Water is everywhere in Miami: canals, rivers, lakes, the ocean, the rainstorms. This summer we moved into a home that sits on a little lake, like many homes here do. The first few weeks in our new home, I looked at the water first thing when I got up and last thing before I went to bed. I marveled at the light on the water, the way the surface rippled when a storm was moving in, the deep colors it took in when the sun was setting. I watched the wildlife: flocks of ducks making clean trails through the water and dragonflies dancing around the edges and a family of five turtles with long flat bodies and long, freaky necks that poked up from beneath the surface. I sat and daydreamed at my desk, out a large, sunny window that faces my backyard. The water was mesmerizing, and I loved the beauty it brought my view. I said to my husband at least once a day, “I can’t believe we get to live here.”

I was working in my backyard tonight, pulling at a jungle of weeds. I straightened up and took in my first real view of the water for days. It’s funny how we get used to things, isn’t it?

I’ve gotten used to the beautiful view. I’ve gotten used to my beautiful babies and husband. I’ve gotten used to my health and my able body and my supportive church and my pack of wonderful friends. I’m used to my bank account and my dental care and my freedom to worship my God without any fear. I’m used to my faith and forgiveness and the miraculous hope of heaven and the gift of grace.

I’m so sadly prone to discontent. I have so very much. I could make a list that went on for days. I could type out all my blessings and probably never be finished, because eventually I’d name every person in my life, every cell in my body, every fish in the sea. Instead of spending my days being overwhelmed by gratefulness, my hours are spent listing worries and wants and everything on my Christmas list.

I’m realizing how tricky of a creature discontentment is. Discontent crawls in when we already have everything we need to be content. Discontent makes itself comfortable, because it’s not a shocking sin. It’s quiet at first, just whispering ideas into our ears. But discontent makes itself at home, just like a parasite, sucking away all our gratefulness. Discontent takes a perfectly peaceful, perfectly still person and convinces her that the answer is out there in the world. Discontent sends us chasing, churning up all these feelings of scarcity and envy and jealousy and fear.

Discontent disturbs the water.

But our Savior is good, so very good. Don’t worry, don’t chase, don’t fear, He says.  He shows us again and again, calmly and quietly in His Word, that thankfulness and giving are better ways. He reminds us that compared to what is ours through Him, everything else is just plain rubbish. What we have is enough. More than enough. He satisfies every longing, he quenches every thirst, like only water can.