Why does the Bible instruct the followers of God to give? It is not because God needs our money. He owns everything and has no need. He even said, “If I needed anything, I wouldn’t ask you!” It is also not because the church needs it. The church does need the people who are a part of it to give, but it is sustained by God. The church I visited in the bush of northern Kenya last month has no “budget” to speak of, but its founder and its sustainer is God.
No, the reason why we are called on to give is so that we will learn to be like the giver, God himself.
Paul wrote two chapters of his second letter to the Corinthian church to urge them to give generously. The centerpiece of his argument is this: “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that you through His poverty might become rich.”
God gave more than we could ever imagine and certainly ever repay when he gave his Son to the world as a sacrifice for sin. Will we learn to love like that through our own giving? Will we also learn to do so cheerfully? Because here’s an interesting truth from Scripture: God loves a cheerful giver.
A little girl was given a dollar and a quarter by her mom on the way to church. She was told she could put either one in the offering plate and keep the other. On the way home, the mom asked what she gave. The little girl said, “I was going to give the dollar but right before the offering, the preacher said God loves a cheerful giver, and I knew I would be a lot more cheerful if I gave the quarter.”
I don’t think that is exactly what Paul had in mind. But wait. What does that mean, “God loves a cheerful giver?” God loves everybody, right? So why did Paul say this? I was praying about that last week, and my mind went to Jesus’ words, “true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth: for the Father is seeking such to worship Him.” God seeks those who worship him in spirit and truth. God loves a cheerful giver. If God seeks worshippers, I want to be found by him doing just that. If God loves cheerful givers, I want to be loved by him doing just that. That will require faith.
Giving is an act of faith in God’s abundant provision. This is why most give sparsely or not at all. If they were able to be honest about it, they would have to say, “I am afraid if I do this, I will not have enough.”
A pastor had this conversation with one of his members who happened to be a farmer. “Brother Bill,” he said, “If you had $1,000, would you give the church $500?” Bill said, “You know I would, pastor.” Then, the pastor said, “If you had two pigs, would you give the church one of them?” Bill replied, “That’s not fair, pastor! You know I have two pigs!”
It’s easy to sing “Take My Life and Let it Be,” and even the verse that says, “Take my silver and my gold, not a mite would I withhold …” but it is much harder to live that song. It requires faith. And obedience.
How about you? Are you learning to love like God does through faithful and cheerful giving?

J. Mark Fox is the author of “A Faithful Man,” his latest book, and the pastor of Antioch Community Church on Power Line Road in Elon. You can find all of Mark’s books on Amazon or other online sellers. Email Mark at markfox@antiochchurch.cc 

Those who would love for the church to just slink away into oblivion must grind their teeth and rage against this profound truth that rings throughout the ages: Jesus said, “I will build My church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” Nothing will stop the church. Not even hell itself. I take great hope and find tremendous joy in knowing that I am part of something that will never be conquered, and that on that great day will be crowned with glory and honor as the bride of Christ in his eternal presence.
Though the church can never be defeated, it is not without its enemies. And though the universal church that is comprised of everyone who is born again through the blood of Jesus Christ will never be conquered, the local expression of the church may very well be. There are thousands of churches closing their doors every year. I believe the greatest threat to the church is false doctrine. Read Paul’s letters to the churches and count the number of times he warns against false teaching and teachers, and corrects their errors. After false doctrine, though, I believe the greatest threat to the local church is broken relationships. The halls of our churches are roamed by people loaded down with guilt on the one hand because of their unconfessed sin toward others, and bitterness on the other hand because of others’ sins against them. Who can carry around this weight of guilt and bitterness and survive? How can a church survive? It can’t.
Jesus gave very clear instructions to his disciples on how to deal with sin so that guilt and bitterness do not result.
Here is what he said about responding when someone sins against you:
First, make sure it was a sin. And that it was against you. Second, go to the person who sinned against you. Alone. First. In other words, don’t tell anybody else but God about the sin that was committed against you. That’s because your friend can take up an offense for you, get bitter toward your offender, and even after you and the offender have reconciled, your friend may still have bitterness. I have seen that happen, even to the point that the “friend” walks away from the church as a result. “See to it … that no root of bitterness springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled.” Go to the person who sinned against you and “tell him his fault.” Just that one. Don’t dredge up every single thing he has ever done to hurt you. Those should have already been dealt with. Just take the one offense to him, and him alone. If he repents, you have restored a brother. If he doesn’t, Jesus explains steps two and three in Matthew 18.
What if the shoe is on the other foot? You are about to enter church to worship the Lord with everybody else and then “you remember that your brother has something against you.”
First, make sure it is because of a sin you committed or a mess of some kind that you made. If he has something against you because you love Jesus Christ and follow him, then rejoice over the opportunity to be persecuted for righteousness’ sake. If you have sinned, however, leave the church, go find your brother (he may be in the fellowship hall), and confess your sin. Humbly. Ask forgiveness. Then, Jesus said, you are free to worship with all your might.
Is your conscience clear? Your health, and your church’s, depends on it.

