#contentment

[thewordfortheday]

The person who never has enough, who always wants more, is not really rich. Who is really rich? The man who is godly and is content.

1 Timothy 6:8 says,

"So if we have enough food and clothing, let us be content."

How many people have brought themselves into really great poverty because they're never satisfied with what they have?

For the love of money is a root of all evil.

(1 Timothy 6:10 )

So it all boils down to what the centre of your life is. If money, the desire for money, the desire for gain is at the centre of your life, then you're going to be a miserable person. If Jesus is at the centre of your life, you're going to be rich, maybe not in the worldly sense, but rich in Him. Your life is going to be blessed, your life is going to be full.

[fortuneaday]

[amatullaaaah]

Treat hardships like guests. You have to treat them well whether you like them or not. They don't remain in your home forever, they visit and then leave.

إِنَّ اللهَ مَعَ الصّٰبِرِيْنَ

Verily, Allah is with the patient

[sluggoonthestreet]

Carina has finally found an apartment with both northern light and westerly tailwinds.

[areallyuniquename]

[al-firdaus]

Allah swt created us in such a way that our hearts crave for the Creator and nothing can give us that contentment, that satisfaction except for having a connection with Allah swt.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Journalist: "What do you think is your greatest achievement?" David Bowie: "Marrying my wife." "But as a musician?" "Nothing else matters."

[Classic Throwback]

[catsofyore]

Milk drunk, ca. 1895 — 1908. Source.

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[lazyyogi]

If you look to others for fulfillment, you will never truly be fulfilled. If your happiness depends on money, you will never be happy with yourself. Be content with what you have; rejoice in the way things are. When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.

Lao Tzu

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy had hoped that the wind might die down, at least a bit, but the wind had other ideas… and do did the rain, for although there were occasional bright intervals they were all promptly terminated by sudden torrential downpours.

Algy decided that there was nothing for it but to seek shelter, and there attempt to amuse himself as best he could, until conditions improved. His favourite refuge in his assistants' garden was beneath a small stand of waving bamboo, which grew close to an old wall. The two combined, being on the side of the prevailing wind, provided admirable protection from the weather, and comfort was ensured by a thick carpet of fallen bamboo leaves, which tended to remain dry under the dense canopy.

Settling himself down, Algy reflected that he could perhaps depend on his own fluffy mind to entertain him while he waited for the weather to improve, and so he began to recite:

My mind to me a kingdom is; Such present joys therein I find, That it excels all other bliss That earth affords or grows by kind: Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. No princely pomp, no wealthy store, No force to win the victory, No wily wit to salve a sore, No shape to feed a loving eye; To none of these I yield as thrall; For why? my mind doth serve for all. I see how plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soon do fall; I see that those which are aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all: They get with toil, they keep with fear: Such cares my mind could never bear. Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. Some have too much, yet still do crave; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store; They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lack, I leave; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another’s loss, I grudge not at another’s gain; No worldly waves my mind can toss; My state at one doth still remain: I fear no foe, I fawn no friend; I loathe not life, nor dread my end. Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, Their wisdom by their rage of will; Their treasure is their only trust, A cloakèd craft their store of skill; But all the pleasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind. My wealth is health and perfect ease, My conscience clear my chief defence; I neither seek by bribes to please, Nor by deceit to breed offence: Thus do I live; thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!

[Algy is reciting the poem My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is, written in England in the 16th century. But the authorship of the poem is disputed. Edward Dyer was considered the author until the late 20th century, but some now think that it was written by Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford.]

[a-j-s-the-only]

I was kind to myself today

kindness I should have allowed myself all along.

I cleaned my room, changed the bed, a hot shower, two glasses of cold water and some lotion on my body.

I was kind enough to light my favorite candle and do yoga by the flickering light.

I allowed myself the solitude and peace the midnight air holds.

I said it’s normal to feel, that my emotions are real.

I told my mind it’s okay to rest, and my heart it’s alright to love. The sun will rise in the morning.

I’d like to be kind more often.

[sheafrotherdon]

Of all the luxuries it is possible to seek in the world, Nicky is greedy for contentment. He finds it in a dozen different places, scattered piecemeal, hour by hour. The trick, he discovered two centuries into his improbable life, is simply to look for it, to notice the sweet, quiet stillness inside his chest that means he is full. Like now, an hour into wakefulness while Joe still sleeps beside him, their bedroom filled with fragile morning light; like this, he thinks, stretching a hand up toward the ceiling as if he might walk his fingers along the meandering lines of cracked and ancient paint.

He is warm, and Joe feels warmer still beside him, curled toward him, his breath puffing softly against Nicky’s bare arm. He is not yet hungry; there is a glass of water on the bedside table, and Nicky is grateful to so easily be able to quench his thirst. The blankets on the bed are heavy; the flat is quiet; it’s too early yet for the traffic that passes on the street below to have become a constant hum. Beside him, Joe grumbles and turns on to his back, sighs and sleeps on, his mouth slightly open. Nicky smiles when Joe begins to snore.

The walls are pale blue; the door is wooden and stands ajar. There’s a chest of drawers against the wall that’s seen better days, on which sit dishes and bowls that Nicky can’t see but knows hold a watch, silver rings, a door key, a single stick of gum. The armchair that sits in a corner is green and the springs in the cushion are old and cranky, and Nicky can barely see the upholstery for the jeans and shirts and one stray sock piled there. If he lifts his head, if he rolls to the side, he'd see his own boots on the floor. But he doesn’t move; he thinks instead of the twist of fate or luck or destiny that put Joe in his bed, in his heart, in the deepest marrow of his bones, and only then does he turns to lie on his side and press his nose to Joe’s shoulder. He doesn’t speak. He is happy and still.

[futuretherapoo]

I just wanna be the pretty girl who works part-time at the flower shop. It's a life goal. It's a dream. It's everything.

[andallshallbewell]