I had a short but amazing experience a few days ago. Let me tell you about it.

It was a sparkling clear October day. The oak tree next to the house was sporting extravagantly beautiful leaves. The air was crisp and just warm enough to have the windows open.

I was engaged in a canning project, probably the last one of the year. I was standing at the kitchen sink washing canning jars and watching the occasional leaf drop from the oak tree through the kitchen window.

Meanwhile Don was engaged in an outdoor project on the back porch, just off the kitchen. Through the screen door, I could hear him sawing boards and using the cordless screwdriver to fasten things together.

And I had a powerful flash-like realization: I was content. Honestly, that moment just rocketed through me. The feeling lingered for days.

I started thinking about one of my favorite historical novels, Avalon by Anya Seton. It takes place in early Medieval England, late 900s to early 1000s AD, when Viking raids were common.

Brief synopsis of the last quarter of the book: The main character, Merowyn, is kidnapped by Vikings and taken to Iceland, where she weds an Icelandic man and has a son. After a period of difficult adjustment, she grows to dearly love both her husband and her new home. Later she and a group of other Icelanders colonize Greenland, where she bears a mentally-handicapped daughter. When her husband dies twenty years later, Merowyn returns at last to England, that gentler country she missed during the cold bleak years on an ice-swept land. As a widow, she must make do as best she can and ends up marrying a man she respects but doesn't love. She thinks back to the silvery-gold early days of her first marriage and realizes she was happy then and didn't know it.

For some reason that phrase – she was happy then and didn't know it – stayed with me. And it made me wonder: how many of us are happy but don't appreciate it, know it, or realize it?

"Happiness" is such a loaded and multi-faceted word that no one can really define what it means for them. It's different for everyone. Happiness can be found even in places and circumstances you may not like; but it's often there, buried among the less enjoyable parts. Facets of happiness (contentment, satisfaction, pride of achievement, etc.) can all contribute to the overall qualities of the emotion.

I think what haunts me about the notion of being happy and not realizing it, is how many of us let overall happiness slide through our fingers because we're too concerned with little things we don't like. Anyone who takes their health for granted and then loses it, for example, will appreciate how much happier they were when their health was good.

That's why this moment of contentment was so powerful.

I recall another moment about ten years ago. It was late June. I was sitting in the barn (of our old home) working on my laptop, working on a magazine article that was due shortly. (In nice weather, I did a lot of work in the barn.) I was keeping an eye on a cow who was due to give birth at any moment. Chickens were all around me. The daisies and ocean spray were in full bloom. Later that afternoon I had plans to do dishes and laundry. That moment of contentment, again, was strong enough to be remembered.

A couple of my favorite Bible verses underscore this topic. FirstTimothy 6:6-9 says, "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction."

And the verse that has become my motto, 1Thessalonians 4:11-12: "...make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody."

If washing canning jars while watching autumn leaves through the kitchen window while Don works on a project on the back porch qualifies ... count me in.

This gif brings me to tears every time. Here's a man meeting the officer who saved his life 19 years ago. Watch it here. Get the Kleenex.

We're expecting a small package from UPS. Don received an email confirmation this morning as follows:


Read the description: "UPS driver delivering a package to a happy couple."

Yowza.

To anyone who works for UPS, is this standard practice? Does UPS make cryptic notes to alert drives to, say, a vicious dog or other information of interest?

Regardless, we're flattered by the notation. A happy couple indeed.

It's birthday time in the Lewis household. I just turned 56. Don will turn 61 in a couple of weeks.

At this point in our lives, we don't celebrate our birthdays, but they certainly make us more thoughtful. We've reached the point where we're aware of our own mortality. I hope that doesn't sound gloomy because it's not. We're quite happy and content, pleased with how our children have launched themselves into the world, happy to still have my parents with us, still facing challenges in work and on the farm. Life is good.

Which is why this article struck a chord: "Who was happier at 60?"

The author, Liz Jones, just turned 60. And my goodness doesn't she look fabulous:


Ms. Jones contrasts her incredible fitness at 60 with her mother's health at the same age. Her mother had gray hair, false teeth, arthritis, and hip and knee replacements.

