What We Truly Long for: Humble Thoughts for Sojourners

{In October 2019 I wrote this in a coffee shop in a small town in Georgia. I was brought to tears rereading it because of how relevant it is for our current circumstances during this time when everything has collectively been taken, and we are all feeling the ache. I’m reminded that as believers, this world is not our hope or our home, neither ultimately or temporarily. I don’t ache for things to return to normal, I ache for heaven}

“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things – the beauty, the memory of our own past – are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have not visited.” – C.S. Lewis

The Constant Longing for Home

It’s perplexing to enjoy my ideal day and still experience a strange longing for home; a vague sense of something aching and yearning for where I know and am known.

This is my happy place; sitting in the coffee shop of my dreams that is infused with history and beauty, songs I love playing in my ears, in a state I have always cared for, a new city to explore just outside, my favorite season coming to life all around me, solitude and time to think and pray and plan and work. A rare warm (yet still cool) day in the middle of fall.

My beloved season translated into my soul by the mid-changing leaves, history, bookstores, and coffee shops all on the same block. A good book before me that lays out my favorite story, endless time to write a new one. New conversations with old friends. The sense of unlimited opportunities travel brings.

I am happy to be here, but I long for home. Maybe because my life has been chaos and nonstop changes for the past few years, so the grounded and whole and peaceful life I’ve built in the past few months is wonderful to me.

Either way, I long to return to the laughter of my siblings and the embrace of my mother and the comfort of coffee in my mentor’s home using my own mug, playing with my friend’s babies, driving my old raggity car and sitting under the teaching at my church and simply being in the mundaneness and beauty of what has become my everyday life in these past four months.

The truth is, this used to perplex me. But I know what it is, now. Experiences are good, but they pale in light of home. I will always ache for home when I’m absent from it.

Content on Earth While Craving Heaven

This longing is the same as the one I have for heaven.

I am present here and I’m grateful for the earth. With all her darkness, she is the place Jesus chose to bring the kingdom, afterall. I don’t care who her ruler is, her maker already had the final word say. Elohim hand sketched her and filled her in with His own paint. He created this earth with big, fruitful, glorious plans. And they will all come true here, someday soon; when His newness will swallow all ancient mistakes, all will be made right, here.

God’s original blueprint withstands the current circumstances of earth and Eden is his plan for her still. In the meantime, all that goodness that was implanted in me lives in me, and he told me to bring it to life in this dead place. God will make earth’s soil perfect one day, he’ll make her new just as he is making me new. For all the darkness that continuously breaks my heart here because of sin, I know God has a mission through His people here, and I am so expectant to see it accomplished.

Earth is a hard place to embrace, but I love her. She is chock full of struggle, but I’m happy to be here, participating in pushing back the darkness. Creating is not easy here, neither is healing, everything good is a fight, but it is fruitful and possible and glorious when He wins. Parched souls are here, and they desperately need the hope of Jesus. I am hopeful for what God has set before us to do on this planet. For the beauty here, the new mercies every morning, the people to love and be loved by.

There is kingdom work to do here, so here is where I’ll embrace.

But a part of me longs for home. It’s nostalgic for a place I’ve never seen. I don’t know much about the streets paved with gold, or the crowns we’ll lay at his feet, or the place he’s preparing for us, but I long to be in his presence, to sit at his feet, to feel his embrace. Not because he isn’t here with me now. Not because he does not show himself to me or prove that he is guiding and present here. Not because he is unseen on this very planet in all good things, in all beauty.

As a matter of fact, I’ve never been more aware of how close, how near, how true and involved he is, until now. But every piece of him here only makes me miss him more. I long to be with him. I long to see him. I’m brutally aware of the fact that He is where all this ends. Everything good here points to him and reminds me of him. Just thinking about God’s uncontainable full, heavenly presence is an unquantifiable joy in my soul.

I don’t long for heaven for the sake of perfection, I am willing to tough it out here because there are things to do, and because he is here with me. I long for heaven because I long for him. I long for heaven because I long for home. For me to live is to share Christ, for me to die is every gain.

