by Emily Ley
• 2 tablespoons vanilla
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1 tablespoon cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon allspice
Directions:
Mix butter and sugar together until well blended. Add eggs, vanilla, and applesauce. In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, and spices. Stir into mixture. Grease muffin tins and fill a little over halfway full. Bake at 350° for 15–20 minutes. Serve with butter.
9
CHASING
Less Chasing, More Cherishing
Contentment is a hard thing to fight for. And I believe we must truly fight for it. Discontentment and constant “wanting” are fuel to the flames of burnout.
As humans, we are wired to constantly want more, bigger, faster, nicer. It’s universal truth: we achieve something or acquire something, and then we move on to the next better thing. You’ve probably experienced the universal truth that goes with it: the next better thing never truly satisfies.
I believe God designed our hearts in such a way that only He can provide true, lasting contentment. Yet we (myself included!) work so hard to try to achieve that “perfect” life—the feelings of peace and happiness that accompany true satisfaction. You know the drill: we strive to reach “that life” by making the right career decisions, buying the right throw pillows, living in the right neighborhood, getting our kids into the right preschools. But then what? We want more. We’re not quite there yet. We max out our credit cards. We max out our schedules. We max out our lives.
But when is enough enough?
This type of mental strain, in a modern world that’s constantly telling us we can have and be more, is one of the fastest ways we burn ourselves out. With minds that are overfull, over-connected, and stretched thin, what happens when we add the “wants” on top?
I wish . . . I want . . . If only . . .
I can tell you that you’re enough, that your life is enough, until I’m blue in the face. But I too know the stresses of discontentment. And I know that, until you’re ready, no one’s words will inspire you to sit in your mess, in whatever you might call mediocre, and find true, unabashed goodness.
But when is enough enough?
These feelings of discontentment sometimes feel so normal that often we are blind to how ugly, entangled, and deeply rooted they truly are in our everyday actions. Consumerism is crushing. Perfectionism is pointless. We will never achieve a life that is totally, unendingly satisfying this side of heaven. And so, we must confront the wants and the chasing that spin quietly at the back of our minds day after day, whispering, You aren’t enough. This isn’t quite good enough. You could be better, prettier, more successful. Your home could be nicer, fancier, more polished. Your marriage could be more romantic. Your kids could be easier, better behaved. And on and on . . .
Consumerism is CRUSHING.
Perfectionism is POINTLESS .
We will never achieve
a life that is totally,
unendingly satisfying this
side of heaven.
For me, staring these feelings in the face is like swallowing a giant mouthful of humble pie. And it doesn’t taste good! I don’t even want to admit these desires and struggles about myself in this book—that I too wish for bigger, better, and nicer.
But if we want to identify the causes of our overwhelm, we can’t look at only the aspects of our personality or life we’re happy to call out publicly. We must uncover the hidden parts of our heart that aren’t as pretty. We must admit the ugly truth: the thoughts, feelings, and struggles we’d prefer not to claim. Giving these thoughts, feelings, and struggles a name, writing them down . . . this is the beginning of something good. This is where the journey of rewiring, healing, and undoing begins.
FINANCIAL “FREEDOM”
One might assume that financial freedom will bring ultimate contentment, but a lot of wealthy and broken people out there are evidence that that’s not always the case. The deeper soul-wanting continues whether your funds are plentiful or few. Bryan and I are both college educated. We put ourselves through college and post-graduate school. We made our own way in the world, and we’ve both been successful. Financially, that’s been great. We’ve gone from debt-ridden (student loans and credit card debt) to owners of several debt-free companies. It was hard. And it took a lot of sacrifice. But I think I’ve been afraid to acknowledge how financial freedom has affected my mind-set.
Early in our marriage, especially when we were working Dave Ramsey style to vigorously pay down our debt, funds were extremely tight. I can remember many times fumbling through dollar bills in an envelope at the grocery store, praying I had enough to cover that week’s groceries. As the purse strings have loosened, we’ve become less thoughtful about our spending. We still stick to a budget for planning purposes, but we’re quick to spend if we can fill a need, solve a problem, or better our lives in some way. And although this sounds ideal (and is surely a blessing I can’t put into words), it has fueled discontentment. We’re quicker to buy that sweater or those sneakers or that new bag . . . and then later realize that they haven’t quite made us feel as happy as we’d hoped . . . and the quest continues.
This is a really difficult topic to talk about openly. Shouldn’t anyone whose bank account rarely hits the zero mark always feel totally joyful and happy? Or could our money—and the accompanying privilege and ability to exchange it for the items we think we want—actually be hindering our contentment and holding us back in some way? Could this be a sign that we need to address our relationship with spending and contentment—that less stuff and less money might be the pathway to more peace?
I know this seems elementary, but even I find myself stumbling over the desire or reflex to add something to my life that I’m convinced will make me “happier” or make our life easier or better. In those quiet, reflective moments, I know this isn’t true. I guess people wouldn’t still be talking and struggling over something so “simple” if it wasn’t also really, really hard.
