universe: Texas stadium. Three times earlier I had made it to the gates of the stadium, home of my beloved Dallas Cowboys, only to miss the last tour of the day. The fourth try promised to be a charm, in a big way: a sideline pass on the big Thanksgiving Day game; not just access to the stadium, but the very field itself. I was in heaven. Bury me under the sweet, green Astroturf of Texas stadium.

Eleven hours later, I was walking back to the car, exhausted. My back hurt, my neck hurt, my knees were shot and my team had just gotten killed on national television. I’d been walking all day — almost five hours prior to the game itself — and the bloody stumps inside my RocSports were developing quite an attitude. When I finally made it to the unlit, unmarked, auxiliary parking lot, I realized that I remembered neither where I had left my rental car nor exactly what it looked like. It was small: a two-door speck — dark purple, I thought, not that you could tell colors in that light — not much of a car, but it probably mows a good lawn.

Anyway, the process of looking for my car — which mostly involved wandering around while all the adult cars drove off, then picking over what was left — gave me plenty of time to think about the general issue of happiness and how unseemly it is for a healthy, reasonably successful adult in America to be anything other than deliriously grateful. It was Thanksgiving, after all, even if my feet hurt and I had missed a few moments in my shoot.

Photojournalism is fascinating — even before you look at actual photographs — in this rather voyeuristic aspect: At its best times, you are allowed deep inside people’s lives. We’re there to bring back moments — not just big ones like birth and death, but also the Little League championship, the dance recital, the farmer at harvest or the couple trying to pay bills at the kitchen table. The moments tell their stories.

But looking back on all those moments I’ve been allowed to borrow, I wonder how many of those people were truly, deeply happy; not just satisfied, but content. I wonder how often in the same process, I was the content one. To be honest, not nearly often enough.

In the fourth chapter of Philippians, Paul speaks on the issue of contentment.

I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:11-13).

With this passage and others, Paul gives us a glimpse of the biblical basis for true contentment in our lives.

Contentment can be learned.

Note that Paul says “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.” Whatever the nature of true contentment, it can be learned, through experience, or perhaps imitation, as Paul invited the Philippians to do just a few verses earlier.

Contentment is not based on external factors.

“I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”

True contentment goes far beyond the whims of circumstance. Indeed, some highly prosperous people are often the most miserable, because of what they stand to lose. Paul’s kind of contentment works regardless of external circumstances.This was proven in Paul’s life. Look at his account from 2 Corinthians 11:24-27…

“Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea, I have been constantly on the move. I have been in danger from rivers, in danger from bandits, in danger from my own countrymen, in danger from Gentiles; in danger in the city, in danger in the country, in danger at sea; and in danger from false brothers. I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked.”

Paul was imprisoned — and eventually beheaded — for his work spreading the gospel. Yet he was “content in all circumstances.”

Contentment prevents sin.

How many of the Ten Commandments would a truly content heart avoid breaking? By my count, at least seven, possibly all 10. As Paul said in 2 Timothy 6:6, “But godliness with contentment is great gain.”

Contentment is not complacency.

Paul hated to stay in one place. He was always looking for the next opportunity to share the gospel. He wrote of pressing on toward the goal, of finishing the race, of preparing for battle with a soldier’s armor of truth, faith, righteousness and the gospel of peace. If anyone refused to be complacent, it was Paul. Yet he had learned to be content in all circumstances.

Contentment is the natural response to Jesus Christ.

The contentment Paul spoke of isn’t some parlor trick he had picked up, nor even was it a matter of some kind of spiritual discipline. The contentment he learned was a natural consequence of truly knowing Christ.

“But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ” (Philippians 3:7-8).

Two months ago, my father-in-law died following a long battle with colon and liver cancer. He died in peace, having learned contentment. For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. My mother must live with constant pain from arthritis. For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. A co-worker and his wife rejoice in the little victories every parent experiences, yet must face the unique challenges of their daughter’s birth defect. For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. For any photographer, assignments bring us into contact with people in truly tragic circumstances, yet true contentment is available, though rarely found. For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.

Eventually, I found my car. The radio didn’t work. My feet still hurt. But I was content.