Surrounded

When surrounded by everything, we can’t seem to imagine what nothing feels like. We are caught up. Lost in translation, as it were. We seek the masses, catching a high off of the identity WE find in grasping some kind of identity WE’VE established IN THEM. We seek the body, that figure we know is appealing, finding satisfaction when we know that the work WE did on OUR bodies was built UPON THE REACTION. We seek the glory, finding satisfaction in the work WE did on any task performed well, feeling rooted IN THE AWARDS provided by MAN. We seek friendships, thriving off the feelings they instill in us and grounded in who we are IN that person’s life. The point: We desire identity. We desire a home in which to dwell securely.

Desperately seeking face value with everyone, and being loved by all, we lose the security in what a real relationship with our Creator looks like. We are all idolaters, worshipping and burying our roots in all that is temporary. We have it all, but we have nothing at the same time. We can have all the riches, the friends, the relationships, the body, the awards, the glory and yet we seem to have nothing of value; placing hollow memories on our shelves. Called to be set apart for our Beloved, we are allowing ourselves to become clay figurines for society to mold and lump into one.

While at a restaurant the other day, I noticed a girl who was sitting by herself and by the world’s standards she is pretty. For a solid five minutes, she stared at herself in her hand held mirror, checking every little part of her face, making little adjustments here and there, adding more makeup. I could tell she was in a heavy critique of herself, occupying her thoughts with the imperfections and the things she could possibly fix to hopefully achieve the unattainable perfection society says is lovely, or occupying herself with thoughts of what about herself could be noticeable or found desirable BY others. I wanted to walk over to her and take the mirror from her hands and tell her that her identity is more important the mirror or the imperfections she finds in her physical identity. I wanted to tell her that she was desirable and it wasn’t because the mirror found her pleasing that day.

There are certain cravings the soul has, I believe, that consistently nag us to find a place to belong, to find identity, to find the home we want to rest in, to simply…be loved. We are all dying to be there, whether recognized or not. And the beautiful news is that the desire comes from a good place within you, we just lose track of how to follow through with the desire. We’ll find it in anything other than God, who is the only one who wants to take our faces in His hands and desperately say, “I delight in you, let me show you!”

The gospel of grace is simply this: Abba is enough (props to Matt Chandler). Sure, we have all the power to make our identities in something else and, believe me, I know what that looks like. It has only come at the feet of my Beloved that I have laid to rest my identity in anything but Him. We have casually built up our foundation in the wrong things.

Our roots belong grounded in none other than IN Him, and will be nourished by none other than BY Him. I am all that I need to be according TO Him. It’s simply allowing ourselves to be loved by Him. The depths of our souls are longing to be called to a home to rest. In The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning he gives a beautiful description of the cry of Jesus in offering us a home, a true identity, and place to stop running away from fear:

You have a home. I am your home. Claim me as your home. You will find it to be the intimate place where I have found my home. It is right where you are, in your innermost being. In your heart.

And Abba whispers to us, “Come home love.”