One night last week I was just done. I came home, put on comfy clothes, and just knelt and prayed (and cried, let's be honest) for all these things, for loneliness, apathy, direction, faithlessness, pride, unfulfillment, etc., etc., etc. I think for the first time in my life, I felt like God was actually listening. And I realized, much to my chagrin, I can't change on my own. It was good, it was liberating. And then I watched House.
My friend Kate, who is wise beyond her years, said to me, "I think those times of lamenting are so important. I always feel such a weight being lifted off of my shoulders when I approach prayer with abandon and honesty. I really think God honors those times." It makes sense. I mean, why would I hold those things in? God knows. Most of the time I don't think God wants to hear me. He has starving and dying people to take care of, right? I guess He is a big God, but if I were God I don't know if I'd listen to me. When I asked if we'll ever feel "right", she said, "I don’t think life ever feels 'right' for anyone. People can put on a pretty good show and we might believe that they are completely happy, but I think that’s impossible. Because we’re not of this world we live in and so it can’t ever feel right. We’re created for eternity. I don’t remember this most of the time but I was actually just thinking about it the other day. I was listening to someone talk once about feeling homesick and that we as humans are bound to feel homesick our entire lives because this isn’t home. And we try to make it a comfortable place with money and family and a busy social life but that will never be enough. We will never be comfortable here. And in a way, thinking of the fact that I will never be comfortable is kind of comforting".
Here's the sad part. I have everything I need. I am comfortable, I am full, I am warm, I have a great support system, a loving family and more friends than I need. I have a good job, an inviting and loving church, etc. Yet I am left wanting more. I look around every corner for the next opportunity to change, or learn esoteric things, or escape, or feel less alone. I fear that these actions, while seemingly innocuous, will eventually, excruciatingly, lead to my demise. And I will have no one to blame but myself.
I know that I need to accept that God is pure love and that He wants to lavish that love on me, that He wants me to come to him, pajama-wearing, tear-stained and broken. I know that He is the only one who can fix me. He is the only one who can wipe those tears away.
