Chapter 1
Searching for Satisfaction
I was five years old when I bloodied my knees learning to jump rope. Fiery and stubborn, I was out to prove wrong the teacher who had given me a “needs improvement” for rope jumping on my report card. My mom stood and watched from behind the sliding glass patio door as I tied one end of the jump rope to a post supporting the roof of our back porch and held the other end in my hand. The endeavor was costly to the well–being of my legs and knees, which bore the bruises of my dogged determination. My perseverance paid off, and eventually I learned to time my feet to the rhythm of the rope. In later years, I even managed a few successful attempts at double Dutch. For my mom, the experience was another glimpse into life with a strong–willed child.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to see my commitment to improvement as a double-edged sword. At five years of age, I understood I wasn’t meeting the mark when it came to jumping rope. It was a simple comment on a report card, but to me, it was evidence of a lack in my abilities. Determined to bridge the gap between what I knew and what I wanted to know, I took matters into my own hands, and I wasn’t satisfied with the process until I had met the expectation. Though I still believe that the experience built character, I’ve also learned the drive to find perfect satisfaction with life, or oneself, can easily become a performance trap.
Scrolling through my social media newsfeed recently, my eyes paused over this statement: “Done is the new perfect.” Laughing to myself, I understood the sentiment. No sooner do I complete an item on my to-do list than the self-assessment begins. Any feeling of contentment quickly becomes tainted by an inner dialogue critiquing what I could have done better or reminding me of what I have not yet achieved. If I’m honest, “done” is rarely enough for me. The harder I pursue satisfaction, the faster it recedes.
The right job. The perfect house. The ideal happy family. The desire to find contentment in this life is real. Whether we are evaluating our efforts on a project, reflecting on a relationship, or examining our spiritual well–being, we face the persistent lie that what we are experiencing is less than what could be. And sometimes the lie becomes even more personal—we are not what we could be.
The expectation to do more, complete more, and do it all better than before gives us little rest. The treadmill of performance never ends and rarely slows. Our culture of busyness only intensifies the temptation to be ever–moving toward a never attainable end. Wrongfully placing our sense of fulfillment in our efforts, we seek to become the creators of our own happiness, the architects of our own success.
Now, it’s important to recognize that there is an appropriate sense of gratification that comes with a well–crafted moment, a task completed, or a goal realized. We are designed to recognize excellence and appreciate the wonder of detailed beauty. But what was intended for our enjoyment too often becomes what we require and, eventually, what holds us captive.
This subtle performance trap can take many forms. No longer a pursuit reserved only for the workplace, the pressure to achieve fulfillment through our performance edges its way into almost every area of our existence. It may be seen in the strategically crafted social media moments, the litany of self–help blogs designed to help rectify any relationship problem, or the do–it–yourself videos centered around making any skill not only attainable but accomplished. Regardless, the implicit message remains the same: the key to contentment is in our hands.
While there’s certainly merit in hard work, focused effort, and personal responsibility, there’s a real danger of self–reliance when it comes to bridging the gap between what we have and what we could have. We fear lack, not just in having our basic needs met, but in any deficit we might experience between what we expect and what actually happens. Achieving our goals and attaining that ever–elusive goal of personal satisfaction seems to promise not only pleasure but power. So we set out to perform, produce, and perfect.
For some, the underlying motivation comes from needing the approval of those around us; for others, we simply have something to prove to ourselves. We think we’re in control of our lives, and we use our own resources to bring about a desired result. The more we know, the more we can control; the more we can control, the happier we will be. It’s the age–old lie of self–sufficiency.
Describing Eve’s encounter with the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Genesis 3:6 leads with these four words: “The woman was convinced” (New Living Translation). Challenging the goodness of God’s intentions, the serpent invited Eve to consider the possibility that being created in the image of God and having Him as her source of provision wasn’t enough: she could “be like God” (Genesis 3:5). He twisted the truth. Telling her there was more to know, more to have, the enemy convinced Eve the answer to her lack was within reach, something she could grasp with her own hands.
