585_Finding our contentment in Him (Psalm 131)

Psalm 131 O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.

3 O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time forth and forevermore.

A few years ago, a journalist interviewed an eighty–seven–year–old woman who had survived war, famine, and the loss of her family. She lived in a tiny room above a bakery, and owned very little. Yet her eyes sparkled with a joy that seemed almost unreasonable. The journalist finally asked, “How is it that you seem more at peace than people who have everything?” She smiled and said, “It’s very simple. Every morning I remind myself that I am not God. And every evening I thank Him that He is.”

That comment may sound almost humorous at first, but it is profoundly true. So much of our anxiety, our striving, our dissatisfaction, comes from forgetting that we are creatures and not the Creator. We want answers to everything. We want control. We want life to fit into our understanding. But when we encounter God, one of the first things He calls us to is simple humility. Humility does not mean thinking less of ourselves in a negative way; it means recognizing who we are in relation to Him—finite, limited, beloved, and dependent. Finding contentment in Him begins right there.

Psalm 131 is one of the shortest psalms in the Bible, just three verses, yet it opens a deep well of wisdom. David begins, “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high.” Before he talks about peace and contentment, he talks about posture—an inner attitude before God. He admits that he does not occupy himself “with things too great and too marvelous” for him. That is a startling statement, especially in our age of information where we believe we should know everything, master everything, and have an answer for everything. But David says: I’ve learned to stop reaching for what only God can understand.

The Bible continually reminds us that God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble. Pride was at the root of Lucifer’s downfall. Isaiah 14 describes his ambition in these haunting words: “I will ascend… I will set my throne on high… I will make myself like the Most High.” Pride is not just boasting; pride is the refusal to accept our creaturely place. It is the restless desire to be in control, to be central, to manage outcomes, to hold the steering wheel of life with white knuckles.

Humility, by contrast, recognizes something essential: God is God, and we are not. Deuteronomy 29:29 says, “The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever.” In other words, there are things God wants us to know—real things, true things, life-giving things—about His character, His promises, His commandments. But there are also things He has not explained. Questions we may never get answered on this side of eternity. Reasons we may never discover. Roads whose purpose we may not see until glory.

Job and his friends learned this the hard way. Job’s friends assumed they knew the system: righteous people prosper and sinners suffer. So they concluded Job must have some hidden sin. Job, on the other hand, was sure he had nothing to confess, and so he argued that God had treated him unjustly. They were all trying to force the mysteries of divine wisdom into a box they could manage. But when God finally spoke, He did not explain the reasons behind Job’s suffering. Instead, He asked questions—questions about creation, time, weather, stars, life, and death. Questions Job could not begin to answer. Humbled, Job said, “I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.” Job did not get answers, but he got something better: a clearer vision of God. And that was enough.

This is the same posture David adopts in Psalm 131. After confessing his humility, he says, “But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother.” This is one of the most beautiful images in Scripture. A newborn child cries when hungry, demanding milk in great urgency. But a weaned child, resting in the mother’s arms, is no longer anxious or frantic. He is content simply because he is close to the one who provides. He is not worried about where the next meal will come from or how the milk was produced. He is held, and that is enough.

That is the picture of Christian contentment. It is quiet. It is not dramatic or noisy. It is not based on having everything understood or everything resolved. It is the peace that comes from trusting the arms that hold us. The world teaches us to attach our peace to circumstances—money, health, relationships, success, security. But those things shift like sand. True contentment is not found in having everything we want; it is found in knowing the One our soul needs.

Corrie Ten Boom once wrote, “You will never know Jesus is all that you need until Jesus is all that you have.” She understood this deeply, having survived a concentration camp where everything else was taken from her. Sometimes God, in His mercy, brings us to that place where our illusions of control collapse, and He becomes our only anchor. And it is in that moment, strangely, that contentment is born.

Jesus addressed this kind of misplaced ambition when James and John asked to sit beside Him in glory. They were thinking in terms of power, position, and reputation. Jesus gently replied, “You do not know what you are asking.” He explained that greatness in His kingdom does not come through self-promotion or status, but through servanthood and surrender. “Even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” He was inviting them—and us—away from restless striving and into the restful posture of humility.

Contentment does not grow in a heart that is competing, comparing, or demanding. It grows in the heart that trusts, submits, and rests. Peter echoes this truth when he writes, “His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness.” Everything we need to become what God calls us to be—everything—has already been supplied in Christ. Contentment then is not passive; it is active trust. It is choosing to believe that He is enough, even when our feelings protest or circumstances shake us.

David concludes Psalm 131 with a simple exhortation: “O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time forth and forevermore.” He moves from personal testimony to communal invitation. What he has learned individually, he now offers corporately. Find your hope in God, not in answers, achievements, or understanding. Hope in Him, not just for a season, but forever.

Practically, how do we live this out? First, begin each day acknowledging God’s God-ness. Before your feet hit the floor, whisper, “Lord, You are in control. I am not.” That simple confession realigns the soul. Second, choose surrender with unanswered questions. You may not know how the future will unfold, why suffering happened, or when doors will open, but you can choose to rest in the arms that hold you. Third, cultivate habits that create quietness. Psalm 131 is a quiet psalm, and quiet is something we must make space for. Turn down the noise—less scrolling, fewer comparisons, more Scripture, more stillness, more prayer. Finally, shift your hope. Where is your emotional security anchored? Bank account? Diagnosis? Approval of others? Plans succeeding? Whatever it is, name it, and gently move it toward the Lord: “O Israel, hope in the Lord.”

Contentment is not natural. It is learned. And it is learned in the presence of a God who loves us, who holds us, and who knows far more than we ever could. When we find our contentment in Him, we are free. Free from striving to understand everything. Free from demanding control. Free from restless ambition. We become, like a weaned child in its mother’s arms, quieted, safe, and satisfied—not because everything makes sense, but because we belong to Him.