The next stop on my identity journey is John 6. I'm probably going to camp out here for a while, but I want to share something that happened today when I started digging in.
I read through the chapter and started outlining.
In John 6: 1-14 Jesus feeds 5,000
In John 6:16-24 Jesus walks on water as he and the disciples get over to the other side of the lake.
In John 6: 25-59 Jesus talks to the people who have come looking for him after the feeding miracle and tells them that he is the bread of life.
I stopped reading and looked across my screened in porch to the empty settee. I imagined Jesus sitting there, relaxing, as I am, for this hour of time while the three little things that make so much noise rest peacefully inside. I talk to him like he's a friend who has stopped by for a chat while the kids nap. I say, "So, I don't mean this disrespectfully, but I don't know how to connect this conversation you're having to my current circumstances. You were talking to these Jewish people who were steeped in their traditions, but didn't recognize you as the Son of God. My problems are with believers- people who have said that they recognize you as the Son, and have eaten your Bread."
He doesn't say anything, so I continue.
"I'm not saying that this is irrelevant. I think it's really relevant. But I just don't know how yet."
Then, something inside me says, "Go get a piece of bread."
Not wanting to miss out on something that might be important to this project, I get up and go to the kitchen and open up a ziploc of leftover rolls from Easter dinner. I pull off half a roll and bring it outside. I'm thinking- maybe I'll experience some sort of profound sensation as I eat it that will point me in the right direction.
Back on the porch, I put the roll in my mouth. It starts to dissolve, and it tastes a little bit like the plastic bag it's been in. Nothing profound happens- just the enzymes doing their thing, turning it into a mush that I swallow down.
"Were you hungry for that bread?" He asks.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I had already had so much to eat."
"Exactly," he says.
I'm not sure what I'm going to find here in John 6, but I know that my nap-time conversation with Jesus is revealing this- to really want the Bread of Life, I've got to get hungry for it. Hungry for Him.
What got me into this identity- quest to begin with? Wanting to be believed? Liked? Loved? Understood? Valued? How have I gone about trying to meet that need? I've tried just about everything- organizing, cleaning, yoga, therapy, friendships, adventures, reading, TV shows set in Britain, mysteries set in Quebec, Pinot Noir, Southern Living, talking (poor Andy... so much talking), writing, Bible study, posting pictures on social media, working, gardening- I've tried lots of good things. They fill my plate. They aren't bad. I'm not going to pretend like they are. They're good. I can keep them. I can keep all of them. But, He's right. Those things can suppress my hunger. When I am the cleaner, the organizer, or the yogi, I'm not hungry. When I'm the reader or the talker or the writer, I'm not hungry either. When I'm the teacher or the mom at play group or the wine-drinker at girls night out- I'm not working up an appetite for Jesus. If I want to eat Bread, I've got to get hungry.
For me, I think that means that anytime my internal struggle nags at me, I shouldn't load up on those favorite things to try to feel better. They curb my appetite. It's scary to think about not leaning into those pleasant distractions, because how I feel on the inside can be really unpleasant. My pain and insecurity are scary. I like to try to get away from them. I feel weak and guilty and stupid for feeling this way. My feelings frighten me. But they make me hungry.
Bread that comes down from heaven shouldn't be something that I'm too full to eat. Because it's the one type of Bread that I really need. I have a problem- a broken heart and a messed up identity, and there's a Fixer for that problem. He was on my porch with me this afternoon, letting me know that I need to get hungry.
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