Finding happy

Grandpa, let's find a toy store.  Then I'll be happy.

-Caleb, age 3

We're on vacation this week (see: Wordless Wednesday).  

I wake up naturally in a room the color of the sea and tromp downstairs to find waffles or bacon cooking up fresh.  The rest of the day is a series of decisions that look something like this:  go to the beach or the private pool?  Scenic bike ride up the island or down?  Belly laugh until it hurts or drift aimlessly on a gigantic floatie under the palms?  

I hardly remember what real life is like.

As I luxuriate here in subtropical decadence, it's easy for my soul to shrivel.  Laziness and entitlement are the order of the day.  

In fact, if I could stay here forever, then I'd be happy.  

Especially if there wasn't a cockroach in the shower.

Or if my kids stopped squabbling.  

Or if we had a bit more space on the beach to ourselves.  

Or....

Grandma and Grandpa took the kids to a farmer's market yesterday.  Great for locally-sourced, organic specialties, if you're into that sort of thing.

Caleb isn't.  Which is what prompted the above quote.  

Buy me a toy and I'll be happy.   Buy me a plantation-style beachfront home and I'll be happy.  Give me just a little bit more mammon and my soul will be satisfied.  

Because I'm sure that wealth and privilege and leisure are the keys to happiness, and if I don't feel totally content, it's because I don't have enough of them.  A little bigger house, a little fewer demands..... and maybe someone on staff to get rid of that cockroach.

Father, save me from my foolishness.  Make the spring of living water well up within me, that broken cisterns, no matter their extravagance, will hold no sway over my soul.

Grandpa, let's find Jesus.  Then I'll be happy.