I sat at a lakeside coffee shop in Austin one morning eight years ago. It was the spring that it never stopped raining- a Texas El Nino spring. Every day was grey and wet. Those types of days were not what I expected when I envisioned my new life in Texas- I thought it would be all sun and cactuses and wide open skies. But that's not what it turned out to be that first spring. It was fitting, the way that weather descended upon on the quirky little city. It suited the mood of my life- unexpectedly dark.
From my table, I watched raindrops hit the lake, each one creating a tiny crater in the water that then expanded into a perfect circle- like the blip on a radar screen. Before the water could recover, could recalibrate to a glossy, smooth surface, another raindrop would hit and the whole thing would start over again. Each drop, damaging the stillness of the water, a pulse of disturbance.
Yes, dark and disturbed. Those words fit. But I didn't want them to. I was a newlywed in my late twenties. I expected that season to be light, filled with joy- I had wanted to be married so badly. I knew (in my head) that trouble comes in all seasons- single, married, kids, no kids- trouble comes. But, for what had seemed like a long time, my trouble had been loneliness. And that trouble had departed the day I met Andy. But troubles are a part of the human condition, something we are guaranteed to encounter. And when one trouble departs, it isn't long before another one takes its place. The trouble that was settling into my life on that rainy spring morning was unexpected, unwelcome and unsettling.
I want to be loved. I want to be valued. I want to be listened to and believed. I want to be understood.
I didn't know it at the time because it was all too fresh and confusing, but when I sat at that coffee shop that day, those desires were pulsating in my flesh and soul and mind, spreading out and touching every facet of who I am. In and of itself it wasn't a new sensation. I've always felt these desires. But, when I was younger, before I obeyed Jesus, I tried to get those desires met in my own way. Then, when I was a sophomore in college, God chased me down, and I gave my life to Him. After that, I started gradually trusting and obeying. Those wants were still there, but I was now looking to God and other Christians to meet them.
You'd think that would be safe, but it isn't. And that's what was fresh on that El Nino morning. Christians are not always safe.
I had gone to a group of Christians with something that was bewildering and burdening to me. Something that was troubling me so much that I was sinning in my anger. I knew that my flesh was weak, I didn't want to continue to fester, so I spoke up. My words, at times, are too much, too strong. God has (and still is) editing my mind and my mouth. I don't know what my words were exactly, but I know my heart was- I want to be loved. I want to be valued. I want to be listened to, believed and understood. But I wasn't. What I spoke up about opened a Pandora's box I could never have imagined.
So those desires became questions deep within me, burrowing into the very fibers of my being, pulsing, expanding, disturbing- like those rain drops on one of the first days of this life season. Will you love me? Will you value me? Will you listen to me? Will you believe me? Will you try to understand? In my deepest parts, I have been asking those questions of these Christians for a very long time. I've asked as I've walked along the Seine in Paris, when I've wandered Las Ramblas in Barcelona, when I've sipped coffee and watched the sunrise in the Dominican Republic, when I've sat in traffic in Austin, when I've gazed at the stars in the Rockies, when I've smelled the wet earth of Appalachia. They've pulsed all the more deeply when I've looked into my children's blue eyes. And when I look at the mirror and see that a woman of 35 has replaced the girl who started all this asking, it hasn't made me stop. It isn't something you grow out of, not in that sense anyway.
So, why am I writing this? Because, from that first time I spoke out (really, most likely, it was before then), I've been getting the same answer but not receiving it. I've been pushing back, hoping, praying, trying, striving, thinking, writing, doing, not doing, going a little bit crazy over it, but now finally... finally...finally...accepting. The answer is no.
That's hard. No is really, really hard. Christians don't like that answer. We don't like no. We are yes people, and for good reason. There's much to explore here. But for now, I'll end with this.
I'm beginning to feel less and less ashamed of my questions. I'll write a lot more about that later. There is no shame in desiring to be loved and listened to, valued and understood. It is kind and Christ-like to treat one another with empathy and understanding. When I haven't received those things, I have been absolutely wrecked. Learning to survive that deficit and continue in hope and belief is the theme of this story. But let me tell you, briefly, how Jesus, in this present moment, is transforming my mind.
I am not the only one asking these questions.
It's the middle of the night as I write this, and a little while ago, I let my dog outside. I looked up at a particularly bright star. It was pulsing. Radiating. And it made me think of the Bright Morning Star- my Savior, Jesus Christ. The Hero of this story. The God-Man, who has been asking me ALL THIS TIME- Will you love me? Will you value me? Will you listen to me? Will you believe me? Will you try to understand? Oh, Jesus. Yes. Let my answer be yes. Because, as I am learning, real love is demonstrated when we listen, value, believe and try to understand. So, Lord, let me listen to You. Let me value You. Let me believe You. Help me understand You.
Come with me. I'll tell you what I hear.
No comments:
Post a Comment