He staggers under the weight as he zig-zags between the lanes. A sixteen-pound bowling ball rides heavy in the frail arms of a child. Already in his lane sits the balls selected in appropriate weights—a six-pound lime green ball nestles alongside a bright pink one.
Yet, they are not enough. And I ask, “How many bowling balls do you need?” But the back of his retreating form says it all. He moves like a sleep-walker, entranced by the neon orange color of the heavy ball as it glows and beckons in the dimly lit alley.
No amount of warning can sway him from his prize. But as he lurches down the lane and tries to roll the orange ball, he realizes he lacks the strength to push it straight and fast. The ball unwinds in a slow wobble and veers into the gutter.
Not one to give up easily, he tries again. And again. Until he marches over to the green ball, saying not a word about his dissatisfaction with his orange failures, and proceeds to whizz the green ball down the lane for a spare.
We are no longer children, but how often do we find ourselves dissatisfied with our possessions, wanting more and more? The bigger the better, brighter, and bolder. Maybe you yearn for a newer car, a larger house, a nicer phone, a flashy vacation, or another pair of black flats—as if the six pairs you own are somehow not enough. Maybe I’m just speaking to myself about the shoes. Busted.
Funny how contentment floats along until we spy the razzle-dazzle blasted on the TV or see the “newest and latest” someone else possesses, and suddenly our favorite purse seems shabby. And our phone seems deficient. And our car feels just plain old.
We strive to increase our money, accomplishments, and the “things” we desire because of our naively hollow dream that more will land us in a utopia of fulfillment.
Almost two hundred years ago, “The French author Alexis de Tocqueville observed…while traveling through…America: “I have seen the freest and best educated of men in the happiest circumstances the world can afford; yet it seemed that a cloud hung on their brow and they appeared serious and almost sad […] because they never stopped thinking of the good things they have not yet got.” The Problem with Wanting. Psychology Today. Steve Taylor Ph.D
So I have to drag myself up from the mire of want and re-focus. Because I know deep down that the siren’s call to jump on the merry-go-round of more never ends. A better model will yearly replace the new phone. My new car will lose its appeal, and Instagram ads will forever entice with the latest fashions and footwear.
My Rwandan friends don’t understand our thinking. They have little yet are content with the little they have. And we are discontent with much. The reason we can dwell in abundance, the American-way-of-life and yet feel dissatisfied can be summed up in one phrase.
We fail to be thankful.
So how do we climb out of the black hole of want?
Here are three suggestions. Choose at least one to do each day:
1. Speak words of gratefulness out loud. Say thank you. Tell someone what they mean to you or what they have done for you.
2. Write down what you are thankful for. Be present—Open your eyes, look around, give thanks for one of the things you see.
3. Praise God for his blessings.
Why is everyone hungry for more? “More, more,” they say.
“More, more.”
I have God’s more-than-enough, More joy in one ordinary day
Than they get in all their shopping sprees.
At day’s end I’m ready for sound sleep,
For you, God, have put my life back together.
Ps 4:6-8 MSG