Every once in a long while, things are not perfect in my world.

Just once in an while, one of my children are not perfect citizens.

Just once in a while, my wife and I are not getting along perfectly.

Just once in a while, things aren’t going right at work.

[Blogs are not a great medium for conveying tone, so let me be clear: facetious tone above. Things are often not going “right” by my reckoning.]

And when these situations arise, my first response is to get grumpy, and wish for things (or people) to go “my way.” Because, after all, if the world would only operate according to my instructions, things would be perfect! At least, that’s what I hear myself saying as I brood, resent, or otherwise wallow in self-pity. I can even come up with great delusional rationalizations. For example, if Lois is not loving me as she ought, “My wife is not doing everything she’s supposed to as a godly wife. The Bible says [insert brilliant exegetical insight here]. If only she would get her act together… then I’d be happy.”

This morning was one of those times when I wasn’t thrilled about my life, and people in my life. But in the midst of my grumpy, self-justifying mood, the Lord was kind enough to prick stab my conscience and force me to acknowledge that the real problem wasn’t Lois. It was my discontentment. That is to say, as much as I’d spent the previous several hours brooding over her imperfect behavior, it was quite clear to me that my discontent was what was making the situation “unbearable.”

Yesterday, I had read an excellent insight from Elizabeth Elliott from Amy Scott’s blog about “the cost of obedience“:

Elisabeth Elliot talks about [the cost of obedience] in Asking God Why. Speaking of missionary Amy Carmichael, she writes, “Loneliness was one of those disciplines. How–the modern young person always wants to know–did she ‘handle’ it? Amy Carmichael would not have had the slightest idea what the questioner was talking about. ‘Handle’ loneliness? Why, it was part of the cost of obedience, of course. Everybody is lonely in some way, the single in one way, the married in another; the missionary in certain obvious ways, the schoolteacher, the mother, the bank teller in others.”

Ironically, just last night I was remarking to Lois how excellent this insight was.  I’d told her about how so often, when we modern Christians encounter difficulty, our first response is to ask for relief.  We “modern” folks think that life in the shadow of the cross (!) is supposed to be easy, and when it’s not… we look for ways to “handle” it. Rather than, say, to accept it as part of living for Christ in a fallen world!

So like I said, even in the aftermath of reading this, I was busy looking for “relief” from certain marital circumstances that we shall not describe in detail but which the few you not in perfect marriages can simply imagine based on your own occasional challenges.

And God spoke clearly to me in the thick of it from a long-ago memorized passage from Psalm 42:

“Why so downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God!”

Then it was clear. I was putting my hope in my marriage. In my wife’s ability to deliver on her vows.  In her ability to not only be a Proverbs 31 woman, but Genesis-Revelation!  And she had (big shock) not been perfect.  And I was, therefore, not thrilled.

Instead, I ought to have been “putting my hope” in God. Looking to Him, and to His providence, to be my source of joy and contentment. No matter what comes my way. No matter who disappoints me.

I think the psalmist must’ve felt the same way when he penned those words. How easily we start listening to ourselves (grumbling) when we should be talking to ourselves.

Hopefully, next time I start feeling sorry for myself — and I’m sure it will be a long time before someone falls short of my expectations — I’ll be a little quicker to rebuke myself, and quicker to “put my hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him!”