J. Mark Fox is the author of “A Faithful Man,” his latest book, and the pastor of Antioch Community Church on Power Line Road in Elon. You can find all of Mark’s books on Amazon or other online sellers. Email Mark at markfox@antiochchurch.cc 

Every now and then, I have the privilege of meeting someone who reads this column. That happened recently while I was waiting at Southern Tire. A man sat next to me and said, “I appreciate your columns in the Times-News.” I thanked him, asked his name, and we chatted for the next 15 minutes or so. You know how men are.
Our conversation started with what we do for a living. But it didn’t stay there. My new friend Patrick then started telling me about something that had happened to him a few weeks earlier. I told him the story was too good to keep to ourselves, and promised him I would share it with the other seven people who read this column. So, here it is.
Patrick was out with two of his kids one day, making good on a promise. He had told them that if they worked hard at the project they had been given, he would treat them to a milkshake. As they drove down Huffman Mill Road toward Cook Out, Patrick noticed a truck pulling a trailer in the center turn lane. It was near the entrance to Cook Out, but not in the place one would normally be if he were planning on turning. “I had to make a decision at that point,” Patrick said to me. “I honestly did not think the man was turning into the same place I was, so I pulled in front of him, waited for traffic to clear, and then entered the drive-through lane at the restaurant. I glanced into my rearview mirror and saw the man in the truck pull in right behind me. Uh-oh, I thought.”
As you may have guessed, the man in the truck did not stay in the truck. He threw it into park, opened the door, and angrily stomped forward to have it out with Patrick.
“You so hungry that you had to cut me off?” the man asked after Patrick had rolled his window halfway down.
Now at this point, Patrick had a choice to make, though he didn’t tell me that as he shared the story. He could have responded any number of ways to the man’s question. Here is a sample of what comes to mind:
“What is your problem?!” (matching him anger for anger)
“You twalkin’ to me?” (with a Jersey accent, trying to throw him off with humor)
“Eh … what’s up, Doc?” (distracting with silliness, especially if he had a carrot in the car)
“(Silence)”…followed by sign language.
Thankfully, Patrick did the mature thing. He said three golden words: “I am sorry.” Then, “I didn’t know you were turning into this place.”
The angry man was not appeased. “Oh, yes you did! You knew I was turning here.” Patrick had tried to apologize. That failing, he attempted restitution. He said, “Tell you what. You back up your truck, and then I will back up and let you go in front of me in line.” The man refused the gesture and stormed back to his truck, muttering and fuming. After Patrick placed his order, he said he felt the Lord prompting him to pay for the man’s meal behind him. So, when he got to the pickup window, that’s exactly what he did. “I wish I could have seen the man’s expression when he was told his order had been paid for,” Patrick said. I would love to see that, too. Patrick did his part, though, obeying the Word that says, “If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.”

J. Mark Fox is the author of “A Faithful Man,” his latest book, and the pastor of Antioch Community Church on Power Line Road in Elon. You can find all of Mark’s books on Amazon or other online sellers. Email Mark at markfox@antiochchurch.cc