“The Kingdom is coming, but the Kingdom is here. That’s why we’re homesick, & it’s also why we might as well get busy planting.” Andrew Peterson, Adorning the Dark

The Paradoxes of Life with Christ

Life with Christ is full of paradoxes. All the good things I love on earth are mere replicas of what I deeply desire, and serve as horrible ends that never give me what I desire. They are illusions of what I deeply long for: travel and literature and beautiful aesthetics and nature and loved ones and even good coffee will turn into idols if I let them. If this earth was my means to an end, it would break my heart over and over and over again. It already has.

Good things are a scent, a distant echo, a beautiful mirage, letters from my home country. For now we are seeing through a glass, dimly lit. Now I only see in part. But these are the things that point to what my heart longs for most: God. Then, when I see him face to face, I will know Him, just as I am known by Him. He is the only thing promised to me, he is what all the good things lead me to.

If the good things end with themselves, I am left overindulging and coming up empty and hopeless each time. The good and bad point me to the only thing that satisfies me: himself. This is good news, since the good things can be taken away in an instant and can crush me without question in their wake.

I embrace this as a fact because I’ve worshipped at their altar before, and they have all betrayed me. I have been seeking beauty and meaning in exquisite things and experiences my entire life. We all chase different things, but this Enneagram four has looked for meaning in beauty and introspection and creating and imagination and creativity and stories and aesthetics and art and deep connection and being known and deeply knowing others as a means to an end before.

In reality, beauty was always meant to point us to the true means to all ends; Jesus. I’ve spent a lot of my life worshipping at the alter of my deepest enjoyments; good books and good food and good friends and good coffee and good art and good places and good sceneries and earthly goodness. I have felt the heartbreak of seeking earthly goodness as a means to an end. I know better now. I still enjoy all these things, but I know that all roads lead to longing for Him. I’ve traveled them, and I’ve met him at the front porch with open arms time and time again. All good things are mere expressions of his glory. As Lauren Daigle so beautifully penned, “I’ve searched the world to find my heart is yours.”

No Goodness Apart from Him

No good thing is promised me, but Him. But the good things that create longing in me, for him, push me to bring him here, to this earth.

The only answer is that this is the radical middle, and I must treat it as such. Balancing the weight of longing for home while planting on this earth is the key to contentment. It is the key to gratitude. It is the key to meaningful kingdom work. I can only see Christ in everything when I see myself in Christ.

I must allow every single good thing to point to Christ. To His common grace, his new mercies, his character and image. I must press into who he is through what he’s made, and I must beckon others to do the same.

None of this in itself is a means to an end. It will all either run out, or dry you out, or break you in half. HE is the end at all of these beautiful beginnings. Good things are only good when we find him at their close.

We were all made for him, therefore, he is what all things circles back around to. His kingdom, his rule, his glory, his goodness, his beauty, his essence and likeness, him- We can embrace Him in all his beauty when we see where all beautiful roads and means lead us to. the means to all my ends. So I spend my time on earth pressing on toward the country where he lives. I allow every bit of good experienced here to point to Him.

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world. If none of my earthly pleasures satisfy it, that does not prove that the universe is a fraud. Probably earthly pleasures were never meant to satisfy it, but only to arouse it, to suggest the real thing…never to mistake them for the something else of which they are only a kind of copy, or echo, or mirage. I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same” C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Being the Hands of Jesus During Quarantine

Up until now, I had never been discouraged from using my hands to serve or care. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Usually, they’re a welcomed gift. To put my arm around a struggling girl I disciple, or make meals at the homeless shelter, or care for my friend’s baby, or embrace my elderly neighbor. But right now, you can’t volunteer in places that have long been begging for help, or in ways that are typical, and understandably so. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Shelters are locking their doors, we aren’t welcomed in each other’s homes, and don’t dare go near the young or old. Social distance is the new norm— a term it seems Christ came to eradicate.

