In high school I envied the popular kids who went skiing and owned puffy jackets in primary colors. I wanted such a coat. Further, I believed that owning such apparel would mean that I had arrived. When the LL Bean catalogue appeared in our mailbox, I snatched it up to my room and sat in the sun turning pages and wishing that I were in them. That I was one of those beautiful people with ski goggles and perfect smiles and two Golden Retrievers on a plaid mat by the fire.
After I graduated, I worked for two years at the Hannaford deli in Yarmouth, Maine. I made $7.50 an hour, then got a raise to $8. Rolling in such sums, there was only one thing I wanted. I drove down to the North Face store in Freeport and spent the better part of an hour browsing the racks. A wad of twenties burned in my pocket. I finally settled on a brilliant red jacket marked down to $250. I tried it on and it fit. The tag read “Expedition Rated.”
Once home, I zipped up the jacket and went out to shovel snow. It was twenty degrees with a wind chill. Still I felt hot. I rolled back the hood. Burning. I unzipped the front. Steamy. With growing alarm I realized that my prized jacket was too warm to use. I shrugged it off and threw it on a snow bank. I felt like a fool.
The jacket followed me to college in Indiana, not because I planned to use it, but because it was an integral part of my self-deception that stuff could make me feel valuable. During a chapel series on helping the poor, the speaker initiated a clothing drive. Each dorm should put boxes in the halls to collect jackets for the needy. I opened my small closet and saw the puffy North Face coat. I stripped it from its hanger and dumped it in the nearest cardboard box. I had worn it exactly once.
For each of us, I think, there is a red puffy jacket that symbolizes we have arrived. A flashy car, a better job, a tiny dress size or a large promotion or an attractive life partner, any one of which we think will make us feel content.
It will not.
Contentment comes from within. It comes from knowing our place in the world and loving God and our neighbor. Contentment cannot be found on a North Face rack anymore than it can be found in the pages of an LL Bean catalogue or at a wedding altar or at the bottom of a gallon of Cherry Garcia ice cream.
Whatever your jacket is, let it go. God says you are valuable today. Right now. In the mess. In the debt. In that sucky job or that fractured relationship or that anxiety disorder that just won’t relax. There’s work to do, for sure, and we all need to grow and change, but God cannot love you any more and he will not love you any less. No matter what. He’s promised.
So throw that puffy jacket in a box and look around at the world–your world–that needs you. There are things that only you can do. There is love that only you can give. There’s a God who adores you right now. It’s a wonderful thing to live in that love.