A few days pass, and the longing returns. That well-known ache reaches way down, past the pit of my stomach and into my soul.
Nothing has changed, at least not around me. Those few days went by as any days do – a mix of joy, frustration, and choosing. But my soul, untended too long, will no longer be pacified in looking forward to a walk or a well timed song or a day of solitude.
It begins to whimper and then to wail, like a helpless child.
And then it dawns on me that this longing, this ache has been a constant companion, a barometer of health. In the years of soul-starving, I thought the wail a matter of temperament. Perhaps, I thought, for some life is more bearable than for others?
It is not a question of personality, but of experience! The soul ceases to wail when it finds no bread or water, but the soul that has tasted and seen cries out all the louder,
“Have Mercy on me, Son of David!”
They talk of the ‘God-shaped void’, the ‘restless soul’; concepts, I thought, for the unbeliever – the one who has yet to taste. Now I find His rest each moment, the void filled each second, for that aching need lies just below the surface, satisfied by nothing but the goodness of He who created.
He is the One who sustains, completes, cradles my helpless soul like a mother tending her beloved child.
This is the Hope of Glory set down deep in my being; limitless desire satisfied only by limitless Love.
© 2019 Jacqueline Tisthammer. All Rights Reserved.