But her mom also giggled at life. She never wore a swimsuit, but she happily limped to the beach and sat on the sand with homemade rolls and watched her seven children romp in the water.

In fact, Ms. Jones was "terrified" to look like her mom at the same age, and spent her entire life fighting it. She writes:

I’m the same dress size as when I turned 16. You can tell I’ve dedicated my life not to raising a family, or giggling, but to being 'beach body ready.' Effort is etched on my face. I’m anxious, too: do my arms look fat? Is my hair, dyed fortnightly from the day I turned 25, looking crispy? I only have a half-smile because, if I’m not smiling a little, my face falls. My teeth are veneered, not false. I don’t hobble; instead I walk and run, every day, for miles: a good thing, certainly. But all I can think when I look at the photo of me is my God, how exhausting, and how desperately unhappy. How lonely, too.

I’d been dreading my 60th (Wednesday was the Big Day) from the day I turned 50. It has loomed, large and dark, like an empty grave, because I fear it will mean the death of all I’ve strived for: to be desirable, sexy, fashionable, in and certainly not out. I don’t want to be invisible. I really, really don’t want to be old.

I’ve tried to buy into 60 being the new 40, and how liberating it will be to not feel obliged to Hollywood wax, but the truth is I know I will continue to battle to keep the years at bay. Why? Because I’m not where I should be: I’m single, not secure, not loved. I can’t relax. I have to keep trying.

And therein lays the sad part of this article. Ms. Jones looks like a woman half her age. But how long can she keep this up? When she's 80, will she look like she's 40? What about when she's 90?

Contrast this with her mother, who looked -- arguably -- older than her 60 years. Yet her mother giggled at the beach. She made homemade rolls for her seven kids. She had a husband who adored her and helped her put on her socks since she could no longer reach her feet because of the arthritis. She had already had a hip replacement and a knee replacement. "She was in constant, excruciating pain," noted Ms. Jones. "And yet she is smiling. ... She didn’t dread her birthdays, as I do. She never mentioned the big Six-O or expected a fuss; she probably spent the evening ironing."

Ms. Jones was a career woman, a journalist and a former editor at the beauty magazine Marie Claire. Yet in this painfully honest article, she asks who is happier at 60 -- her or her mom? "My mum was content with her lot, she lived in the moment, she didn’t put off life," noted Ms. Jones. "My overriding feeling, as the Big Day [her 60th birthday] came and went last week, was that my generation of women was sold a lie. We were told our mothers’ lives were disgracefully submissive. We were told we must battle our bodies into submission, land a career in order to hold all the power. Problem is, a great job doesn’t bend down each morning, without a murmur, and pull stockings gently over toes, as Dad did for Mum."

Don is the one who read this article and sent it to me. "You're given a limited lifespan," he observed, "and you're given seasons within that lifespan to accomplish things: marriage, children, retirement. One of the lovely things about having faith is knowing growing older is supposed to happen. No one will be 120 years old when you're standing before the throne. Everyone is immortal at 20. No one is immortal at 60."

My example for aging was set by my mother, who is almost exactly 31 years older than me (our birthdays are three days apart). My mom never fought her gray hair, she embraced it (she would instruct her hair dresser to cut her hair to show the gray to advantage). She and my dad rolled with the punches of life and got back on their feet. Now, having just celebrated their diamond anniversary, they move slower and take great care not to fall. But they're content and satisfied with their lives. What's not to admire? Sure, my mom has wrinkles. But you know what? She earned those wrinkles. They're beautiful.

Don led a rather "wild'n'crazy" life as a young man, before we met. He tells me I wouldn't have liked him at 20, and he doesn't think God would have either. "God blesses people who managed to make it into their 60s," he said, "because He's given us time to make up for our earlier shortfalls. To get square with God can’t happen if you can’t contemplate your own mortality. Since everyone at 20 thinks they’ll live forever, it takes age to acquire the wisdom to know they’re NOT immortal. Growing older is a gift -- if for no other reason it allows us to focus on the next life, not this one."

Ms. Jones apparently spent her whole life desperately trying to stay within one "season" -- her young adulthood. By obsessively focusing on staying a perpetual 25, she's missed the other, more mature seasons that come with life: stable marriage, having babies, raising kids, empty nesting, grandkids, and finally rocking on the back porch, watching the sun go down with a beloved spouse. She bypassed this so she could pretend she's forever 25.