I grew up in tobacco country. In fact, that noxious weed put me through college. My father and mother worked long years and retired from R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. My grandmother was a receptionist for more than 30 years at Whitaker Park, where cigarettes are manufactured and thousands of visitors come every year to see how the process works. My older brother also worked for Reynolds, and he was the one that I most wanted to be like when I was a young teenager.
So, I fired up my first cigarette when I was 15 years old. I remember the first one because it made my head spin and my stomach turn. That should have told me something right there, but I was a little slow when it came to picking up such cues, especially when they conflicted with my goal: to be cool. I loved and admired my older brother and if smoking was good enough for him, then by golly it was good enough for me.
I started out as a casual smoker, just a few cigarettes a day. That was enough to give me the “tough-guy image” I was after, but kept the stench to a minimum. But there’s a not-so-funny thing about cigarettes, which I found out soon enough. They are addictive. It wasn’t long before I couldn’t eat a meal or drink a Coke or enjoy a cup of coffee without craving a cigarette. Then, I began to “need” one after I woke up in the morning, or before I went to sleep at night.
I knew I was really hooked when I started staying home from events that would last too long and where smoking was not permitted.
I smoked for nearly 10 years, and used to quote Mark Twain to my college friends who expressed concern. “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world,” I told them. “I know because I’ve done it thousands of times.”
But I was hooked and I knew it. The habit was interfering with my social life, slowing me down on the intramural fields, costing me precious funds that as a college student I really did not have, and producing a guilty conscience. Undeterred, I kept puffing … and hacking.
Then, I met Cindy and fell in love. We had a whirlwind romance for a year, and less than a month before my wedding day, Cindy made this announcement: “I can’t marry a smoker. You are going to have to choose … is it going to be me or cigarettes?”
I chose Cindy that same day, and have not touched a cigarette since. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for a woman who was willing to draw a line in the sand and risk losing someone she loved. She drew the line because I was someone she loved and wanted to love for the rest of her life. It was God who gave me grace and strength to overcome a habit that was in control of my life.
I am and will be forever grateful to the Lord for that. But God used a beautiful and gracious woman to give me the desire to quit.
Now, if you want to hear what it was like on our honeymoon, with me in the middle of full-scale nicotine-withdrawal, that’s another story. Just suffice it to say that we had some battles that might have ended our marriage if we were not so stubbornly committed to loving each other no matter what.
The Bible says “love never fails,” and this is one grateful former smoker.

J. Mark Fox is the author of A Faithful Man, his latest book, and the pastor of Antioch Community Church on Power Line Road in Elon. You can find all of Mark’s books on Amazon or other online sellers.  Email Mark at markfox@antiochchurch.cc 

We drove down the dirt road for 10 minutes and stopped at the edge of the trees. Climbing out of the Land Cruiser, the 12 of us peered into the darkness, wondering how far into the woods we would go. A few of us had flashlights, and they swung with every stride, their nervous movement matching our uncertain steps. One of the men whispered to me, “We are being led into a place we don’t know by warriors. Warriors we’ve just met a few hours ago.” I nodded, my mind playing with the thought that we really didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. After a five-minute walk, we came to a clearing. We followed our guides a few more yards and stood there, not sure what would happen next, awed by the eerie quietness and darkness that enveloped us.
They came from the bushes. We could not see them. They carried no lights, and their dark clothing and ebony skin kept them hidden. Standing in a semi-circle in front of us, the men, women and children waited for the leader to speak. He greeted them in their language and invited one of the women to begin a song. She sang out in a loud, clear voice, and was answered by all the members of the tribe standing around her. They sang like this, call and response, for more than 10 minutes, in a language that itself is melodic. We tried to sing with them, picking up phrases that were repeated, and jumping with them as they sang. When the songs were done, the leader introduced our team and asked our leader to give a greeting. Scott spoke a sentence at a time in English, waiting for our guide to translate each one. He thanked them for coming out to meet with us and then introduced me.
The Samburu people of Kenya are a tribe of shepherds who keep cows, mainly, but also sheep, goats and camels. Like their close kin, the Maasai, the Samburu believe that all the cattle on earth belong to them. They live in round huts made of sticks, mud and cow dung, in groups of five to 10 families. Since most of the Samburu cannot read, they learn through storytelling. This is why they had gathered on a Wednesday night with a group of 12 American Christians: They had come to worship God and hear his stories.
I stepped up and began to speak about the God I know through the person of Jesus Christ. I told them the story from Luke 13, where Jesus called a woman out of the crowd at the synagogue. She had been bent over for 18 years, unable to stand up straight. He told her that the bondage she suffered was now broken. This was likely a woman that everyone knew, but nobody noticed. They passed her on the way in, but she stayed outside, marginalized by her infirmity. Until the day that Jesus came.
I told the Samburu that Jesus laid his hands on her, and “immediately she was made straight, and glorified God.” That is the Gospel, I told them. Jesus saw her when she could not raise herself to look at him. Jesus called her, spoke the word to her, touched her and made her a new person. “He can do the same for you.”
We stood in the dark with tribesmen and women 8,000 miles away to proclaim that the light of the world is Jesus Christ. He loved the woman who was bound by sin. He loves the Samburu just as much.

