A season of contentment
I applied for a position at a small church in Rhode Island. After a few interviews, the search committee called the esteemed Jack Stotts, who was my boss for many years and later became one of my references. Dr. Stotts told the committee, “Carol will never be content.”
It was an insightful comment. In those five words, Stotts managed to fit in my greatest attributes along with my glaring character defects. The committee liked the sound of the words, and so they called me. And each time they got exhausted with my next project, idea, or plan for the future of the church, I would smile, shrug my shoulders, and say, “He warned you.”
My lack of contentment isn’t because I’m materialistic. I don’t need stuff. Each year, when my family asks me to give them a Christmas list, I think as hard as I can, and I come up with something completely unsatisfactory. This year, I had one thing on my list: a mug.
