Longing & Contentment: A Dance of Faith
You know that ache in your heart when you want something so badly, but it feels just out of reach? Maybe it's a dream, a relationship, or a hope that hasn't come to pass. It's easy to think the solution is to squash that longing and just be content with what you have. After all, isn't that what we're told to do, find peace in our circumstances? There's wisdom there, no doubt. But I wonder if you've ever felt that trying to "fix" your longing with contentment is like trying to hold your breath while running a race, two things that pull against each other, demanding a better way to coexist. I want to invite you into a conversation about this, because I think you and I, complex, messy, beautiful humans that we are, were made for something richer than a one-size-fits-all approach to longing and contentment.
You are more complex than a simple formula. Shot through every moment of your life is this wild mix of being a sinner, a sufferer, and a saint. Your longings aren't just problems to solve, and contentment isn't just a goal to achieve. Both can be holy, and both can go astray. Let's unpack this together, with a warm cup of compassion for the journey you're on.
The Beauty of Longing
Longing isn't the villain we sometimes make it out to be. Scripture is full of moments where God invites us to long deeply, to yearn for things that reflect His heart. Think about David in Psalm 63:1, crying out for God like a parched traveler in a desert. Or Psalm 84:1-2, where the psalmist aches to be in God's presence, longing for His courts. Paul, in Philippians 1:23, yearns to be with the people he loves, and Isaiah, in Isaiah 26:8-9, pleads for God to act and make His name great. There's Abraham and Sarah, longing for the child God promised (Genesis 15:2-6), and Hannah, pouring out her heart for a son (1 Samuel 1:10-11). Even creation itself groans for redemption in Romans 8:22-23, and Israel was taught to long for the Messiah, a longing we echo as we await His return.
Sometimes, though, we long for good things that don't happen, at least not in the way we hope. David wanted to build God's temple, a beautiful desire, but God said no (2 Samuel 7:1-3). Moses begged to enter the Promised Land, but his earlier sin kept him out (Deuteronomy 3:23-27). Rachel and Hannah waited years for children (Genesis 30; 1 Samuel 1). The disciples hoped for the Kingdom to be restored in their time, but they didn't see it (Acts 1:6). And then there's Jesus Himself, in the Garden of Gethsemane, pleading, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me" (Matthew 26:39). His Father said no, and Jesus carried the cross.
These stories show us that longing for good things isn't wrong, even when the answer is no. The problem comes when our longing goes off course.
When Longing Goes Astray
Not all longing is holy, and I think we know that in our bones. Sometimes we long for a good thing in the wrong way, demanding, angry, or bitter when God doesn't deliver on our timeline. It's not the longing itself that's the issue, but the heart behind it. Are we shaking our fist at God, insisting He owes us? Or sometimes that longing becomes too big and we begin to treat it like it is the thing we need to survive. Again, the longing isn’t the issue but the place it has taken in our hearts. Or there's longing for a good thing expressed poorly, like Aaron and the golden calf (Exodus 32). The Israelites wanted to see God, a beautiful desire, but crafting an idol was a disastrous misstep. The longing wasn't wrong, but God's plan for how this was fulfilled, to come to earth himself in human form, was the only way this could be good. And then there are longings that are just plain sinful, like wanting to be the center of the universe, demanding everyone bow to our will. Those longings need to be laid down, surrendered to God's transforming work in us.
The Two Sides of Contentment
Contentment, too, has its light and shadow. We often think of it as the golden ticket, the thing we're supposed to chase. But contentment can go wrong, too. There's a kind of apathy that masquerades as contentment, like the Laodicean church in Revelation 3:15-17, lukewarm and complacent in their spiritual poverty. Jesus didn't applaud their "contentment"; He rebuked it. Or there's resignation, the kind that feels like giving up. Think of Jonah sulking bitterly after God spared Nineveh (Jonah 4). That's not contentment, it's defeat dressed up as acceptance.
But true contentment? It's something beautiful. Jeremiah Burroughs, in The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, describes it as "that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God's wise and fatherly disposal in every condition." I love how he paints it: sweet, not bitter; inward, not just outward behavior; freely submissive, not forced; delighting in God's plan, trusting His love, no matter the circumstance. That's the kind of contentment that holds hands with longing, not one that tries to erase it.
Jesus in the Garden: Where Longing and Contentment Meet
So how do these two, longing and contentment, live together? I think we see it most clearly in Jesus, praying in Gethsemane (Matthew 26:36-46). His soul was "sorrowful, even to death." He didn't hide His pain; He shared it with His friends and poured it out to His Father. He asked for what He wanted, "Let this cup pass from me," but He surrendered to God's will: "Not as I will, but as you will." He prayed it again, and again, showing us that contentment isn't a one-and-done moment but a process of returning to God, trusting Him even when the answer is no. And then He obeyed, walking the path laid before Him.
Jesus shows us that longing and contentment aren't enemies. You can ache for something deeply and still trust God's plan. You can bring your sorrow to Him, ask for your heart's desire, and choose to say, "Your will be done," even when it hurts.
My Story: Longing and Learning
Let me share a bit of my own journey. I was single for 20 years of my adult life, longing for a partner. That longing was real, and it was good, a desire for companionship, for love. But as the years stretched on, I slipped into resignation. Sometimes it showed up as bitterness, an edge in my voice when I talked about marriage. Other times, it was pride, convincing myself I was fine alone, better off without someone else. There were moments I buried my longing, calling it contentment, but it was more like exhaustion. I was tired of hoping, so I stopped.
But God kept inviting me into something deeper. He didn't ask me to stop longing; He asked me to bring it to Him. Faithfulness meant feeling the loneliness and turning to the God who sees me. It meant trusting that the ache was part of His plan, that He would meet me in it. And He did. In 2023, I married my husband, but the gift wasn't just the marriage, it was the years of learning to hold longing and contentment together, trusting God in the waiting.
An Invitation to You
So, friend, what are you longing for today? Maybe it's a good thing, like a family, a home, or healing. Maybe it's a holy ache for God Himself. Whatever it is, don't rush to "fix" it with contentment. Bring it to God. Share your sorrow, ask for your heart's desire, and trust His wise and fatherly plan. Contentment doesn't mean silencing your longing; it means holding it in God's presence, letting Him shape it, redeem it, and meet you in it. You're complex, and so is the life you're called to live with Him. Let your longing and contentment dance together, and trust that He's leading the way.