In response to letters some of my writing students sent to the newspaper, a woman wrote, “Rev. Fox usually stays away from politics and writes about religion.” There are at least three things wrong with that statement. The first bone I have to pick is with the title “Rev. Fox.” I never use that title in correspondence. Most of the adults who know me call me Mark. A few call me Pastor Fox. Mrs. Johnson, the widow who used to live across the street called me “Preacher Fox.” She would call often and ask me if I could come over and help her with something. One time, she called because her TV wasn’t working, and when I got there, she looked at me with sad old puppy dog eyes and said, “Preacher Fox, I can’t get my TV to come on, and you know I need to see my stories.” I told her not to worry and started trying to diagnose the problem as she walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Mrs. Johnson, come in here and I will show you what I found,” I said, after looking behind the TV. As she walked in, I held up the cord which had been unplugged and left laying on the floor. “Here’s your problem,” I said, looking into her eyes and watching her try not to smile as she said, “Oh, is that what it was? My goodness! Well, come into the kitchen and set a while. I poured us a Coke.” The thought of that dear lady, who was not petite by any stretch, crawling under that TV to unplug it so that she could have some company that morning still makes me smile, and a little sad, too. Back to the point. Widows sometimes call me Preacher Fox. My kids call me Dad. My grandsons call me “Gan-Gan.” But nobody but the Times-News and those who write letters to take me to task call me Rev. Fox. I am always a pastor, though not always a good one, but I never want to be known as “Rev. Fox.”
The second problem I have with the letter is more serious. The dear lady says I usually write about religion. I don’t. “Religion” refers to every system of belief about a “higher power” in which the adherents to that belief try to “bind themselves back” to the god whom they believe will somehow be impressed by their good deeds. That definition would cover every known manmade system of religion, but not Christianity. I write about Jesus Christ, who was equal with God, came to earth as a man, was born of a virgin, lived a sinless life, took our sins upon himself on the cross so that we, who have done absolutely nothing to impress God and never could, would by grace and through faith cross over from darkness to light, from death to life, and will one day live in eternity with God the Father and Jesus his Son.
The third problem I see is the idea that we “reverends” need to stick to religion. C.S. Lewis said, “I believe in Christianity like I believe in the sun, not only because I see it, but by it, I see everything else.” The Bible says “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” which is precisely why the followers of Jesus need to speak and write and teach from a biblical worldview on every subject under the sun. It doesn’t mean that we know anything better than anyone else. However, we know the One who does.

When I was 13 years old and weighed about 95 pounds, I joined my junior high school football team. At one of the first practices where contact was involved, we got introduced to what the coach called “the meat grinder.” The name fit. Two boys lined up facing each other, 10 yards apart. On either side were tackling dummies, laid end to end, to create a narrow channel within which the “meat” could be ground. One boy was designated the runner, and handed a football, the other designated the tackler, and was given jeers and whistles and other forms of encouragement by the rest of the team.
I was called into the meat grinder, and the coach gave me the ball. A 14-year-old named “C.D.” (who as I recall was already shaving, stood 6 feet tall and weighed in at 165 pounds) crouched on the other end, ready to grind me into powder.
If this were a Disney movie, I would have bowled C.D. over, knocking him senseless, and the other boys would have carried me on their shoulders to the locker room, coach running to catch us, anxious to talk to me about being their star running back that year.
This was not a Disney movie.
C.D. hit me like a freight train, driving me back past the point where I had started running, and finished the job by landing with his full weight on my skinny frame. I lay there for a few minutes as the team snickered into their hands, and then I slowly raised my body from the dust, mentally checking to see if I still had all of my body parts. The only thing I can figure is, the coach was trying to get me to quit, but I was too stupid or too proud or both. I stayed on the team … but not really.
You see, though our team went undefeated that year, I never saw one minute of playing time. It wasn’t because the coach didn’t try to get me in the game. We would be up by 45 points at halftime, usually, and in the second half the coach would start putting in the scrubs. Eventually, he made his way to me.
“Fox, have you been in the game yet?” he would always ask.
“Yes sir!” I would always squeak, mortified that he would call my bluff and make me play. But the coach knew what was going on, and he didn’t push it.
I was a part of a championship team, but I never got in the game. I was on the sidelines the whole year, cheering on my teammates, thankful to be there, but praying I would not have to actually go on the field and face my opponents.
I am still part of a championship team, the undefeatable church of Jesus Christ. The apostle Paul said, “We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair.” I think he knew something about being in the meat grinder. His response was never to retreat to the bench and the protection of the sideline. Paul, like his Savior, endured the trials, knowing that victory would come to those who put their trust in God.
I have been through a few “meat grinders” since that year in junior high. Not on the football field, but in ministry, in marriage, and in the day-to-day challenges that can leave us all bruised and bewildered. But by God’s grace, I will never retreat to the bench again.

