I know I’m needy before I even come awake to it, but I only come awake because of its deep, isolated, long-ignored ache right smack in the middle of my chest.
It feels like what a small puppy looks like sitting on the side of the road in the rain, alone. I almost can’t even look at it because it’s just too damn heartbreaking, and it’s a weird thing to feel heartbroken for yourself.
So, I fall asleep to it for a long while until it just can’t be ignored anymore, usually because something else that has been strong in me weakens, like my immune system, or my sleep, or my support system, or my nervous system.
The neediness was always there. Now, I’ve got to look at the sad, wet puppy and find out what she’s crying for.
A puppy is more palatable, but imagine it was a small child, because that’s who it really is — it’s you as a little child sitting on the side of the road, unclothed, alone, in the dark and rain.
Is this what Adam and Eve felt shame for? Their deep, aching neediness — the very thing that they really could’ve been proud to own because of the God it should’ve led them to?
I am ashamed and disgusted by my own neediness. How tragic to feel such a way toward a little child who just needs a hand to lead her Home — Home to perfect love; community; friends; a full table with a seat right next to her Father; quiet peace and joy-filled rooms; and a Garden to walk in, side by side with her Maker where she is seen and heard and known and remembered all the days of her life — Home to her design.
I’ve rejected her, forgotten how to welcome her, and now I know why I can’t look at all the other sad puppies around me — it threatens too much heartbreak, and I’ll find myself painfully retching over the scale of so many sad puppies.
An appropriate response to all these pure and innocent parts of us who’ve been left in the dark. They were not made to be left and forgotten, but we left them anyway.
He came to carry them Home to the Light.
O God, come with me to look; help me let You carry this needy one; and clothe me in the Son.
Amen.
Thank you for your honesty. I feel you. I also long for home and consistent community where I feel safe. Transition feels always upon me, as life seems to demand it. I feel like I want to just curl up on a couch, but I feel like I have to keep swimming to keep up…