Searching for I Know What

Twice recently, I’ve been freaking out a little bit, and author Donald Miller walked right in, set right down, and let his thoughts hang out. That is why I love reading. Well, partly.
The first time, I was having a tough day. Actually, I didn’t realize I was having a tough day until my loving friend told me I was acting combative and asked what was up. I thought I was just being quippy, but my comments were a little too sharp and not well-executed enough to cover myself.
Often, by realizing one has a problem, recovery can begin. Not so on this Saturday. Maybe it was because I couldn’t find the root of the issue.
So instead, I went through cycles of attempted wit, shutting down and shutting up, feeling really needy, and wanting to deny my needs and claim that I AM AN ISLAND.
It’s really difficult to own needs and then live in their unfulfillment.
Of course, the need for companionship and connection with others often gets distorted, so I find myself using people and attention as a soul hit to fill me up and numb me out, instead of just enjoying friendships for the beautiful gifts that they are.
So after a full Saturday of this needy, angry, empty, skewed feeling I went to bed. The next morning I woke up, read a favorite psalm, and then picked up Searching for God Knows What, which I’m re-reading after a few years of it sitting on a shelf. This is the part where ole Don pulled up a chair and explained some things about humans to me again. He reminded me that humans are made to look outside of themselves for meaning and identity and security. That the concept of “The Fall” is where that mechanism (the good, created need) got turned upside-down. That when humanity decided to trust themselves instead of God, the perfect relationship was broken. The source of fulfillment was severed, cut off. And ever since we’ve been searching searching searching to find what we lost, what we chose to give up.
So on that Saturday, I wanted to be liked, to be funny, to be admired, to be desired, to be everything to everyone, or at least to someone. I wanted those things so that I could feel whole.
That Sunday morning I remembered that they’ll never be enough to fill me up, to put me back together. With a quick and quiet, “Jesus, I’m sorry. Thank you for loving me no matter what,” I felt the burn of wine down my throat and into my core as he reminded me that he’s always here, waiting for me to turn again to the only one who can walk right in to that void.


(Unless the Lord builds a house, the work of the builders is useless. Unless the Lord protects a city, guarding it with sentries is no good. It is useless for you to work from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to his loved ones. Psalm 127)