We see, and like Eve, we too are convinced our lives would be happier if we could just have what our eyes desire. The object of our affections looks as if it would answer any lack we feel (Genesis 3:6). Intensifying the temptation, our materialistic culture constantly reinforces the belief that if our desires are within reach, then we are entitled to lay claim to whatever we think will fulfill us. And a close look at history reminds us we’ve been intent on finding perfect satisfaction through our own efforts long before laptops, the Internet, and social media apps.
In the eighteenth century, the Enlightenment was a philosophical movement permeating the cultural landscape of societies around the globe. With a humanistic core driving its ambitions, the Enlightenment didn’t just enter into political or educational documents but made its presence known in the personal lives of prominent leaders. Benjamin Franklin, an early American politician, set as his goal “the bold and arduous project of moral perfection.” Well–versed in the doctrines of the Enlightenment, he believed he could bridge the gap between the man he was and the man he wanted to be through his own efforts.
Although Franklin’s intended aim may have been rooted in the hope of creating a better society, his methods were firmly grounded in the power of self. Beginning with addressing his own character weaknesses, he believed he “would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead [him] into” and be able “to live without committing any fault at any time.” Franklin soon found, however, that his attempt to become perfect wouldn’t be a flawless undertaking.
Though he refused to admit his efforts were futile, claiming instead that he was “still of opinion that it was a practicable scheme,” Franklin eventually abandoned his project. Realizing he “no longer [had] strength or activity left sufficient for such an enterprise,” he concluded that while he had been unable to perform his way to perfection, he had made strides in “regard to the appearance of it” (emphasis added). Today, Franklin’s conclusions remind us the pursuit of contentment from human effort alone will always fall short. Human ingenuity with its technological advances may have improved our ability to address human suffering, and as a result, move closer (from a humanistic viewpoint) toward Benjamin Franklin’s goal of becoming a better society. But our efforts have also enhanced our ability to pretend.
Seemingly perfect facades dot the landscape of our lives. We see them on houses with faux stone siding, plastic forks made to resemble silver, cruise ship rooms with “virtual” balconies. How typical! If we can’t achieve contentment, we want to at least make the appearance of it believable to those around us. We picture satisfaction but the pursuit eventually becomes an effort at concealing the gnawing ache of always wanting more. Viewing life through a series of retakes, filters, and apps, we puzzle over why we can’t seem to obtain what doesn’t exist.
Perhaps for some of us the desire to find perfect inner satisfaction is an honest effort to create peace in our own corner of the earth, For others, it may stem from a hope to make the world a better place. It may even be motivated by our Christian commitments, such as longing to see God’s shalom here on earth. But we try to answer the lie of not having enough or being enough with the promise of trying harder. And in our attempts, our human perspective dominates as the highest view. In short, what we see seems to be the truth.
Human effort might seem to promise perfection, but on its own, it just can’t deliver. The investments we make with our heart, time, and energy in trying to find satisfaction through our own efforts—even those that initially seem worthy—lead to disappointment. It’s a race we can never win, a pursuit leaving us with less not more. When we find ourselves continually in search of that next job, relationship, or experience that will make us happy, or when we become consumed with trying to create perfect fulfillment in our lives, it’s time to ask ourselves if what we really fear is lack and whether we’ve dotted the landscape of our lives with gods of our own making.
Responding to polytheism surrounding him in Athens, Paul addressed this innate human hunger for satisfaction. He shared with those listening how only the God who had created every living thing and lacked for nothing could fill our every need: “He is the God who made the world and everything in it. Since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn’t live in man–made temples, and human hands can’t serve his needs—for he has no needs. He himself gives life and breath to everything, and he satisfies every need” (Acts 17:24–25).
Maturity in Christ begins when we recognize the veneer of human effort as insufficient to reflect the full beauty of excellence for which we were created. Only then can we learn to find a life well-lived in the perfection of Christ. Only then will we experience lasting satisfaction. Only then will we live unafraid.
Chapter Questions:
1. How can the pursuit of self–satisfaction turn into a lifestyle of self–reliance?
2. In what area or areas do you most often face the lie that anything less than perfect is unacceptable?
3. Given that it often feeds the perfection facade we see around us, how can we engage in social media in a way that keeps us grounded in reality?
