Early in my mothering “career,” when friends would discuss the guilt they felt for missing work now that they stay home, I listened, but I couldn’t relate.  Maybe it was because my job wasn’t all that fulfilling, but there was nothing I missed about being in the working world.  Sure, I had far less discretionary money, sure I walked around most days with spit-up on my clothes, but never did I wish I could escape back to work and escape the trials of mothering. I was completely and entirely content to be a mom – and had no longings for a professional career.

And then a bombshell hit – my marriage fell apart and I endured a divorce. I endured being evicted with 4 kids to care for. I endured 4 months of geographical limbo as we stayed with friends while we figured out a housing scenario I could afford. I endured the embarrassment of food stamps, and then full-on welfare. I endured full-on homelessness as we aimlessly traveled the country trying to figure out the next step.  It was only after immense trial and hardship did I begin to play the what-if game, which is rooted in discontment.

What if I never quit work?

What if I managed to continue to work after my oldest was born?

I could have been a V.P by now. I surely could have been making 6-figures.

I began to ponder all the career excitement that I missed out on. The adventures, the creativity, the chances to make a difference and be part of something innovative.

I began to grow discontent.

I loved my kids and I loved being with them. If money weren’t an issue, I don’t think I would have galloped down this rabbit hole as I did, but money was an issue, and I allow that financial uncertainty to create a root of bitterness and discontentment.

Soon I was thinking things like:

Look at everything I gave up to be a mom, and this is the thanks I get!

I could have been doing something important. I could have been getting accolades, affirmation and career success – instead I’m trying to keep my head above water as I care for these kids on my own.

Self pity accompanied my resentment which fed my discontentment.  You see, discontentment isn’t rooted in reality, it’s foundation is conjecture, assumptions. And if any of those assumptions failed to play-out, then my whole basis for discontment would fall apart.  If my assumptions were wrong, then my reasons for discontentment made no sense.

My assumptions went like this:

1. I assumed I would have enjoyed the job I was in.
2. I assumed that I would have attained a certain level of success by now.
3. I assumed that my desire for interesting work and innovation could have been achieved. That is, I assumed the opportunities I was dreaming about would have crossed my path.
4. And even if such opportunities did cross my path, I assumed the level of satisfaction that I think I would have obtained.
5. I assumed that this life I created in my mind was indeed the life that would bring contentment.

As I fantasize about all that I gave up, about all that could have been, there is the underlying assumption that those things would actually satisfy. That, having had those accolades and successes, I’d be content. I assumed that having it all on the other side, I wouldn’t be longing for a life as a mother.

There are so many assumptions that bolster discontentment.

And since there is nothing to disprove those assumptions, I can continue on in this fantasy world of what might have been, convinced that I missed out on what should have been.

There is a discontentment one can feel with the lack a physical, material items that they assume will bring joy and happiness. The assumption is that if only I had that item, then things would be different:  I’d be happier, I’d be more productive, I’d be kinder, people would like me more, I’d be seen as more successful, life would be less stressful.

There is also a discontentment with one’s circumstances. If I hadn’t married him, and hadn’t gone through that gauntlet of emotional torment, I’d have a happy and successful life in business somewhere. If I hadn’t given up my job to come home, and had found a way to continue to work, I might still have a career that would now feed us and provide housing.

There are a thousand and one hypotheticals I can create in which my situation turns out more pleasant than is the reality. But they are only hypothetical. And they are pointless, because they aren’t reality.

I am where I am. I have gone through what I have gone through. I have what I have and don’t have what I don’t. I can conjecture all day long about how different circumstances would produce an easier, less stressful life, but there is no basis to my conjecture other than wishful thinking.

Had I not married and had I pursued a career hard-core, whose to say I wouldn’t have been on the receiving end of layoffs at some point? Who’s to say that I wouldn’t have had a horrible boss who constantly undermined me and ultimately sabotaged me.  See, in my world of discontentment, as I rebuild a fantasy world to my liking, I only bring in the good things, the positive experiences, the pleasant outcomes. I don’t write a story for myself that involves hardship or trials. No, I only want successes and triumphs.

My discontentment assumes that another story would be without such hardships and trials.

How foolish.

How selfish.

How ungrateful.

Instead my story involves many wounds. Many hardships. Many trials. And when I am thinking soberly, I wouldn’t change a single detail. I wouldn’t trade in a single tearful night nor a single moment of despair, because it was in those moments and during those nights that I clung closer and tighter to my Savior than I ever had before or since. My discontentment is shaking fist towards God because in my discontentment I am claiming that He has withheld something that I either need or deserve. Yet who am I to questions the King? Who am I, as the clay, to question the potter why He did as such?

He is not out for my comfort or convenience. He loves me far to much for that to be His goal. Instead, He is for my deliverance from sin and my shaping into Christ. He will remove from my hands whatever I cling to that interferes with my love for Him. He will put into my path thorns and briars to inflict with the goal of correction. And in the end, I can trust that if He wills it, it is for my good and I am to give thanks for all that He wills.

The Lord gives all that is needful and withholds anything that is not.

There is no room for discontentment in that.