A Contentment Parable

  
Until I decide I won't, I am penning, these blog posts in support of my ongoing sacred journey course,“Creating a Life of Contentment,"  which began Sept. 15. For one entire year, we'll be traveling together as intimate companions: to relax, let go and rest into Love; to discover the bliss of our own life. I hope you will join me here! You can learn more about the program here.

A Contentment Parable

You decided to embark on a new journey. You wanted things to be different than they are now. Less complicated, not so stressful. More filled with joy and ease.

So you make a commitment, a vow to walk a bold new path. “Hooray for me. I am going to break through and live life as I am meant to. Finally, I’ll have the life of my dreams!”

And in those early stages of excitement to engage your life differently, the energy is high. It feels like Christmas morning or your birthday, as if a beautiful present has arrived. The possibility of Contentment has been delivered to your door.

It’s wrapped just so; it exudes feminine delight. A fabulous bow, pretty paper. You can hardly wait to open it.

Eager of heart, senses blazing, you're dizzily delighted to tear into it and see what’s inside the big box; to savor the deliciousness it surely contains.

Removing the wrappings, you notice something. The box itself is not very pretty. In fact, it looks rather worn. Beat up. Used up. It’s not at all how you thought it would look.

There’s a small hole in it where someone has jabbed it with a pencil. The edges look a little ragged. Upon closer inspection, you see that someone has written on it then scribbled it out. And there’s water stains scattered here and there. Grime. Smudges.

This is not a charming box at all. You wonder, ‘Why would “they” have used this marred up box to hold my precious gift?’

And this is where you hesitate. Or even stop.

You’ve taken off the comely wrapping of appearances and what lies beneath is something very plain—perhaps it even appears damaged or less-than-perfect.

Disappointment sets in. Discouragement. Embarrassment. Shame. Despair. A flood of feelings that do not seem to go along with receiving such a long-awaited gift ...

This whole thing is not going the way you think it should. And now the excitement is fading because the experience is not so luminous anymore. You might even think, ‘If the box is so crummy, the gift inside probably stinks. I bet I won’t even like it. Why open it?’

This is when the sender, in divine order—the Sacred, God, Universe, True Self, Soul, or Spirit—calls you up on the telephone and says, “Did you open my gift yet? Now, don’t be put off by the box I put it in. It’s been around for a while. I know it’s a little ragged but there is something quite wonderful inside. Keep going.”

And you remain quiet, unsure of what to say because you really are disappointed. You wanted everything to be just so. Beautiful gift journeys are supposed to be perfect, right?

And by your silence, the Divine One knows you need a little nudging. He/She/It urges you forward. “Continue my love, beauty awaits.”

You open the careworn box only to discover it’s full to overflowing with sheets of brightly colored tissue paper ... a lot of paper ... surprising how much paper ... and you keep separating it, pulling it apart, knowing the prize is there somewhere. “Keep going.”

‘This gift must be awful tiny. It better be worth all this effort,’ you mutter as you push aside what feels like mounds and mounds of paper to get all the way down to the bottom.

Suddenly, your fingers touch it. Something so small, so delicate, it weighs nearly nothing.

And when you gently lift it, holding it up to the light to see it for the first time, your heart breaks open  in the viewing of it.

Brilliant colored birds—indigo, rose, apricot, and maize—fly out of the wide open door of your heart in celebration. Tiny tears, dazzling and diamond-like, seep from the corners of your eyes.

Your head bows in humility and gratitude because you know— you finally know—you are home.

In love with the gift of your life.