emotions

Desire

What do you do with desire?

I’m not talking about “I desire bacon” or, “I desire a tropical vacation.”

I’m talking about deep heart desires, like the desire to be loved, respected, needed, safe, important, powerful, competent, noticed. If I don’t get bacon on any given day, I’m not going to be hurt. I’m not even going to be hurt if I don’t get chocolate, though maybe a little disappointed. But if my desire to be loved goes unmet, there is potential for deep ache. So what do I do?

Most people would agree there are two main directions we sway. One is to demand that desire is met. This often looks like anger and contempt. My kids disobey, and I insist that they change. I yell and put my foot down and demand that they do what I ask. Why? Because that’s what parents should do? No – there are other ways to obedience. I do it because at a deep heart level, I don’t feel respected by them, and I hate that. Their disobedience feels unloving, and I want to be loved and respected.

So I could go another route. I could deaden my desire. This feels like the more “Christian” option. I can tell myself that I don’t care. I deny. I kill the desire. I tell myself that I am selfish for wanting it, foolish for looking to children to satisfy a desire. This is nothing more than shaming ourselves for having a legitimate desire. The collateral damage of this is that we begin to shame others for their desires as well.

Is there a middle ground? I believe so. It’s what a friend of ours last night called, “liminal space.” It’s the place where you acknowledge the desire and you sit with it. I believe it’s a place where you honor the desire. You say, “This is a true desire, a God-given desire.” The difficulty of this in between place is that there is no guarantee that the desire will be met. In fact, often it’s not. So we sit with the ache.

Why on earth would we do that? Why would we intentionally put ourselves in such a place of vulnerability? Personally, I think it’s because that’s what God does. God desires. He desires relationship with us. He desires our love, our respect, our worship, our attention. He doesn’t demand it. He never says He doesn’t care anymore whether or not we respond to Him. He sits in the ache, longing for us. Like the father in the story of the prodigal son, He waits every day, bearing the disappointment, in the hopes that something good will come. What He desires will happen.

So I believe that the liminal space is the place where God wants us to live because He lives there too. He wants us to develop hearts like His, hearts that are alive and full of desire. Hearts that are soft and vulnerable and honest. He wants us to honor the desires He has created in us.

What do you desire? And what are you doing with it?

Continue ReadingDesire

Better Things Ahead

This week has left me a little speechless. On top of the emotional roller coaster of starting our kids in school and Erik being gone, death came twice: a dear family friend, and my sweet grandma. The first was wholly unexpected, the kind of death where you say, “But I just saw him . . . but he just . . .” It’s stunning.

The second was a long time coming. My grandma was nearing 100 years old, and in recent years has been in a slow decline physically and mentally. This last week she’d stopped eating and wasn’t responding much to people. She’s finally free. 

All this brings into sharp focus the frailty of life, the fact that at any moment things could change. So I find myself delighting more in things I could easily miss – the sound of my son’s voice from the back seat of the car, the new blossoms on our lemon tree, the sun rising through hues of pink, breath in my lungs. 

But it also makes me realize how far we are from Eden, how this world is nothing compared to the next. I think of our friend, who had a beautiful voice, and I imagine him singing praises to his God in a way he never has before. I think of my grandma whole, restored, full of joy. I think about how all that we enjoy and love here is but a poor substitute for what is to come. 

So let’s love well and be people of gratitude and wonder for the gifts we are given, but let us put our hope in eternity where all will be made new. 

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” C.S. Lewis

Continue ReadingBetter Things Ahead

Week One of Transition

It’s been a week. I haven’t even been sure what to write. The kids started school, which I hope will be the last major hurdle of “adjusting to life back in the U.S.” I’m not saying there will be no more hurdles, just hopefully none so high as this one that threatens to pull some muscles.

Pull it has. Monday was our first at home day, and since we were jumping in to the middle of things, we didn’t have quite as much as the other kids. We wrestled with feelings of anxiety throughout the day. I was trying to keep a positive outlook, but when we put the kids’ books into their fresh new backpacks right before bedtime and they didn’t all fit, all the wind got knocked out of my sails. Unfortunately, the kids were sailing in my boat, so we all sank a little bit.

By the morning, after a quick online order to L.L. Bean for larger backpacks, we were back on track. We were ready 1/2 hour early, God be praised! I am expected to help in each of their classrooms 2-3 times per semester and the only open day for Megan’s class was Tuesday. No, I don’t sit by the side of the pool and acclamate. I jump in!

