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From my journal: I eavesdropped on a conversation among some barely teenaged boys and girls the other day. Their topic: The Simpsons and family dysfunctionality. This led to exchanges about families the kids knew that were unraveling, producing more than a little sadness. The dialogue migrated to thoughts from one or two about ways in which family life can be spiffed up. And then this remark from one of the boys: "My family doesn't need any improvement." You may want to read that line again and save it with your 1915 buffalo nickel and other rare things.

The words, from a 13-year-old, were not spoken with pomposity, but rather quietly and matter-of-factly … like he really meant it.

I'm not naïve. I knew this kid might feel differently a day later when his mother insists that he take a shower or his father proposes a lawn cutting. But in that unguarded moment, it was a wonderful surprise to hear someone express supreme contentment with a set of close relationships.

The comment was an exaggeration, of course, but let's call it an affectionate exaggeration. A psychologist would find a way to deconstruct it in a moment. Just like a critic would in evaluating a performance or a mechanic in listening to an engine or a finance person in reading an annual report. But in this case, you're hearing a deeper message than one that might be tested under cross-examination.

The phrase, "needs no improvement," belongs with observations like "I've never seen someone so attractive," and "He (or she) is the best there is," or "It doesn't get any better than that." These are not scientific or clinical or even doctrinal statements. They just indicate well-being or personal delight.

The boy's thought about his family stayed with me for a while. Why? Well, to be honest, one is not used to hearing such commendation come from a teenager unless it's about a video game or a slice of pizza. But his family? The kid was really content about something as it is. It needs no improvement.

I went on musing on how so much adult discourse these days centers on problems and potentials: something is wrong or something needs to be better. And it caused me to ask myself if we have taught ourselves to be perpetually discontent. Is there ever a moment in which it's OK to say that someone or something "needs no improvement"? I would like to hear that more from myself and from others.

Perhaps this is partly why I am impatient with sports that rely on judges to score performance. They start with a standard of perfection and always go downward from there. A magnificent ice skater, for example, soars through the air making turns and flips that boggle the mind. And then the commentator (justifying his job maybe?) says, "Uh-oh: did you see that? She came down with her big toe pointing north instead of northeast. That deduction will knock her down three-tenths of a point and into third place." To mimic John Stossel: Give me a break.

In the world of organized Christianity, the problem/potential model of thinking—something is wrong; something needs to get better—forms lots of sermons, books, and funding appeals. Let's dote on how bad something is, the preacher or writer says, so that I and my organization can be the hero when I fix it or explain it for you.

I tried to think as quickly as I could about three places in the Bible where someone expressed feelings akin to my 13-year-old friend's feelings about his family.

How about the day Moses told the people they'd given more than enough money to Bezalel and Oholiab's tabernacle project and they needed to stop donating. How would you like to get a letter that started, "Dear Partners, we're returning your check because …"

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