At the beginning of the year, I found myself writing a lot about seeking and the unsettled ache and the continual true end: my home in Christ. It is the place where I am small in his shelter, where I am loved and treasured as the object of his affection, where I recognize the questions, answers and meaning as finding their end in him.

This morning, on the heels of much activity and travel and birthday parties for my summer girls and good things and warm weather life that’s filled me up and worn me out, I know the longing as a constant companion. And through the times of busyness, I feel the ways I’m reaching.

Several weeks (months?) ago, my friend Lori Harris said that she’s allowing herself to sit still in the question Jesus asks in Scripture, What do you want me to do for you?

This morning, my life looks like a cup of coffee that’s been stirred through with half and half, and it’s just beginning to slow (for a few moments at least), and so I’m asking myself this question again.

Allowing myself to answer that I am reaching, I am needy, and so what I want from Jesus is, honestly, everything. And also to become small again, for I desire that any light I shine in this world points the way back to the ever-gleaming Beacon.

This morning, I realize my desire for purpose, confidence, wholeness and peace, and so these are parts of my answer to the What do you want me to do for you question. I see as clearly as the hand in front of my face the ways I can never grasp them when I’m climbing and clawing.

Back in the spring, when I took a long time of silence, I felt God tell me that he made me in part to speak and to write.

This morning, I believe, and I doubt. I wonder, What is a writer when the words don’t come? Who is a speaker that is terrified to speak?

I long to write, and in the quiet spaces of my mind words are slow drips from a faucet or bees flitting to clover, for I cannot cup or catch enough of them lately to make anything. I feel God’s closeness when I prepare to speak and when I stand before a group to share, but when I think about it, my insecurities rear up like catty dragons and this fear of failing from atop a stage is almost more than I can bear.

This is my own faith journey to walk, and you have your own, but friend, know that I and you will only know Home when we believe that IT is not found out there — in the adoration of people — or even in here — with confidence that we know precisely what we are doing, with our rule following and movement through life with competence and well-honed skills.

We must believe in what is unseen, stand on what’s been spoken from the Source even when we feel shaking knees and worry that floors will drop out from beneath, even when we’re terrified.

This morning, I’m reaching for the hand that does not move.

And every song that plays as I write embodies my longing and ache, this heart’s cry for Jesus — these chords a steady stirring of all that is forever and is continually being remade.

Joining with Kate Motaung and the Five Minute Friday crew with today’s prompt: REACH, and my words that took longer than five minutes. Thank you for hearing my scattered, seeking heart. I am so grateful for you as I lay my in-progress life before you. 


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