My favorite place at the Myrtle Beach marathon was the pre-race expo, and especially the bumper stickers that were for sale. One said, “If you find me on the road, please drag me across the finish line.” Or, “If you can read this, I’m not in last place!” Or, “This IS my race pace.” The next morning, I saw people holding some of the same signs, and many others. Some were signs of encouragement for the 6,000 runners who passed by. Some people were just trying to be funny, and they were. Like the guy just a half a mile into the race whose sign read, “One. Lousy. Parade.” Then, there was the lady holding up a sign about 10 miles in that said, “My husband knows a shortcut.” Or the one that said, “The Kenyans finished an hour ago.” Some were meant to be funny, but just were not. When I was in the most pain of the race, around mile 24, I passed a guy whose sign read, “Is that all you got?” The most encouraging sign I read said, “I am exactly .3 miles from the finish line.” That was a sight for sore legs. The only sign that was better than that said, “Finish.”
Paul holds up a sign in his first letter for Timothy, who was a sometimes fragile, sometimes discouraged young pastor, that says, “But you, O man of God.” Man of God! Timothy, Paul seems to say, remember who you are. You are a man of God. I wish we could know somehow what effect that had on Timothy. Did he break into a huge grin when he read that? Or did he break down and weep in relief and thanksgiving?
More importantly, would the testimony of God and his word be the same for you? What is your identity? Are you a man or woman of God? Would you be able to say with confidence that you are one of his “peculiar people,” as Peter refers to believers? If you are born again, having been purchased by the peculiar and unique manner of the blood of the Savior on a cross, you are a man of God or a woman of God, no matter your age. You have been made to “stand” because of what Jesus Christ did, not through anything you have done or ever will do. “Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.”
How are we able to stand? By grace. How do we get grace? Through faith. But where does it come from? Through our Lord Jesus Christ. What is the result of this grace applied to our lives? We have peace with God. How? We have been justified. What can we do as a result? Rejoice in hope of the glory of God. This is why Christians around the world will celebrate tomorrow, and indeed, why we celebrate every day. Jesus Christ hung on a cross for six hours one Friday, was dead and buried from 3 p.m. Friday until sometime before dawn Sunday, and then he rose again from the dead. He appeared to Peter, to the other disciples, and to more than 500 at once. Great news! Christ has conquered death for us who believe. Do you know him? If you do, then you know what many in the world can only dream about. You know who you are.

