Fount of Every Blessing

Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount; I’m fixed upon it, mount of God’s unchanging love.

Today was a good day.

I woke up slowly next to a husband who loves me more than I will ever be able to comprehend.

Lily was stirring in the cradle, which had been hand-carved by a dear friend’s father and lent to us as a symbol that we are not just friends but family. Darren picked her up and laid her in the bed between us. Even a month after her birth, we still are so taken with our second child that we just gazed at her quietly together.

Next, Will came down the steps and into our room—a rare occasion since he usually calls to us to come upstairs when he wakes up. He snuggled up with the rest of us, giggled and played with his toy trains for a while. Even our cat curled up at my feet to complete the magazine cliché of a happy young family. The intellectual in me considered making some joke about how we had finally attained the bourgeois ideal of happiness and security, but I found myself too content to risk ruining a moment of such quiet joy.

Of course, the day picked up steam. Coffee, Thomas videos, showers, breakfast, dishes, email. Just as I was rushing off to my karate class, Darren handed me the credit card to do a little post-maternity shopping. At class, I was invigorated to be able to exercise at almost my pre-caesarean level; shopping for new clothes at my pre-pregnancy size was even more exciting.

In the late afternoon, our whole family went to a relaxed, delightful party at a local park. Even the weather was perfect. Darren went to meet a friend for a round of golf, and I took the kids home. Lily stayed asleep while I put Will to bed a full hour and a half early, then she woke up right on time for her early evening feeding. She went back to sleep immediately, and I drew a bath with aromatic lavender bubbles that were a gift from my (step)Mom when Will was born. And I poured a glass of red wine that another close friend had brought over earlier in the week.

It was while I was sitting in the bath that I began to reflect on how incredibly good the day had been. Here I was, soaking in a garden tub in a house we should never have been able to afford, drinking wine that I didn’t buy, and reflecting on all the goodness I’ve just described. Afterward, I would put on brand new pajamas (not the only thing I bought with the Discover card) and a rich lotion that came as a free gift with my purchase. For a moment, I thought, “I should feel guilty about this. It’s all so frivolous and unnecessary, and there are so many people who deserve this more than I do.”

That led me to the question, “Where is the place for luxury in the Christian life?” Surely, comfort and luxury are not to be sought after; we are to seek after Christ. But there are times, like today, when luxury seems to be dumped in our laps. What are we to do? Should we renounce them categorically, since our only true need is for God’s love and the redeeming work of Christ? Or, should we enjoy them with the mindset that God has created wonderful things both for His pleasure and our own? Is mere thankfulness enough to justify this enjoyment? Where does sacrifice and ‘dying to self’ fit into this picture?

Then, I began to reconsider the question altogether. I am calling these things luxury: a loving family, a beautiful house, a peaceful evening. But that must mean that there are things to which I feel entitled, things which I don’t consider luxury but necessity. Food, shelter, work, peace of mind. These aren’t blessings—they are things I assume God should give me.

In light of the Gospel, however, I know I am a depraved sinner who deserves nothing but God’s judgment and wrath. Both Darren and I have become keenly aware of this truth in the past year, and particularly in the past couple weeks, as we work through some incredibly difficult situations together. It is a truth that leaves little room for categories: anything good is luxury, and I don’t deserve any of it.

I don’t write this out of guilt or asceticism. Quite the opposite—this points at the true freedom found in the Gospel. I can enjoy a bubble bath with thankfulness just as I enjoy having food to feed my family or a job to pay the bills. There is no difference. God is the Fount of every blessing, and for the Christian, everything is a blessing: “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

Not only that, I also don’t have to fear losing the things I love or enjoy. They are not the source of my contentment or peace of mind, so I know that God will sustain me with or without them. In fact, even our struggles and sufferings are good because God uses them to refine us and to prove His complete provision for all our needs: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4).

Most of all, knowing that I am not only forgiven but loved by a God who knows every evil thought I’ve ever entertained and every sinful action I’ve ever committed is the most freeing truth of all. This grace and love are the true luxuries, and they are absolutely at the center of the Christian life.

Let that grace now, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee.