I woke at four this morning with excruciating stomach cramps. I'd lost track of what time of the month it was, and so it was a nasty, painful surprise. I've not seen the grey-blue nearside of morning for a while. It reminds me of being a student, of watching the dawn across the water meadow, looking towards Magdalen Tower, the delicate fog hovering over purple fritilleries, the clear, cold avenue of trees lining a damp footpath beside a field of deer, skitting and flirting every morning outside my window.

Outside my window now, the sun is rising, and the sky brushing the rooftops is turning from pale blue to white-gold. I've been awake for nearly three hours, watching "The Painted Veil" and trying to ignore the gripping ache in my lower abdomen.

I was at home there, dark grey cloisters, Hogwarts-esque dining hall, odd little bar, and all. And that was about being at home in beauty, but in the beauty of a network of loving friendships most of all. I have been wondering why, in London, where I am settled now and have a full-time job and a full-time church, I do not feel as "at home" and at peace as I felt before. My friends near Bristol live in a close-knit community, living between eachothers' houses, which makes some people feel claustrophobic but for others - myself included - it is a continual source of energy and joy. Here, my closest friends live scattered about this huge city, and there's always the last tube home, and the solitary walk in the dark from the tube station to consider.

I've been shown very clearly that it's right to move from the house I'm living now, but God hasn't made it clear where I'm meant to be moving to. I have a few weeks to work that out. But it's something I'm feeling positive about - I love the excitement of change, of a new phase, growth. I'll have been at work in London for a year on September 3, and to coincide with that I'll be finding a new place to live, and... well, I've had several "high water mark" moments recently, demonstrating how much things have changed in the past year.

Who doesn't want to be content? Contentment is not about being "comfortable," as a wise friend of mine said. And it isn't complacency. But I'm learning that sustainable contentment is not an accident but a lifestyle choice. "I have learnt the secret of being content in any and every situation," says Paul (Philippians 4:12). There's a secret to contentment that doesn't get shattered by every sea change. "The fear of the Lord leads to life: then one rests content, untouched by trouble." (Proverbs 19:23). "And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:19). I said to God, "I don't want to go scrabbling around for what I think I need, because you won't shortchange me - everything I need, you're going to provide abundantly "according to the riches of your glory."" Everything I have, I want to come out of that, because it's the best possible. And knowing that, I can learn to be content, even in the wait. That's the idea, anyway.

Oh, and there's one other thought, too. Someone who has learned the secret of contentment can share that contentment with others. There's a part in the beautiful Song of Songs poem where the woman's brothers ask her if she's been a wall with silver towers, who has kept and protected her beauty and purity for one man - or if she's been a door, allowing anyone to possess and exploit her beauty. She responds that she has been a wall, and then says, "thus I have become in his eyes like one bringing contentment." (Song 8:10). There is something so beautiful about being a person of "one thing," not chasing after perceived "needs" or "wants," but following after God's heart for one's life - that it's like a girl who's willingly and joyfully kept herself aside for the man she loves on their wedding night. There's no chasing, no striving, no manipulating, no self-preservation, no angst. Contagious contentment. Please let me be like one who brings contentment.