coat like they were invisible.

He got one meal a day, mainly rotted vegetables or rancid meat. Starvation was a constant companion.

But he came through the camp with a different viewpoint, one he wanted to teach the affluent West who seemed to want what others had. He observed:

It is enough if you don’t freeze in the cold, and if thirst and hunger don’t claw at your insides. If your back isn’t broken, if your feet can walk, if both arms can bend, if both eyes can see, and if both ears can hear, then whom should you envy? And why? Our envy of others devours us most of all. Rub your eyes and purify your heart and prize above all else in the world those who love you and who wish you well. After all, it might be your last act.

When people grow discontented, they compare their plight with those above them. A friend brings home a Mercedes, and the Toyota that was perfect yesterday becomes flawed. Zillow becomes the measure for “what kind of houses do others have? Why not me?”

The key to contentment is not comparison but the proper comparison.

When you compare up, discontent grows. Compare down and content increases.

In our marriage, Vickie and I have lived in an ugly green house that the ages slowly reclaimed. It had no central heat, only a lava rock over a gas jet. Cooling was a swamp cooler that was more swamp than cooler.

But we lived through it.

Then, we lived in a church-owned trailer that rocked and rolled with every thunderstorm and tornado. No one slept well in storm season.

We survived it as well.

Now, we live in an older home that sits on a concrete foundation with a brick exterior that has cold air in summer and warm air in winter. What more do we need?

With it, I am content. I don’t need a new home.

Paul’s life was not perfect. He kept on the road. At times, he was beaten and rejected. He spent the last several years of his life incarcerated.

It is the perfect recipe for a pity party at which you are the honored guest.

Instead, Paul knew how to measure life.

Contentment measures life by the blessings you have.

He told the Philippians:

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.” (Philippians 4:11–12, ESV)

He learned to cast his life against the worst. In the end, he said he was “content.” He had enough.

What we have is more than 99% of others can dream of. I have visited homes in Nicaragua. Most were built of corrugated tin scavenged from the dump. The floor was dirt, and a trench with a flowing sewer ran beside it.

When you recognize  blessing, not lack, you experience contentment.

But it is more. Measure your life by your needs.

Need and want are distinctive. My grandchildren, staring at toys at Target get them confused often. Adults in showrooms do as well.

What do you need?

Again, Paul knew how to strip life to its bare minimum.

“But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content.” (1 Timothy 6:6–8, ESV)

Food and Clothing. That’s the end of the sentence. We don’t need approval, trinkets, and treasures. The treasure is we are alive at the end of the day with a God who cares for us.

In my career, I have helped many families who have had a death. I have sat beside a lifeless body until the mortician comes. I have observed that the undertaker carries the wealthiest from lovely homes in a stained sheet.

How much do you need?

Leo Tolstoy asked and answered that question.

He told the story of Pashom, a peasant farmer who wanted to be the wealthiest in town if he only had more land.

One night, an angel comes to him and grants his wish. He can have as much land as he can walk around in a day.

He found the largest parcel and measured his pace to encircle it.

When the day came, he started walking.

He made a good time in the beginning. But it grew hot, and he slowed his pace. By noon, he was behind, but he started walking faster. At 3 p.m., he was several minutes behind.

So he started to run.

As the sun was setting, he was not far from his goal, so he ran as fast as he could and got to the end as the sun was seting. With that, he collapsed and died of a heart attack.

The men of the town carried him out and dug a hole six feet deep, six feet long, and 3 feet wide. How much land does a man need? Enough for a grave.