The Good Kind of Needy.

It’s loud.

It’s always loud.
From the alarm clock to the kids screaming to the streaming social media and cable channels and car radio and whir of the gym’s state of the art treadmill and clash of dishes and calendar alerts and raised voices in meetings and … and… and… and… AND… it’s loud.
It’s always loud.

There is no wilderness.
There is only city.
There is only ‘go’ … ‘work’ … ‘say’ … ‘buy’… ‘be’ … ‘do’ …

There is no pause.
No stop.
No rest.
No deep breath.

There is only full… or the hunt to fill.

There is no empty. And where there is empty, there is noise to fill it.
That noise extends beyond the tangible clatter to the distraction of restless insides… the spinning of a doubting, worried, anxiety wrought, fighting-for-faith, tired, busy spirit.

There is no pause.
No stop.
No rest.
No deep breath.

There is no empty.

When did we decide that God wanted us full and frantic?
How often have we concluded a day with space to fill was a day gone wasted?
When did we make up our minds that respite, that loneliness, that wandering… was wrong?
Or simply unnecessary?
The red thread that’s caught my attention is the one winding through the Old and New Testament, stitching together stories and presenting one idea: NEED.
Need that is made transparent in the forty days Moses spent on Mount Sinai with God, the forty days and nights Elijah spent walking to Mount Horeb, the forty days and nights God sent rain in the great flood of Noah, the forty years the Hebrew people wandered in the sun scorched desert while stuck between forgiveness and judgment, the full then broken hope of arriving in the Promised Land… and the forty days and nights our Jesus retreated into the wilderness, where He fasted and held fast while being tempted by the devil himself.

Scared, tired, wet, hungry, tempted.
There was need.
Walking, wandering, fasting, praying…
There was space. There was silence. 

How aware are we of our need of Him when we’re full and fast and fat with desires met?

Isn’t it the wandering… the wilderness… the wildly uncomfortable silence where we find Him, because in that space of silence, WE BECOME AWARE OF WHO HE IS?

It is in the flood God can save.
It is in the hunger God can satiate.
It is in the wandering God can direct.
It is in the silence God can be heard.

What does this 40 day wrestling of “giving up” as we tick off the days till Easter mean for our souls?
Because most of us have crafted Lent to be the moment where we mention at the water cooler that we’ve given up Diet Coke, pat ourselves on the back and go back to tweeting.

But what if we shift our mindset to not what we’re giving up but WHAT WE HOPE FOR, what we LONG, to gain?

What if there was no sacrifice, it seemed, because the bigger and louder the something that we shoved out of our spaces, the bigger and louder HE COULD BE?!

Where is the sacrifice in that? What could possibly matter more to give up than what we will be offered?

And isn’t that the idea?
Spending this season moving intentionally, with need, towards the man on the cross…
How heavily do we weigh what He gave up when we see what the empty tomb offered?
Because of the need of life lost, came the miracle of life revived.
Because of the need created by sin, came the miracle of salvation.
Because of the need of Him, came the miracle of Him.

And that is what Lent offers us.
A chance to shift into a space of silence to move toward the meaning of His sacrifice and salvation. To come needy.

This year I gave up something messy and hard to hand over.
I had to posture myself as the truth of myself… I had to give up the hidden sin and the appearance of no darkness, and yield something that in the moment I longed for it (and I long for it often) it’d push me straight into my blaring need. It’d push me straight towards Him.
Please join me in posturing yourselves there.  (And then let’s talk about it.)
It will be uncomfortable, it should be.

Pause.
Stop.
Rest.
Deep breath.
Empty.

Let Him find you needy.
Let Him take your hand out of today’s bustle to an inner wilderness.
Live these days as though soaked every minute in the act of communion… nourishing your soul with His body and His blood and His love.
May Good Friday find us heavy hearted.
May Easter Sunday find us overjoyed.

In the span of this season of silence and sacrifice, thank Him for HIS…

Given for you so that He could find you, needy and wandering.

Given for you so that HE COULD BE YOUR GOD.

“And He took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.”
Luke 22:19

lakecrlake

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One Response

  1. Kate, I have missed you. Your blog came to mind this morning, and it spoke so clearly to my heart. You are a beautiful writer; I feel like His love and kindness flow right through your words. I am passing this on to bless others. You are a dear. Love and hugs, Julie

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