A Little Bit of the Griswolds in Us All

“But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.” – 1 Timothy 6:6–8

I tend to spend a great deal of time thinking about the future, and I doubt that I’m in the minority. Every year of my 28-year teaching career, from the middle of August until the end of May, hardly a day went by that the specter of upcoming classes wasn’t on my mind. The rhythm of the school year created a continuous anticipation, which often served as a mental escape from the daily grind.

Many jobs have similar demands and result in a preoccupation that is neither comfortable nor encouraging. The constant pressure and ongoing responsibilities lead many to dream of a future, a time or place that offers a break from present struggles. In the modern vernacular, we are going to “our happy place.”

Usually, when I returned to work in the blistering month of August, I thought about the joys of football season, cooler weather, and celebrating the holiday season with my family. In January, when all of that was in the past, the happy place became spring break on a cruise ship and, eventually, extended time off during the blessed summer break.

The Apostle Paul’s reminder about contentment deserves our attention. We often wish for a day or an event to be our escape, only to realize that the very things we thought would satisfy us are fleeting.

Last year’s cruise had more than its share of disappointments—noisy hallways, rough seas, and crowded, hectic meals. Of course, we’ve also had cruises where the adventure began long before the buffet lines—like the one where, soaked from a sprint through a Biblical deluge outside the terminal, I ducked into a restroom to wring myself out. And there I stood, trying in vain to dry myself with tissue so thin it made spider webs look rugged.

Still, I know we’ll approach the next holiday with those same rose-colored glasses, ready to be dazzled anew.

And yet, the smallest moments often rise above the rest.

One morning in the ship’s main dining room, Becky noticed something peculiar at our table: two pepper shakers—but no salt. I turned them over and discovered they weren’t just redundant—they were empty.

With both waiters standing by, I said, “We have two pepper shakers… and both of those are empty.”

They doubled over in laughter. One replied without missing a beat: “It’s okay. They’re just table decorations anyway.”

That got us laughing too. No gourmet buffet, no serene escape—but that tiny moment became the brightest part of the morning. Sometimes, joy doesn’t need polish. It just needs company.

One reason the Vacation movies have proved to be so popular is that we can all relate to the experiences of the Griswold family. No, we might not have found ourselves taking a theme park security guard hostage with a BB gun or having a cousin empty a chemical toilet into a storm drain, but we can sympathize and laugh at their frustrations from a distance.

Walt Disney World is a fantastic family destination, but it’s easy to tell the families who just arrived from those that have been in the park for a week. Those families that marched through the gates with such joy and anticipation on Day 1 are, a few days later, reduced to reenacting the infamous Bataan Death March. They no longer remember why EPCOT is a must-see, but they are driven to make it through the World Showcase from Albania to Zambia.

In the epic novel Lonesome Dove, a young woman named Lorena has long dreamed of escaping her hot, miserable life in south Texas and heading to San Francisco. She has heard that it is a cool and comfortable town, but her dreams of that paradise are built entirely on stories she’s heard. Older and wiser, her friend Gus, a seasoned Texas Ranger, tells her: “Lorie darlin’, life in San Francisco, you see, is still just life. If you want any one thing too badly, it’s likely to turn out to be a disappointment. The only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things, like a sip of good whiskey in the evening, a soft bed, a glass of buttermilk, or a feisty gentleman like myself.”

But Gus may have had it right all along. The real treasure isn’t found in the itinerary—it’s hidden in the ordinary. A soft bed after a long day. A feisty morning laugh. Grandkid hijinx, quiet dinners, and even our weekly Costco quests—predictable as they are—still spark a glimmer of discovery and joy in the ordinary.

And for these, we don’t need to carry a passport or pack a bag.