Consider just how much time and mental energy you spend on the chase. A picturesque home. The best number on the scale. More fashionable clothes. A better television. A nicer car.
Level up. Level up. Level up.
Perfectionism can suck the joy right out of a perfectly happy life.
Advertisements, billboards, commercials . . . the outside world is constantly telling us that something bigger and better than what we currently have (or the way we currently look or feel or live) is out there, just waiting for us to snatch it up. Why wouldn’t we chase it? We should always be growing and improving ourselves, right?
A few years ago, I would have told you yes, we should always be working toward a better life. But now, I feel like that strife is actually what holds so many of us back, drains us of our emotional reserves and mental energies, and distracts us from being truly satisfied in lives that are actually deeply good.
We chase great. We chase perfect. We chase more.
But do we ever get there? Or do we wear ourselves out on this hamster wheel, missing all the good along the way?
I think it’s time to point our lives toward that place where enough is truly enough.
And what does enough look like? I’d challenge you, like I’ve challenged myself, to acknowledge that you may have enough right this minute.
Exploring this question—do I have enough right this minute?—has been game-changing for me personally and professionally. How many pairs of shoes do I need to own to be truly content? How many stuffed animals do my children need to feel truly loved? Instagram tells me I have to be a “boss babe” and to “hustle ’til it hurts” and to “achieve all the things.”
But what if I just don’t? What if I live life just like it is right this second? Our needs are met, our home is great, our kids are clothed and fed. What if we all just quit trying so hard? What if when we quit trying so hard we suddenly find a richer and fuller life that we just couldn’t see because it was covered up in so much stuff?
I don’t need to boss or hustle or transform anything to be happy. I really think all I need is all I’ve ever needed—to just get still for a while, to just stop for a minute, to rediscover gratitude in a sacred way.
Have you ever taken time to sit down, quiet your heart and mind, and take note of everything around you? There is goodness in every mediocre detail. I promise you.
In the way your kids argue. They are strong and brave.
In the mess that sits at the foot of your washing machine. My family has clean clothes to wear.
In the frustration over meal planning. We have food to eat.
Why is contentment so hard to realize in today’s world? Because our world doesn’t want us to be content. Our chase for more has added to our discontent in more ways than one, which is exactly what marketing agencies and corporations want. How can one be full and content when “full” is never quite “full” enough?
HANDLE WITH CARE
When I was a little girl, I took special care in crafting beautiful cards for my mom, dad, and brother’s birthdays. I’d thoughtfully fold construction paper in half, decorate with stickers, and cutouts and sometimes even glitter. In my sprawling, not-quite-right handwriting, I’d write birthday wishes on the outside and inside, before signing my name. I remember being so proud and excited to give them their cards. One even infamously proclaimed to my dad, “I love you more than peaches!” (truly a sentiment only my parents, who understood my overwhelming affinity for peaches, could appreciate). This was just the way it was. Cards were always handmade. I try to remember this when birthdays roll around for my family.
I think it’s time
to point
our lives toward
that place where
enough is truly
ENOUGH.
When Is Enough Enough?
Define the “good life” for yourself. What does true happiness and contentment look like to you?
[Your Response Here]
Still, I’ve started to notice in our own financial journey that somewhere along the way, Bryan and I stopped being as resourceful. We started to simply replace stuff that had broken instead of working together to fix it or borrow from a friend. We bought convenience gifts instead of making gifts and cards. We one-click ordered books instead of going to the library. We had the means to afford things, so we swiped the card and checked the item off the list quickly.
Is something lost when we’re able to do that with such ease?
As a kid, during the summer, my mom would take me to the bookmobile. The bookmobile was an old RV repurposed to be a traveling library. It would park in the Kmart parking lot near our house, and kids could enter, peruse the books, and check out a couple of their choosing. It was so much fun.
I think part of the reason I loved it so much was because there were so few books to choose from. I was a bookworm, so I’d take my time, choosing Berenstain Bears and later Nancy Drew, anxiously willing my mom to drive faster home so I could read them on our back porch. As soon as those books were thoroughly loved, we’d head back to the bookmobile for another round. It was in this little RV, in the experience of smelling the aging books and feeling their worn and tattered edges in my hands, that I fell in love with reading and, later, writing.
Today I buy my kids books on Amazon. They’re delivered the next day.
Something is being lost here.
Is true joy found in the new and shiny, or is it found in cherishing the old and worn? What is more beloved: a cherished and cared-for heirloom or a brand-new item, tags just ripped off?
I think we all know the answer, but how do we cultivate more of this type of appreciation in our lives? The good news is that it doesn’t require spending a dollar. Instead, it involves finding the beauty beyond “the next new thing,” and cherishing true treasures.
TRUE TREASURES
We have a couple of treasures in our home, but the truest treasure that comes to mind is Kiki. Kiki is our youngest son’s tattered, frayed, limp-with-love-and-use monkey that has been part of the family since Tyler was born.