At least she's smart enough to realize who was happier at 60 -- her mom. I sincerely hope she starts to contemplate her own mortality -- a cheery thought, not a grim one -- and gets square with God.

We interrupt this program to bring you a philosophical screed.

Recently I re-read a favorite historical novel, Avalon by Anya Seton. It takes place in early Medieval England, late 900s to early 1000s AD, when Viking raids were common.

Brief synopsis of the last quarter of the book: The main character, Merowyn, is kidnapped by Vikings and taken to Iceland, where she weds an Icelandic man and has a son. After a period of difficult adjustment, she grows to dearly love both her husband and her new home. Later she and a group of other Icelanders colonize Greenland, where she bears a mentally-handicapped daughter. When her husband dies twenty years later, Merowyn returns at last to England, that gentler country she missed during the cold bleak years on an ice-swept land. As a widow, she must make do as best she can and ends up marrying a man she respects but doesn’t love. She thinks back to the silvery-gold early days of her first marriage and realizes she was happy then and didn’t know it.

For some reason that phrase – she was happy then and didn’t know it – stayed with me after I finished the book. And it made me wonder: how many of us are happy but don’t appreciate it, know it, or realize it?

“Happiness” is such a loaded and multi-faceted word that no one can really define what it means for them. It’s different for everyone. Happiness can be found even in places and circumstances you may not like; but it’s often there, buried among the less enjoyable parts. Facets of happiness (contentment, satisfaction, pride of achievement, etc.) can all contribute to the overall qualities of the emotion.

I think what haunts me about the notion of being happy and not realizing it, is how many of us let overall happiness slide through our fingers because we’re too concerned with little things we don’t like. Anyone who takes their health for granted and then loses it, for example, will appreciate how much happier they were when their health was good.

We all have a zillion things we would like to do. As a trivial example, we look forward to when we can make some cosmetic improvements to the house – paint, replace ugly carpeting, that kind of thing – but we don’t let minor details interfere with the fact that we have a nice home that keeps us sheltered, even if the linoleum is chipped.

And if we lost the house, then how much would we look back at the ugly carpeting and unpainted walls and realize we should have appreciated a solid sheltering home when we had it?

The sad thing is when people place contingency measures on happiness. They stubbornly insist they WON’T be happy UNTIL such-and-such happens. They WON’T be happy UNTIL they paint the house. They WON’T be happy UNTIL they get a different job. They WON’T be happy UNTIL their spouse changes to meet their particular criteria. They WON’T be happy UNTIL they achieve a [fill in the blank] goal.

WON’T is a pretty stubborn word. What’s preventing them from being happy NOW?

We all have goals, plans, and ambitions for the future, and I think those are critical (imagine how bleak life would be without goals), but what’s preventing us from enjoying the present NOW?

Dissatisfaction with some aspect of NOW can prevent us from appreciating a lot of beneficial things, even if it can’t be described as “happiness.” What about contentment? What about the satisfaction that comes from fulfilling duties and obligations, even if those duties and obligations aren’t what they want to do? What about the fulfillment that comes from helping others?


I doubt pure happiness is possible, although we’ve all experienced moments of it. But let’s make a concerted effort, shall we, to find and recognize happiness where and when we can? Maybe you don’t like your job but you love your spouse. Maybe you don’t like your spouse but you love your job. Maybe you don’t like where you’re living but you do like your neighbors. Maybe you don’t like your appearance but you shine in a hobby or skill. Maybe you know you did the best you could under some difficult circumstances. Maybe you struggled through and fulfilled a promise, duty, obligation, or vow even when you didn’t want to. I don’t know, pick something – anything – and appreciate it for the satisfaction it brings you.

I guess the goal behind this philosophical screed is to avoid regret. How many of us want to look back after years or decades (like the character Merowyn) and regret not appreciating a point in our life when we were happy, but didn’t know or appreciate it at the time?

I don’t think pure happiness is ever possible on this mortal earth. But contentment is. Pride is. Satisfaction is. Embrace those and appreciate them for the happiness they bring.

Okay, philosophical screed is over. We now return you back to your regularly scheduled program.