“As I grow older, I discover more and more that the greatest gift I have to offer is my own joy of living, my own inner peace, my own silence and solitude, my own sense of well-being.” — Henri Nouwen
I put aside the book I just finished and prop my chin against my hand. Sleeping At Last is gently humming through the speaker, filling my room with gentle melodies, calming my nerves. I’m lying on my bed, feet propped against the headboard and I stare absently at my blue-green woolen jumper slung over the foot of the bunk. Thinking. Not thinking. Letting my mind rest in blankness for a while before returning to its normal state of flurry.
The book I just finished was called Present Over Perfect by Shauna Niequist. It speaks about a woman’s journey of ceasing from hurry and hustle to prove herself to the world, and returning to a quiet life where a yes to Christ’s presence and love is at the center of it. I can relate to her story. It wasn’t too long ago I felt God whisper to my soul a love-ladened warning: if you don’t learn to rest, you’re going to die. Rest, He says. A short, four-letter word that rolls off the tongue but feels impossible to get a handle on. Calendars fill up, cars need cleaning, washing hanging, church to attend, friends to see, people to counsel and businesses to run. A million and one responsibilities. It’s not as though any of it is done so much to earn approval, or worth (is it, Lord?). Well, I can’t just do nothing with my life, can I? I tell myself. If I’m not being useful, what is the point?
Being, maybe. I do understand the importance of learning to be. After all, “be still and know that I am God” begins with being. The ability to sit in silence and solitude, with no one but God and your own company is a mark of returning to your essential or true self, according to both Brennan Manning and Henri Nouwen. Silence is where you learn to quiet the shouting outside of you and within you in order to hear that still small voice; the voice that calls you beloved. It’s around my neck. I distractedly finger the silver chain, and trace the letters I know are found there: “ b e l o v e d ”. My head knows these things, yet I feel like my heart is still catching up. An adopted child still coming to grips with the fact they are both wanted and loved for who they are. It takes time for the heart to begin reflecting the reality of the born again soul. I feel like my heart has been given all the information and updated details of its identity, yet in the face of God’s Word saying so, it still starts every time it sees that unexpected face in the mirror. Funny, I often despise it when people forget truth, yet the most fundamental reality of life in Christ tends to slip my mind more often than I care to admit.
My greatest need in life is to intimately know this reality: that I am beloved of God, and that is enough. I say this because the word “need” has been creating conversations between myself and God. Needs are things I understand very well. I see them everywhere, in everyone. Need is the language I speak, and meeting needs is my greatest act. I use “act” with deliberation, mind you. Present me with any soul plus an hour, and I can usually discover where that person is insecure, where their buried gifts lie, where they’ve been hurt, what they’re passionate about, and a good idea of what their life’s trajectory is. At this point, my job then is to I deliver. I give them what they need; wanted or not. “You need to forgive yourself for that,” “you need to walk away from that situation,” “you need to step out and try,” “you need to comfort that person,” “you need to listen to that counsel”. You need, need, need.
Robert Downey Jr.’s character in the Sherlock Holmes movies was asked, “what do you see?” His reply—“Everything. That is my curse.” That is how it feels; and to have a set of eyes perfectly tailored to take in every need is excruciating. On top of that, the ability to deliver a convincing act based upon those perceived needs is both involuntary and exhausting. I expressed this to my sister not long ago, that it is so frustrating to walk into a room and know immediately what the room needs me to be and automatically becoming that person. I can’t not. Be the life of the party. Be the listener. Be the motivator. Be to meet the need. I get a distinct impression that this is not the kind of being God is calling me to. This kind of being doesn’t know how to rest in belovedness.
A tool God has used lately to unearth some of these meditations is the enneagram, and in recognising some of the traits and motivations of the type 2, I’ve become aware of a devastating flaw in myself. That, in all my efforts and desires to love others and meet their needs, all of it is motivated by a need to be lovable; to be loved in return. How selfish. How humiliating. I fix people and tell myself I’m being helpful, but I’m actually trying to protect myself from being hurt by their imperfection. My meeting people’s needs? Often it is a symptom of losing my awareness of my own belovedness in God’s eyes. Part of me thinks that type 2’s get the short straw in this, especially Christian 2’s. We are exhorted by Scripture to love everybody always, yet forget to be loved first ourselves. And so, we get caught up in the distraction of loving, yet never truly know the love we are working so desperately for; without even realising that’s what we’re doing. In the words of Sleeping At Last’s poignantly accurate lyrics in his song, “two”: I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well; I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself.
Alongside type 2, the wing of type 3 also appeals to a room full of people for acceptance; being becomes doing, an act or dance to please the crowd. “It’s so exhausting on this silver screen, where I play the role of anyone but me”. No small wonder why the lyrics to Sleeping At Last’s “three” also resonates in my heart that longs for peace and rest: maybe I’ve done enough. Yes, “enough”. Done enough for whom, I wonder? Why do I do it? For myself? Probably a good chunk of it, whether I’m conscious of it or not. For others, under some guise of “keeping the peace”? Also a fair assumption. For God? Well no, not so that He will love me, I know that already. Or do I? If I did know that—truly know His love for me—would anyone else matter? Would anything else mean anything?
“Many voices ask for our attention… ‘prove that you are a good person’… ‘you’d better be ashamed of yourself’… ‘nobody really cares about you,’ and one that says, ‘be sure to become successful, popular, and powerful.’ But underneath all these very noisy voices is a still, small voice that says, ‘you are My beloved, my favour rests on you.’ That’s what prayer is. It is listening to the voice that calls us ‘my beloved’.”— Henri Nouwen
I felt my chest constrict and hot tears welled up in my eyes as my breath came in rasps. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know what I need.” Talk about humbling. The Creator of the universe comes down and asks this fatally flawed human with a billion imperfections—and those she knows about—and I couldn’t think of a single need. They say a type 2’s sin is pride; pride in the sense that they don’t believe they have any needs; they are dependent on no one for anything, self-sufficient. And antithetical to the Gospel. Though God in His grace didn’t take my ‘I don’t know’ as an answer (good parent that He is), I did realise that taking the time to become acquainted with my soul’s needs draws me into closer communion with my Creator. Pride goes before a fall, but thankfully the Rock of Ages breaks that fall.
Getting back up again, learning to practise stillness in His presence; humbling myself by admitting my needs to this Father in heaven who loves me; this is where I’m at right now. I by no means have this perfected, either. Not by a long shot. But I’ve come to realise that though God knows both the past and future, He lives in neither of them. God is the God of “now”. Present; the gift of His presence. Now. Today with its needs and problems. This moment. Breathing. “Every breath that I take says I love you, and every beat of my heart says I'm Yours. Every step that I take says I need You, and I will bless Your holy name.” How much more vividly I understand the words of that hymn:
"Lord, I need You, oh, I need You. Every hour I need You. My one defense, my righteousness, oh God, how I need You."
Just be loved first.
the motivation "to be loved" is haunting for its doubt. Yet, may I deny or preclude my being loved, beloved?
ReplyDeletecurious be, for the love of God and the rest He affords. Where may we perceive the same bedrock of rest for Jesus, Paul and so many before us?
Wow. This is beautiful, thank you for sharing. Just being is an immense challenge for me. I relate to so much of this.
ReplyDeleteI hear you. I find it so difficult to feel valuable when I’m not being useful. Learning to see the value of being is such a huge thing to learn.
Delete