Turn on the news, scroll through your phone, or listen to the noise of the day, and one message rises above the rest: you don’t have enough. Not enough money, not enough opportunity, not enough security. What’s missing dominates the conversation, while what we already possess goes largely unnoticed. Discontent has become the language of our culture, and gratitude has been quietly pushed aside.
That truth struck me unexpectedly one morning in the shower. The water was a little too hot, so I reached out and turned the handle—just slightly—and the temperature instantly changed. In that small, ordinary moment, my thoughts turned to my parents, born in 1906 and 1909. I wondered what that simple convenience would have meant to them. Clean water flowing freely. Heat without effort. Control without labor. What I barely noticed would have felt like a miracle.
My parents grew up in a world without ease or guarantees. They heated water by hand, lived through the Great Depression, and endured two world wars. They watched the first airplanes rise into the sky while horses still filled the streets. And yet, through all of it, I never once heard them complain about how hard their lives were. They lived out the wisdom of Scripture long before I understood it: “Godliness with contentment is great gain” (1 Timothy 6:6).
Today, that spirit of contentment feels rare. President Theodore Roosevelt warned us plainly when he said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Instead of noticing what we already have, we compare ourselves to people who have more—and in doing so, we quietly lose our joy and gratitude. The media reinforces this daily, teaching us to focus on what we lack rather than what God has already provided.
Scripture speaks directly to this condition of the heart. “Why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin… Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these” (Matthew 6:28–29). Jesus wasn’t minimizing need—He was restoring perspective. He was teaching us to trust provision instead of chasing comparison.
When we pause and honestly compare our lives to much of the world, the contrast is undeniable. Clean water at the turn of a handle. Light at the flip of a switch. Food, freedom, and opportunity that millions can only dream of. These are not entitlements; they are blessings. No wonder people from every corner of the globe still come to America—not for perfection, but for possibility.
The Apostle Paul, who knew both abundance and suffering, said it best: “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances… whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want” (Philippians 4:11–12). Contentment, Paul reminds us, is not circumstantial—it is learned, practiced, and chosen.
The water still runs. The lights still come on. God’s provision still surrounds us.
The real question is not what we don’t have—but whether we have eyes to see what we’ve been given. Because gratitude doesn’t deny hardship; it anchors us in truth. And when gratitude takes root, joy returns—not because life is perfect, but because God has been faithful all along.