I'll never forget the day Cherie and I were standing in Home Depot. We had just bought our first house together, and like many honeymooners, we were convinced that buying a "fixer-upper" and putting some sweat equity into it would transform it from a house into a home. It's a stage every young couple seems to go through.
We bought paint sample after paint sample, drove home, and slathered them on the kitchen wall—only to have the color once again fail to meet my wife's expectations.
I looked at what felt like an infinite array of colors and shades that day, and deep down, I could sense the promise of happiness slipping through my fingers. As I browsed through the browns—mushroom, terracotta, meadow frost, birch, cottontail, earth—I was struck by a sobering realization: this endless palette guaranteed only one thing. No matter which color we chose, we wouldn't be completely happy. And that was just the kitchen wall! (If only I had the courage to tell you the joys that color choices brought to our young marriage in the weeks that followed...)
The Father was speaking to me that day. I wish I had listened instead of wasting my frustration. Though change has been slow, over the past decade, He has been transforming me in the arena of the proliferation of choice. Interestingly, much of this change has been born out of my fight to recover joy in life.
Fast-forward eight years. One day in prayer, I made one of the most life-giving decisions of our ten years of marriage. I came downstairs and said, "Cherie, here's what I would love. I'd love to take the choice of moving into a new home off the table—at least for today. Abigail is two. I’d love to be open to the possibility of staying in this same house until she graduates from high school."
Letting go of the modern obsession with the “perpetual upgrade of everything”—which for us often centered around our increasingly too-small house—felt both foolish and liberating. We were drowning in an ocean of choices.
“The neighbors are driving me crazy. The road is too dangerous for the kids to play. There’s no privacy. We have no flat screen, no stucco, no granite countertops, and I have no man space.”
All legitimate reasons to complain on some days. But I had fallen into a dangerous assumption—that greater happiness could be found in a “better” house. That assumption robbed us of the gifts and blessings we already had in our home. Over time, we realized:
We chose to live with less.
Through a mentor, God gave me the perfect message at the perfect time—a short but powerful talk by Barry Schwartz: The Paradox of Choice.
This talk is a must-watch for every man and woman consenting to their initiation.
I strongly encourage you to carve out 15 undisturbed minutes to watch this video. Then, take at least five minutes of genuine solitude to ask the Father:
"Where do I need to repent from the proliferation of choice? What choices do I need to surrender through an act of my will?"
We bought paint sample after paint sample, drove home, and slathered them on the kitchen wall—only to have the color once again fail to meet my wife's expectations.
I looked at what felt like an infinite array of colors and shades that day, and deep down, I could sense the promise of happiness slipping through my fingers. As I browsed through the browns—mushroom, terracotta, meadow frost, birch, cottontail, earth—I was struck by a sobering realization: this endless palette guaranteed only one thing. No matter which color we chose, we wouldn't be completely happy. And that was just the kitchen wall! (If only I had the courage to tell you the joys that color choices brought to our young marriage in the weeks that followed...)
The Father was speaking to me that day. I wish I had listened instead of wasting my frustration. Though change has been slow, over the past decade, He has been transforming me in the arena of the proliferation of choice. Interestingly, much of this change has been born out of my fight to recover joy in life.
Fast-forward eight years. One day in prayer, I made one of the most life-giving decisions of our ten years of marriage. I came downstairs and said, "Cherie, here's what I would love. I'd love to take the choice of moving into a new home off the table—at least for today. Abigail is two. I’d love to be open to the possibility of staying in this same house until she graduates from high school."
Letting go of the modern obsession with the “perpetual upgrade of everything”—which for us often centered around our increasingly too-small house—felt both foolish and liberating. We were drowning in an ocean of choices.
“The neighbors are driving me crazy. The road is too dangerous for the kids to play. There’s no privacy. We have no flat screen, no stucco, no granite countertops, and I have no man space.”
All legitimate reasons to complain on some days. But I had fallen into a dangerous assumption—that greater happiness could be found in a “better” house. That assumption robbed us of the gifts and blessings we already had in our home. Over time, we realized:
- Some neighbors had become remarkable friends.
- I could ride my bike to work.
- Cherie could walk the kids down the street to a great neighborhood park.
- Monster mule deer foraged in our front yard.
- Our mortgage was small and shrinking.
- We had stunning views of the Colorado mountains from both our east and west windows.
We chose to live with less.
Through a mentor, God gave me the perfect message at the perfect time—a short but powerful talk by Barry Schwartz: The Paradox of Choice.
This talk is a must-watch for every man and woman consenting to their initiation.
I strongly encourage you to carve out 15 undisturbed minutes to watch this video. Then, take at least five minutes of genuine solitude to ask the Father:
"Where do I need to repent from the proliferation of choice? What choices do I need to surrender through an act of my will?"
We abandoned the hamster wheel of modern young couples—the perpetual cycle of upgrading our home. Does that mean we’re not open to moving if God prompts us? Of course not. This decision flows from a deeper conviction—or at least the hope—that we are yielded to God.
By maintaining a posture of listening to God the Father and following His leading, we have buried the daily wondering, wrestling, and evaluating of “should we move or not?” As a result, our contentment and happiness have grown. The cup is more than half full. We’ve reclaimed another small piece of freedom and life.
Father, what “choices” do I need to repent of in this season of my initiation? Where has choice limited my freedom? I consecrate choice to You. I open my heart to the risky possibility that less may indeed be more. I ask that You would father me through this part of my initiation.
For the Kingdom,
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By maintaining a posture of listening to God the Father and following His leading, we have buried the daily wondering, wrestling, and evaluating of “should we move or not?” As a result, our contentment and happiness have grown. The cup is more than half full. We’ve reclaimed another small piece of freedom and life.
Father, what “choices” do I need to repent of in this season of my initiation? Where has choice limited my freedom? I consecrate choice to You. I open my heart to the risky possibility that less may indeed be more. I ask that You would father me through this part of my initiation.
For the Kingdom,
[signature]