Kiki, as Monkey is known, is a special member of our family. A gift from a friend, Kiki was once a plush, soft brown monkey with squishy arms and legs. These days, he’s probably sort of sad-looking to most, a tattered and worn version of his previous self, but he’s loved dearly nonetheless. Kiki has gone with our family on every trip, to every doctor’s appointment, and to bed with Tyler every single night of his life. He even spent some unexpected time in a UPS box (being shipped from a hotel where he was accidentally left behind).
Here’s Kiki, fraying around the edges, likely looking like he needs to be put into retirement, And yet Tyler’s many other stuffed animals aren’t even on his radar. He only has eyes for Kiki.
What were we chasing when we filled Tyler’s room full of those many unused stuffed animals—when he already had his beloved? Were we trying to make sure he knows we love him? That he isn’t forgotten when Mom and Dad are away? Or were we trying to elicit a brief moment of joy and a few hours of happiness on a special occasion (something that usually ended with said animal being tossed aside, sadly forgotten, for months to come)? The reality is that a personal note from Mom likely would have created a more lasting impression. Some special one-on-one time (to run an errand together or to read just one more story at night) could have achieved the same, if not better, results.
A NEW KIND OF SIMPLE
When we have the financial freedom to afford modern conveniences, a lot of seemingly positive outcomes can happen. Conveniences, services, assistance—all become possibilities in today’s world with even marginal disposable income. And none of them are bad! Many, in fact, bring overwhelmingly positive benefits to people’s lives. Having been the grateful end user for some of these services, I can’t help but wonder what we might be losing by automating or outsourcing certain tasks. If we want to look at this from that perspective, then what services might we consider giving up for a greater outcome?
Dinnertime is always a struggle for me. Not only is it often “crazy hour” with kids who are growing tired and hungry, but cooking isn’t my best talent. When we had infant twins and a four year old at home, and both of us were working very long hours, we started ordering pre-made dinners from a local service. During that season, it was a tremendous luxury and convenience. A few nights a week, dinners would arrive pre-made, we’d heat it up, and eat. Easy peasy. Everyone was fed. But as life became less about surviving (three kids under four) and more about getting back to basics and really thriving, I started to question what we were missing out on continuing to opt for this convenience. I remembered washing lettuce with my mom and learning how to scramble eggs with my dad (low and slow). I thought about our simple dinners at home and the sound of Peter Jennings on television while something simmered on the stove.
Now we don’t order dinner in as much. It takes commitment, but I’m back to meal planning on Sundays and spending time with my kids in the kitchen. They’ve learned the art of scrambling eggs, how to set the table, and how to wash their own plates. Caroline loves to wash lettuce for salads while Tyler lays out forks just-so at everyone’s place settings. Brady’s bigger, so he helps stir soups or pull roasted veggies from the oven. I absolutely miss the convenience of having a few dinners delivered each week, but I’ve loved the joys of having my kids in the kitchen with me.
What if the scenic route,
the route with more
TWISTS and TURNS
and time, is
actually sometimes
the better option?
THE PATH OF RICHEST RESULTS
I’ve spent a large portion of my adult life asking the question: “Is there a more efficient way to do x, y, and z?” and then quickly adopting ways to automate and simplify. But I have begun to wonder if “simplifying” always equals “faster” and “easier,” if the shortest route from point A to point B is always the best route. What if the scenic route, the one with more twists and turns and
time, is actually sometimes the better option?
Could simplifying actually mean taking life back to its most basic core elements in some cases? What if the “simplified” option in this new kind of simple isn’t always easier but is the one that enriches our family’s experiences rather than helping us cram more into our days? What if choosing the simpler option sometimes means leaning in to the path of most resistance—the path that will yield the greatest, richest result?
I used to run to my local car wash to wash my car every other month or so. It was easy and automatic. But one day, as I sat there while the machines scrubbed my car, I started to remember summers as a little girl, helping my dad hand-wash our family minivan. It was hot and sticky outside, so the opportunity to use the hose was exciting and refreshing. We would take a five-gallon white bucket from the garage, pour some dish soap from the kitchen into the bottom, and fill it up with the garden hose. Thick bubbles built up really fast, running down the side of the bucket and down the driveway. My dad would spray down the car with water, then use a soft brush with a long handle to spread sudsy bubbles all over its exterior.
I was in charge of the tires. Using a soapy rag he’d given me, I would wipe in between every silver opening in the hubcaps, proudly scrubbing away every last speck of gritty black grease. My dad can’t be serious for long—it’s not in his blood—so he’d inevitably “accidentally” spray me with the hose at some point, and I’d blow bubbles off the palm of my hand onto him. When we were finished, the family car shone and sparkled like brand new. We were so proud of our work!
And I want my kids to feel that same kind of pride and slowness in doing a job together, a job that could easily be automated or outsourced . . . but that may have value beyond how quickly it is accomplished.