Last week, we talked about the richest people on earth, those who have godliness with contentment, who know that what they brought into the world is exactly what they will carry out. Who, then, are the poorest people on earth? The Bible makes that equally clear: Those who desire to be rich because of greed, who have a love for money. A story in the Old Testament illustrates the pitfalls that accompany a pursuit of possessions.
Elisha, the prophet of God, told Naaman the Syrian commander how he could be cured of leprosy. Grateful for God’s intervention, Naaman offered Elisha a big payoff, which the prophet promptly refused. Elisha’s servant, Gehazi, thinking his master had lost his mind, went to find Naaman in secret and lied to him, saying that Elisha had changed his mind and really did fancy the goods that the commander could offer. Naaman gladly gave Gehazi some nice stuff, which the sly servant stashed in secret. When Gehazi returned to his master, Elisha said, “Where did you go, Gehazi?” Gehazi lied like a child: “I didn’t go anywhere.” Elisha told his servant everything Gehazi had just done, and said that because Gehazi had taken things from Naaman when it was not time to receive such, now Gehazi would receive something he and his descendants did not want — leprosy. “Therefore the leprosy of Naaman shall cling to you and to your descendants forever.”
Two things stand out to me from this story in 2 Kings 5. First, greed always has traveling companions, and they are usually lying or lust. Remember the definition of an idol? It is something we are willing to sin to get. If we have a desire to be rich, the Bible teaches that we will be willing to compromise the truth in order to get what we want. Second, when we desire to be rich and we get what we want, we also get what we don’t want. Paul says it clearly in 1 Timothy: A desire for riches leads to “many foolish and harmful lusts which drown men in destruction and perdition.” A love for money leads you to go places you would not ordinarily go, and do things you would not ordinarily do. A love for money also leads you to form alliances with people you would normally avoid.
So, the question some of you may be asking yourself is this: How do I know if I have a love for money? I give Alistair Begg credit for this list of questions, though I have added a few of my own. Here are 10 indications that I may love money more than I should:
When thoughts of money consume my day. When I am always on the lookout for the latest get-rich-quick scheme. When the financial success of others makes me jealous. When I find myself looking down on those who have less than I have. When I am tempted to define success in terms of what I have rather than who I am in Christ. When my family is neglected in my pursuit of money. When I close my eyes to the genuine needs of others. When I live in the paralyzing fear of losing my money. When I am prepared to borrow myself into bondage. When God receives my leftovers rather than my first fruits. These are the poorest people on earth. Do you see yourself in that list? Then there is hope for you to get off the track you are on and become one of the richest.

When one of my sons was a toddler, he put every toy he owned in his backpack. Then, he had one of his brothers help him put his backpack on because it was too heavy to lift by himself. After a struggle, it was done. My son promptly fell on his back, like an upended turtle, dragged down by the weight of all he was trying to hold onto. Did he own the stuff? Or did the stuff own him?
Then, there’s the story of the little boy who kept getting into trouble because he would take a toy from one of his brothers or sisters. Each time, he was told by his parents, “Give that toy back. Your brother (or your sister) had it first.” So, one morning the father walked past the little boy’s bedroom and heard his son crowing with delight as he lay, spread-eagle over every toy in the house that he had piled up in the middle of the floor. He was saying triumphantly, “I have ‘em first today!”
Paul makes a statement in 1 Timothy 6 that I wonder if we should write in permanent ink on our checkbook covers, stencil on the walls of our houses and even scratch with a penknife into the dashboards of our cars. He said, “Now godliness with contentment is great gain.” What? You mean having the most toys is not the way to victory or even to great gain? I thought I could only be content if I had every need met along with most of my wants. It reminds me of the king who was not happy with his life and suffered greatly, to the point that he could not sleep or eat. His wise men told the king that if he could wear the shirt of a contented man, he would be cured of his suffering. So, the search began for such a man, but not one could be found in the whole kingdom. Emissaries were then sent beyond the kingdom, and finally, outside the realm, a contented man was found. But he had no shirt.
Where do we find contentment? Apparently, it cannot be found in money, no matter how much we are able to amass. John D. Rockefeller said, “I have made many millions, but it has brought me no happiness.”
Being content starts with right thinking about stuff and about God. What did you have when you were born? Nothing. What will you carry with you when you die? Nothing. After John D. Rockefeller died, his aide was asked how much he left behind. The aid answered, “He left it all behind.” Job said it like this: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there.” Job knew that everything he “owned,” including his health, was temporal and the One who owned him was eternal. God alone is our source for contentment.
Think about this. Everything in your house will end up in the landfill. Your house will fall down and be hauled off, piece by piece. Our money can buy a house, but not a home. It can buy a vacation, but it cannot buy rest. It can buy a health care plan but it cannot buy health. It can buy a wedding ceremony, but it cannot buy a blessed marriage. It can buy a college degree but it cannot buy understanding. Contentment cannot be bought, but it must be sought.
The truth is that if we have contentment, we have everything. Then we will be among the richest people on earth.