What is the difference between contentment and complacency? Where does content end and blur into complacent? Am I generally content, or am I deceiving myself and if you listen closely to all of my pep talks, you'll hear the sound of a silly woman who is just complacent?
Hard business this conte-mplacent...
I want to be content with what I have, I don't want to be complacent with what I do with what I have. In theory. But take our car. Beloved Green Bus. I love this car. I love to drive it, sitting up high, stomping through the puddles that the byzantine drainage system in this city leaves in the wake of rain. I love that it's old, a gift from my in-laws, and that I know where each scratch derives.
But I dream of new wheels, what will be our next car, like we're riding this continuum of vehicular ownership, one to which we're entitled. So I'm really not content, am I? I'm embarrassed by the damage Loverpants did to both sides of it. I am embarrassed that this damage was never properly fixed or even an attempt made to paint over it, which is evidence of my own complacency, my own resortings to "That's just how it's going to be."
I've been so blessed in this life, way way beyond any measure of deserving, and yet, I have a strong faith in something better. A place of flourish and blessing so much more profoundly amazing than this world can hope to offer. Which is why I don't want to stay content or complacent. I want to be faithful in what I believe and hopeful for what is to come. Where a perfect contentment might be known. Where no one is complacent, for they live as angels.