The threat shutting us in our homes lives inside our bodies, and it spreads with our hands. So how do the hands of Jesus love when we can’t use them, because they are the very thing that creates risk of potential infection? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I believe in prayer, but my faith is rooted in action. I believe in encouragement, but my faith is practical, and today, I feel limited. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
There’s no rulebook for ministry during a pandemic, or for what the tangible moving to the technological means. This is forcing me to face my usual & limited acts of service.
I have no answers. None of us do. But God knew this war-like impact would come. He knew the implications it would create. And he knew we would feel helpless as to how to serve, both the privileged & the disadvantaged. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I was encouraged in a way I didn’t want to be by someone wiser than I: “Sometimes biblical ministry looks like staying home and praying”. God knows how to care for his creation, and he knows how to call us to action for his purposes.

I can’t use my hands in the ways I’d like to, or in the ways I’m used to, but I can still surrender myself to be used however he leads for the foreseeable future.houseofloveandlaughterblogBeautiful
Seems Our only option is to lean in and surrender to Him.

April Newsletter: When Community Overwhelms, Disconnect to Stay Connected

Burnt Out With Technological Community

Burnt Out With Technological Community

For most of March, I felt overwhelmed by relationships. And seeing as most of my closest friends don’t live in my city, technology is the main way I connect. I had this nagging feeling that I needed to take time away and be alone with God; disconnect from the constant stream of connection. I felt this nagging when I checked my screen time, I felt it when I heard a sermon about hyper connection in our culture, and I felt it when I prayed. But how the heck does one do that? And was that feeling even godly? I remember pushing it aside every time it came, because I felt guilty for having it.

I was off social media, yet the “social” section of my screen time was out of control. I knew I needed some uninterrupted time with God or I would end up burning out of good, holy, brother-and-sister-in-Christ, life-giving, discipleship focused relationships.

In Christian culture, community is King. And in most ways, rightfully so. I’ve seen the beauty and necessity in community more in the past year than I ever have before. I know it well, I don’t struggle with lack of it or a desire to hide from it. I believe in it. We need each other desperately. No life with God can be done alone. And personally, I don’t know where I’d be without mine.

But, any good thing is a bad thing when done in excess, and that would mean the same in this case. But the question still stood: what was the protocol for this? How did people who were called to be communal, especially in the midst of a global pandemic, decide to neglect their community for a period of time? We’re told to get off social media, but not to neglect our friends and the communal aspects of technology.

Furthermore, I knew God had placed the topic of community on my heart for my April newsletter, so how in the world would I talk about community when I was feeling burdened to break from mine?

What Biblical context did I have for this? My years of Bible study and walking with God felt insecure in this uncharted territory. I could name countless verses that warranted being IN community. I could write newsletters and blog posts on the joy and necessity of good, godly community and connection. But on stepping away from it for a short time? On fasting? I felt wrong for considering what I knew God was calling me to.

I’m comfortable with the information on the dangers of social media. But using your devices for truly social behaviors? For connection? Those are meant to only be good: Respond faster. Give more to your relationships. Be a better texter. That’s the call of this age for the believer when it comes to community.

The Answer

Constant access to each other is a great blessing, but also a source of overwhelm and drain if we don’t steward it well.

On March 20th, I finally told a friend God was calling me to fast from people. Expressing that felt like telling a secret I had been holding onto for a long time.

Then, it hit me: Jesus knew his social limits, and he left his closest friends regularly to be with the Father.

We constantly talk about Jesus’ close friend group and all the people He loved on constantly. We love the quotes about how he made his friend’s breakfast as his first action back from the grave. We love that he dined with sinners, that he spent his 33 years surrounded by people. Yet, we forget that he withdrew to be with the father, and often.

“But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” (Luke 5:16)

If the Son of God needed to socially distance and regroup with his dad, maybe we do too.

What’s a “Lonely Place” in the Social Media Age?

