“If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy,
the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world” - C.S. Lewis
It is the lonely sinking in your gut that gets you first. Like a deep aching hole that falls straight to your toes. Nothing you feel, taste, see, hear or touch can make it full. The emptiness reverberates within your soul like a time bomb, threatening you, mocking you, pushing you...to the limits of your control. Your longings erupt, but their valiant efforts always fall just short of satisfaction. Then you begin the searching again, hoping against hope to take away the hole, only to find it is always growing bigger.
Your questions scream for help, and the answers your find are never complete. What is it you long for?
The confessions of my heart are false to the desires that truly lie within. It is not just the brilliant sunrises, a lover's sweet kisses, music's passionate release or the thrill of accomplishment. These open up the doors to a place I have not even set a toenail upon. Yet I feel it in these moments and the anguish is less than bearable.
Then the fantasies come. The foolish fantasies that the mind and reason condemn, while yet the heart grabs hold of with tenacious hope. Fantasies of another world. A place where nothing is impossible. Am I a fool to even speak these childish words? Some would say yes, without a moment's hesitation.
I watched the sunset tonight and knew. I knew the how and I knew why. I knew where it all came from...I knew where I came from. This is the big secret.
I am, we all are, from another world. We are displaced aliens, wondering a foreign land. Our memories are erased, our hearts have forgotten, only our spirits yearn and remember what once was. Our dreams struggle to touch our minds with the truth.
Like a virulent disease it begins to spread through our consciousness, one cell at a time. Until we are utterly shaking in the throes of its violence. We are people sick because of something that is far to good than we can imagine. We are homesick. Longing to go to the place from where we were created, from where we were born.
Home. Heaven. Jesus.
It makes perfect sense that I am groaning in anguish, that I'm consistently heart broken, that I am weary, tired and growing older every day.
Creation is waiting in the darkness of night, writhing as though in labor, waiting for the morning to come with it's fulfillment and hope.
When will we go home? When will all this madness end? The way has been made, how much longer before the door opens? How much more before life is as it should be?
Will not those who have forgotten, remember? Will we not ALL long for the same thing and hasten it's return? We must all groan in anguish before the end for our joy to be complete. Hasten, hasten, the awaking of grief and desire and what we seek will be restored!
And yet, today I slowly burn with longing. I feel, but cannot touch, taste, but cannot eat, hear but cannot sing, see but cannot move. I must wage war until it is time, I must endure until the end. I must walk in faith and in peace.
