The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.
(Shakespeare, The Rape of Lucrece, lines 148-154)
Lately, God has made me very aware of how easily this can take root in someone. I've been given many things I've wanted, but the knowledge of this, rather than making me grateful, fixates instead on how much more I think I could have gotten. All of the sudden, the pretty lavish gifts I've been given start to look shabby.
So I'm learning new habits. For every complaint, there are ten reasons to be grateful. God sticks with me no matter what. He can never disappoint me, because He is exactly as beautiful as He seemed at first. In fact, He keeps on turning out to be better - so far He is from disappointing, He only further amazes.
This Thanksgiving, God is enough.
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