I realized I didn’t have many lonely places. Everywhere I went, my phone went with me. Lonely places became social. The bathroom, reading, writing, and study time blocks, driving times, in waiting rooms and lines at the store; no place was lonely. Every space was filled up with communication and connection. Good, but nonstop nevertheless.

There was always a text to respond to, or a person to call back, or someone I should tell something to or check in on. And the constant guilt of not keeping up the way I felt I should, no matter how much time I was spending keeping up, was overtaking my life.

I withdrew to lonely places often, but those places became lively instead of lonely with my device constantly buzzing. I began to connect delayed responding as being a bad friend. And in the most simple sense, people pleasing is the cause of that. My creativity and consistent stream of reading, or writing, or studying, was chopped up into intervals of responding to messages. And unfortunately, I think most of us can relate.

But Jesus sought solitude, away from crowds, away from his closest friends who were brothers to him, because he needed to be alone with his father and pray. Jesus came to earth and departed heaven in order to die for his friends, yet he left them regularly to seek and fill up on the father. And some part of me believes if phones existed in his day, he would’ve left his with one of the disciples.

Seeking Solitude During Social Isolation

In the world right now, especially during this period of time when we are more physically disconnected than ever, we are being told to connect more through technology. Endless courses and hangouts and online events and groups chats and the like are being advertised, and I love it. I get it. I’m an advocate for using our technological devices and privileges for connection- for Bible study and prayer and community and church and growth and all the rest.

But I want to encourage you in this: also make the time to get away. Don’t fear loneliness and solitude this time brings. Instead, welcome it every once and while, and especially when you begin to feel depleted. Get away, into the sweetness of solitude with God, so you can be filled back up to be a light in your circles. We need a light right now.

Are We Actually Starved for Connection?

Truth is, I don’t buy the claim that we’re “more lonely than ever”. At least not in the church. I think we know how to connect. Maybe that’s not the rule for secular spaces, but the body connects constantly. We have nonstop access to each other.

I don’t think we’re “starved for connection” as some of the experts say. We know how to have deep conversations. Millennials, for all the crap we get, talk about the hard stuff more than our predeceasing generation. And millennial Christians are not exempt.

Our church’s push small groups and social gatherings nonstop. We meet for coffee and phone calls and brunch and events and after church meals and tons of other events all. the. time. And when the church closes it’s physical doors, we still do small groups virtually, and connect with our leaders and discipler’s, and do group facetime, and services. The church has become a communal haven, and we are better for it.

It seems we have the community thing down and what we’re actually starved for is solitude with God, which is the only bread of life and living water that fills us up and restores our souls.

So instead, I think of how the Psalmist paints a picture of God, our first love, leading us beside still waters and making us to lie in green pastures.

Alone, but not lonely, because God never leaves.

What are we really afraid of?

Some of the thoughts I had when thinking about parting with my phone for a weekend had to do with “what if someone needs me?” “what if something important happens and I am unaware?” “what if there is some type of an emergency?” and though these all seem valid on the surface, they have a lot to do with desired control of things I can’t control, regardless.

If this season has taught me nothing else, it is that God is sovereign and we are not. We can’t see tomorrow, but God holds it, and we can trust him. We are not so important that the world will stop spinning if we are not attentive to all the needs that those we love. And ultimately, leaving those we love in God’s hands is the most loving thing we can do. In reality, it’s the only thing we can do, with access to communication or not. It’s a lesson in surrendered control in a culture that wants to get endless, constant updates in real time.

How Do We Disconnect?

This may look different for everyone. For me, it meant letting my closest friends know I was taking the weekend off of my phone to be alone with God, which was only met with encouragement. Then, I put the phone away in my sock drawer and got alone with God.

In putting my phone down for a few days, I could seek the loneliness and solitude my soul was starved for, over constant connection. I found myself able to do good, uninterrupted work, and to focus on what was directly in front of me.

I was able to use this pandemic to welcome the loneliness we all seemed to be running from, and I begged God to fill those spaces with himself. He did.

I went back to my community more full than ever before, ready to be a useful part it, and closer to God. And in the meantime, I created a life giving rhythm.

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