When you were younger, did the question, "Do other people see colors the way I see them?" ever occur to you? As in, everyone else sees red and blue and green and yellow differently from each other, and in a consistent way such that they all call the same hue red, but maybe my red doesn't look the same to you. Maybe it looks like my green, or like something completely different. And we go on living side by side, not realizing that we never really see eye-to-eye. We only share enough reality to communicate efficiently, but not ever truly empathetically.
Well, I've often wondered similarly about something in me that seems wired differently from other people. Sometimes when I experience something beautiful, its beauty strikes me so deeply that it hurts inside -- a deep, soul-hungry ache that moves me to tears and brings me to my knees. An unexpected sunset. An exquisitely formed tree. A delicately painted bird. A sweet child in my arms, laying her head on my shoulder in total trust. A story of grace that rips apart all previous notions of what is good and right. When I experience things like these, I can't help but see my Maker in all this. And I am completely undone.
And in a world where there is so much injustice, wrongness, darkness, and ugliness, I hunger so deeply for that kairos -- a demonstration of our timeless, all-powerful God intersecting with human time -- that I can't bear it sometimes. And while I know that God's Spirit is with me, I find myself missing face-to-face Jesus so badly that I hurt, physically, inside. I've obsessed so many times about the ascension of Christ -- those eyes, those hearts aching as they watch him grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear into the cosmos. No! Don't go! Come back! We are physical, visible people, after all. For God's Comforter with us, indwelling us…I am so very grateful. But sometimes I just want to touch Him, to see Him with my eyes, to feel His arms around me, hear His voice audibly speaking to me. I often cry out to him how much I miss Him, come back, come back to us. It's both the cry of a lover desperately missing the beloved, and the cry of the oppressed calling out to their exiled King to return, make things right, and set them free. Hosanna…Save, O Lord! O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.
I often daydream about what it will be like when Jesus returns -- not in an apocalyptic sense, but in the sense of a face-to-face encounter. How that will feel. I want to be like Mary throwing myself at Him after the resurrection. I've never had relatives or close friends go off to war, but watching videos of soldiers coming home to surprise their families, you see people going about their daily lives casually, nonchalantly, seemingly fine, but when their son or father or husband shows up, they burst into tears. There's that hole in their heart that is missing their loved one. They grow used to it, they don't feel it while brushing their teeth, sitting at the office, taking the bus, but when their beloved shows up to fill that hole, the very filling of it reminds them of it, and the heart bursts, overcome by both the pain and the fulfillment of the longing. Please. Soon. Now.
I wonder at the cultures where the seat of emotion is the liver, or the stomach, or the bowels, or somewhere else (in Indonesian, they say, "I love you with all my liver!") because I definitely feel that pain radiating in my chest, so much that I press my hands on it sometimes when I'm overcome.
This is the song I have on repeat lately. While it's not the deepest song, it's how I'm feeling nowadays, raw and real. I like its subtlety, how it's more primal than mental, more of a love song than a theological expression.
Well, I've often wondered similarly about something in me that seems wired differently from other people. Sometimes when I experience something beautiful, its beauty strikes me so deeply that it hurts inside -- a deep, soul-hungry ache that moves me to tears and brings me to my knees. An unexpected sunset. An exquisitely formed tree. A delicately painted bird. A sweet child in my arms, laying her head on my shoulder in total trust. A story of grace that rips apart all previous notions of what is good and right. When I experience things like these, I can't help but see my Maker in all this. And I am completely undone.
And in a world where there is so much injustice, wrongness, darkness, and ugliness, I hunger so deeply for that kairos -- a demonstration of our timeless, all-powerful God intersecting with human time -- that I can't bear it sometimes. And while I know that God's Spirit is with me, I find myself missing face-to-face Jesus so badly that I hurt, physically, inside. I've obsessed so many times about the ascension of Christ -- those eyes, those hearts aching as they watch him grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear into the cosmos. No! Don't go! Come back! We are physical, visible people, after all. For God's Comforter with us, indwelling us…I am so very grateful. But sometimes I just want to touch Him, to see Him with my eyes, to feel His arms around me, hear His voice audibly speaking to me. I often cry out to him how much I miss Him, come back, come back to us. It's both the cry of a lover desperately missing the beloved, and the cry of the oppressed calling out to their exiled King to return, make things right, and set them free. Hosanna…Save, O Lord! O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.
I often daydream about what it will be like when Jesus returns -- not in an apocalyptic sense, but in the sense of a face-to-face encounter. How that will feel. I want to be like Mary throwing myself at Him after the resurrection. I've never had relatives or close friends go off to war, but watching videos of soldiers coming home to surprise their families, you see people going about their daily lives casually, nonchalantly, seemingly fine, but when their son or father or husband shows up, they burst into tears. There's that hole in their heart that is missing their loved one. They grow used to it, they don't feel it while brushing their teeth, sitting at the office, taking the bus, but when their beloved shows up to fill that hole, the very filling of it reminds them of it, and the heart bursts, overcome by both the pain and the fulfillment of the longing. Please. Soon. Now.
I wonder at the cultures where the seat of emotion is the liver, or the stomach, or the bowels, or somewhere else (in Indonesian, they say, "I love you with all my liver!") because I definitely feel that pain radiating in my chest, so much that I press my hands on it sometimes when I'm overcome.
This is the song I have on repeat lately. While it's not the deepest song, it's how I'm feeling nowadays, raw and real. I like its subtlety, how it's more primal than mental, more of a love song than a theological expression.
In your ocean, I'm ankle deep
I feel the waves crashin' on my feet
It's like I know where I need to be
But I can't figure out, yeah I can't figure out
Just how much air I will need to breathe
When your tide rushes over me
There's only one way to figure out
Will ya let me drown, will ya let me drown
Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me like a fire, 'cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I'm in reach
'Cause I am down on my knees, I'm waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful
And the water is risin' quick
And for years I was scared of it
We can't be sure when it will subside
So I won't leave your side, no I can't leave your side
In a daydream, I couldn't live like this
I wouldn't stop until I found something beautiful
When I wake up, all I want I'll have
You know it's still not what I need
Something beautiful
Something beautiful
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