It turned out to be just what Megan needed to calm her nerves. I sat in the corner and graded papers while her teachers amazed me. I saw Ethan at lunch and he was happily sitting with his best friend and some other 7th graders. All seemed well.

And then Wednesday happened, when they had to face the reality of what days at home entail, except we got to throw in things like “daddy’s gone” and “we’re still in major transition” to make it more interesting. Lets just say there were a lot of tears and a mom who needed a bath and a stiff drink by the end of the day. Not pretty people, not pretty.

Today was another school day, and they loved it. I dropped them off, ran some errands, came home and thought, “Wow. Now what?” then proceeded to do a little work and a little fun (hello OPI Samoan Sand on my finger and toenails). The kids came home and decided they love school and hate the work they have to do at home. I hope that evens out a little as time goes on.

Stretching emotional muscles. So often this week I just had to sit and cry with the kids and say, “Yeah, I get it. This is really hard. I think it’s going to get easier. Let’s remember that we’re in process here ok?” But there were plenty of times I wanted to say, “I can’t do this any more. I have my own mess. I don’t know that I have anything to give you in yours.”

Even as I type that I am reminded that His compassions are new every morning. That’s what I need to remind us each day – that He sees us in our process, He cares for our hearts, He will carry us through.

Continue ReadingWeek One of Transition

Known, Needed, Have a Future

Known. Needed. Have a future.

These are three things that we talk about in our organization that we hope our staff are experiencing. In transition, these things go AWOL easily. As I look back on the major transitions of my life, I can see how most of the stress and other yuck I felt was because I didn’t feel one or more of these things.

So because this isn’t my first rodeo, I have been trying to be aware of my need for these things as we’ve moved to Florida. The problem is that awareness doesn’t bring satisfaction. It just gives you an answer to the question, “Why do I feel like curling up in a ball today?” But sometimes that’s enough.

Happily, I can feel these things creeping into my life in small ways: Going to a party where I actually know people and can have meaningful conversations and where I am invited to a small group. A nearby neighbor asks if her son can spend the night while she and her husband get away for some time to make a major decision. We visit our kids’ school for an interview and I talk to people about when I’ll be there helping this semester. Our neighbor invites us over to meet another family who has a daughter Megan’s age and since we all work at Cru we have common ground.

Place where I feel known. Needed. I have a future. These are good moments.

Continue ReadingKnown, Needed, Have a Future

Torn

I am torn.

We spent a few days at the beach attending a debrief conference for people from our company who have returned from overseas stints. It was all a bit theoretical for us because we haven’t landed in our “planting” spot yet where we’ll have to try to figure out where to buy food and make friends and tame our wild yard.

But not wanting to miss out on the opportunity to hear from God, I tried to pay attention to my heart. As I did I realized I was feeling a new feeling about the whole transition: guilt.

That surprised me, until we had a session on grief and loss and they reminded me that it is one of the stages of grief. But still, guilt? I didn’t see that coming. I’m more of a denial or anger stage kind of girl myself.

Why do I feel guilty? Well, I’ll tell you. I feel guilty because I think the US is awesome. I can plug my computer in to ANY outlet in the house. That’s big, people. No hunting down an adapter these days. The shower has consistent water pressure and temperature. Have you ever thought about what a gift that is? I do, every day.

And where we’re going to live is practically tropical! I’ve done tropical before and it’s not shabby. Sure, it gets hot and humid but who cares when you have a pool? And . . . and . . . and . . . I could go on and on.

Why feel guilty about that? I feel guilty because I know that my friends who I left don’t have a lot of these things. Why do I get to have them? More than that, several of them are going through difficult things and I am not there to walk through those things with them, and I hate that. I’m here enjoying sunshine and raspberry m&m;’s. There’s a strange feeling as though I have abandoned them, betrayed them even, by leaving. I remind myself that this is where God has led us, and that He has kept them there, but I feel guilty all the same.

Hey – no one ever said feelings were rational. But there they are.

So I am torn. Torn between wanting to enjoy these beautiful gifts God is giving us, hopes of good things in this new life, and the separation I feel from my friends who do not have what I have, who in fact have difficult things. Torn between loving the family and friends we have here and those we have left behind. It’s one of the by-products of moving people don’t always mention – the fact that you don’t get to keep all your heart with you as you go. Parts will be left in each place, and it’s possible for one part to feel something while another part experiences something completely different.

Will it ever be put back together? Probably not. But I choose to see it not as fragmented but as stretched to a greater capacity. Yeah, I’m going to call it that – not torn, but stretched.

Continue ReadingTorn

End of content

No more pages to load

Newer Posts