Complaining

I complain a lot.

Yes, it’s true, I’ve confessed. Things that I should be happy about I complain about. I guess that makes me human, but it probably makes me an irritating human. The thing that really gets me is that I complain about good things. Take my other job for example. As long as I’m a student, then my side job as a counselor is paying the bills. But I complain about it. I complain because I’ve been in the field forever, and I’m trying to get out of it, and that I don’t want to deal with the clients that I’m dealing with, and that I don’t want to keep the hours that I’m keeping there….grumble, grumble, grumble.

Of course, I forget that it provides regular income, health insurance, and that I’m making a difference in others’ lives. Seems lopsided, doesn’t it?

I complain that I’m not able to write as much as I should, that all of my writing time is taken up by class, term papers, and eventually, I think, a thesis will be in the works this year. As productive as those things are, as critically important as every paper I write is to my education, I complain.

I complain because our apartment isn’t finished yet, that we don’t have all the boxes unpacked, and that it’s still a bit chaotic. But I don’t stop to be thankful that part of the reason we haven’t completely unpacked is that we’re both working. We’re both busy with friends. We both have a lot of stuff.

I should be so thankful, but I complain so much. Because my comfort level isn’t what I perceive that it should be.

I shouldn’t compartmentalize my life quite so much, I think. Writing is writing. every chance I get to do it is huge. If weren’t able to write at all…then I would have a reason to complain. If my wife or I neither one had jobs, then I would have reason to complain. If we didn’t have a place to live, or if we had no friends, then I would have reason to complain.

Or would I? Paul said, “…I have learned how to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know both how to have a little, and I know how to have a lot” (Philippians 11b-12, HCSB). Seems that, perhaps, I don’t ever have reason to complain about my standard of living. Perhaps it’s comfort level. Perhaps we’re just too comfortable…well, I’m afraid to say that. Perhaps we’re too attached to our comfort. There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable, as long it’s not what we prioritize, as long as we’re not so afriad of being uncomfortable that life grinds to a halt.

So, perhaps instead of complaining, I should spend more time being grateful.

Now where have I heard that before?