Holy Longing
November 03, 2008
The best beauty product is to have a life. A real
life.
With challenges, disappointments, stress, and
laughter. The Art of
Imperfection
(When I am not grounded) I believe that whatever I
seek in miracles, the
sacred, intervention of the divine is not in a place
where I am now--in a place other than this moment.
They have this in common: we don't look at the world
around us as places where God lives.
Abraham Heschel
Charlie Brown is standing at a candy counter. We
don't see the sales person behind the counter. We
see only Charlie standing, with candy in hand,
responding to her, "Yes, ma'am, I'd like to buy a box of
valentine candy for a girl who doesn't know I
exist."
"No ma'am," he says, "nothing too expensive."
He continues, "I'll never have the nerve to give it to her anyway."
We are a mixture of longing and fear. I can relate to Charlie Brown.
I know about longing. Longing is whatever the red- headed girl--the girl of Charlie's dreams--represents. It is the litany of "if onlys" and "what I've been waiting for," those objects of my longing that will offer me
love
or contentment
or admiration
or affection
or well being
or affirmation
or peace
or even just a day of rest.
Which is the conundrum. We need, no we require, something to gratify or satisfy or fill the longing. In other words, the longing is a snag in the system. Something that needs to be resolved. It is surely a sign of weakness, we tell ourselves, a weakness that needs to be fixed.
Here's the odd part: It's almost as if the fix (the secret, the key, the "answer to prayer") will allow us to "escape" from ourselves.
At least from this conflicted self.
Here's the tough question: Am I willing to be loved for being this me, standing at the counter with my bag of candy?
Because if I cannot, I will not be able to abide my disquiet.
Zach said to us the other day, "You know, in my other school, how I was well-mannered? Well, at this new school a virus kind of covered me like an infection."
Disquiet can feel like an infection (or a weight). And I can carry that weight, of unrequited longing.
Of dreams that do not come true.
Of restless days in crammed and overflowing lives.
Of broken hearts and lost promises.
Of the sense of insecurity (telling me that whatever I did was not enough).
And here is what I do know for certain: when I see those part of myself that need to be "fixed," or "remedied" or "coped with," I am waiting for a life "not yet." And I am unable to embrace the life (even this longing filled life) I have today. I miss the sacredness in all things. All things. I do not see that all of life, including my longings--those both realized and unrealized--are infused with the imprint of God.
And I know that maybe, just maybe, my longings themselves are holy, and I can rest in them. Even when I have a broken heart.
On Saturday night, I enjoyed a feast of catfish and blackberry cobbler at the Loco Coyote--a Texas hangout in the proverbial middle of nowhere. I will have to admit, that even though I say it is okay to abide my disquiet, catfish, hushpuppies and cobbler come awful close to satisfying whatever may have been nagging at me.
The sun has dipped beyond sight, and the horizon, stretched across an endless Texas sky, is a band of color, the deep orange of a ripe peach. Random steel blue clouds float above. The serenity calms me, and I feel at home, even with the parts of me that are still unresolved.
"No ma'am," he says, "nothing too expensive."
He continues, "I'll never have the nerve to give it to her anyway."
We are a mixture of longing and fear. I can relate to Charlie Brown.
I know about longing. Longing is whatever the red- headed girl--the girl of Charlie's dreams--represents. It is the litany of "if onlys" and "what I've been waiting for," those objects of my longing that will offer me
love
or contentment
or admiration
or affection
or well being
or affirmation
or peace
or even just a day of rest.
Which is the conundrum. We need, no we require, something to gratify or satisfy or fill the longing. In other words, the longing is a snag in the system. Something that needs to be resolved. It is surely a sign of weakness, we tell ourselves, a weakness that needs to be fixed.
Here's the odd part: It's almost as if the fix (the secret, the key, the "answer to prayer") will allow us to "escape" from ourselves.
At least from this conflicted self.
Here's the tough question: Am I willing to be loved for being this me, standing at the counter with my bag of candy?
Because if I cannot, I will not be able to abide my disquiet.
Zach said to us the other day, "You know, in my other school, how I was well-mannered? Well, at this new school a virus kind of covered me like an infection."
Disquiet can feel like an infection (or a weight). And I can carry that weight, of unrequited longing.
Of dreams that do not come true.
Of restless days in crammed and overflowing lives.
Of broken hearts and lost promises.
Of the sense of insecurity (telling me that whatever I did was not enough).
And here is what I do know for certain: when I see those part of myself that need to be "fixed," or "remedied" or "coped with," I am waiting for a life "not yet." And I am unable to embrace the life (even this longing filled life) I have today. I miss the sacredness in all things. All things. I do not see that all of life, including my longings--those both realized and unrealized--are infused with the imprint of God.
And I know that maybe, just maybe, my longings themselves are holy, and I can rest in them. Even when I have a broken heart.
On Saturday night, I enjoyed a feast of catfish and blackberry cobbler at the Loco Coyote--a Texas hangout in the proverbial middle of nowhere. I will have to admit, that even though I say it is okay to abide my disquiet, catfish, hushpuppies and cobbler come awful close to satisfying whatever may have been nagging at me.
The sun has dipped beyond sight, and the horizon, stretched across an endless Texas sky, is a band of color, the deep orange of a ripe peach. Random steel blue clouds float above. The serenity calms me, and I feel at home, even with the parts of me that are still unresolved.
Poems / Prayers
Cairns
Eternal pilgrims we,
on the sometimes broken
sometimes silken
path
we call our lives.
Longing pilgrims we,
hungrily seeking
stones and rocks
all shapes and sizes
to point the way.
Blessed pilgrims we,
when the stories of our lives
sometimes broken
sometimes silken
are deemed cairns
by he one who truly listens.
Jennifer Hoffmann
Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name, you are mine.
Should you pass through the sea,
I will be there with you;
or through rivers, they will not swallow you up.
Should you walk through fire, you will not be scorched
and the flames will not burn you
You are precious in my eyes, I love you
Do not be afraid, for I am with you.
Book of Isaiah
Peace,
Terry Hershey
