Satisfaction

sat-is-fac-tion (săt′ĭs-făk′shən)noun.

a. The fulfillment or gratification of a desire, need, or appetite.
b. happiness with one's situation in life
c. the contentment one feels when one has fulfilled a desire, need, or expectation

The Rolling Stones once sang a song that I’m sure all of you have heard.

I can’t get no satisfaction. ‘Cause I try and I try and I try I can’t get no, I can’t get no...

I’ve definitely been here. Maybe you have too. I try and I try and I try and I think I’ve done the right thing and lived things out correctly and still no satisfaction. I daily hear people talking about their wanderlust, their hunger, their plans for achieving satisfaction in their lives, their need for more. I rarely meet those people who find the fulfillment where they are looking.

“I’ve always wanted to see the world, been a few places but I’d still like to see China, London, Colorado... (etc.) ”
“I want great success, just one more class, degree, promotion, relocation....”
“I found the one I love… now if (s)he could just…”

We are all born with passions, hungers, the need for more than face value in life. It’s a wonderful and unique part of our makeup. I love seeing people run after their dreams and doing what they love and doing really well, but even when you see someone totally in their element (or if you’ve been there) there is always this pang of wanting more, the hunger is still there.

We have so much, great schooling, families, jobs, stamps on our passports, opportunities for scholarships and internships and relationships but without Jesus it’s like trying to fill a bucket with water without one really important thing…the bucket.

Jesus is the container. He’s the handle. He’s the well filled with water. We go and receive, but sometimes don’t realize all he’s offering: a bucket to be filled to overflowing with gifts, with love, with satisfaction. Without a bucket, going to the well for a drink seems rather pointless, doesn’t it? We are still searching, still wanting, still thirsty. If we aren’t seeking Him first and giving Him the glory through our life journeys, big and small, they will never satisfy us. For the satisfaction comes not from what you’re doing, but who it’s for. The only real satisfaction I’ve ever seen is by those living their lives not for the journeys or next steps, but for the source, Jesus. And He will continue filing and fueling those passions until you are overflowing.

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” John 4:13-14

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Oh and if you like music, this song is a really beautiful picture of Jesus calling us to Him to drink and be filled and satisfied. Vocal Few, The Fountain.

Real Life in Jesus Christ

It's the talks that start about sports and scarves and end up pouring out your heart at a table, drinking too strong coffee laced with sugar and broken honesty.

It's the doing, not saying you'll pray and worship and "make time" for God, but having bruised knees and tired arms and tear stained pages as evidence of the peace you recieved coming from something much greater than Dr. Phil & self help books.

It's the tangible love offered to a stranger or a friend. Being there to help them move or eat or even stand when their demons seem invisible and they feel alone.

It's more than thinking of them when you see their empty chair. It's tracking their lost soul down when they're so blind to life that they don't even remember how they exist.

Real Life is more than church.

It's laundry late on Friday nights when you and your roommate are both out of clean socks.
It's mornings that deserve cold pizza and pancakes.
It's frisbee on the field even if you have a test tomorrow,
and it's the cups of coffee you'll drink cramming late into the night.

It's more than a Tuesday or Wednesday night in a room with "church people".

It's all people,
all times,
everything.

And we were called for more than a part time job. We were called to love tangibly, pray brokenly, and live selflessly. For every moment to be engrossed in something much deeper than the surface. To carry peace and wisdom. Mercy and Love.
And Jesus.

and to not compartmentalize.

Real life is now.
and it's tomorrow.
and Jesus wants to be part of the frisbee matches and test cramming and laundry and pancakes and brokenness.

Let Him.

Green Hardback Suitcases

Ever since I can remember, running was my instinct. I used to have this green hardback suitcase that was almost big enough for me to crawl into and disappear. I had the need to run. Many times I would crawl under my bed and pull it out. I’d pack it up with crackers and blankets, everything I believed would be necessary for my escape. I’d sneak out the back gate and hide in a corridor near my neighbors avocado tree. That’s as far as I ever got, though. I always wanted to run, but I sat there with wet eyes because I never knew where to go. I never knew where I’d belong. Eventually I’d drag my suitcase back up the driveway and slip it back under to my bed; desperate to breathe from the many suspected voyages, desperate to collect dust as I collected myself. I suspect there are still marks on that hardwood floor from the dragging promises of release, and the disappointed replacement. I know the marks still exist in me.

Ever since I can remember I had an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, the need for home. My only problem was that I had never left, save for my green suitcase corridor adventures. I remember my first house. I remember the hole where our neighbor raccoon sought refuge under our house, the split tree in the front yard where I practiced my gymnastics, the tin roof of my parents’ room that drew me to tears as it sang the most beautiful melody while the sky cried. I can recall the window I had broken in a fit of rage. I can still see my hideaway, my corridor, my secrets. I remember my first house, but I could never call it home.

And what of the second? That must have been my home. I regrettably shake my head as I recall this place. The resting spot of my first pet, first bike, first broken friendship. The grounds so swollen with my tears. I can see myself racing home in the middle of the night after I had been tormented at a sleepover. I can see myself lighting candles over my pets’ vigil. The ground may be watered with my salty tears, but this is not my ground, this is not my home.

The third, fourth, fifth. Same sad reality. I can see the joy. I remember coming home the first time I had felt the sheen of sweat of a nervous boys’ hand. I’ve kept my first rose pressed inside a yearbook. I still have notes regarding my high school crush. But I can still feel my burning knees skid across the ground, my burning cheek introduced to a new side of my mothers’ hand, my burning wrists as I attempted to escape it all. And feeling something is more powerful than all the joyous distant memories one could clamor up. These places were never my home, nor are they now. I still long for that place.

How can I be homesick for a place I’ve never known? As a little girl I remember longing for somewhere I could call my own. I loved my family, but that was not my place. I discovered that time and time again. I’ve moved three thousand miles and still feel as far away and as lost as I was when I reached under my bed for a safe haven.

Ever since I can remember, running was my instinct. But my suitcase has long since fallen apart, my corridor is a lifetime away, my heart is broken, and I’ve yet to locate the harbor.

Carnival Rides

Never once did we ever walk alone,
Never once did you leave us on our own.
You are faithful, God you are faithful

Am I alone? Sometimes it really feels like it. I mean I can be surrounded by people, but I don’t think they get it. Do they feel alone? Have they ever? Is anyone else lost? I feel like I’m sitting on cold concrete. I am alone and tired and I’m trying to be brave but I’m running out of courage. And I feel so very invisible, so very lost, insecure, and left behind.

Never once did you ever walk alone

I wonder how I can sing that if I don’t believe it. And I taste the words as I allow myself to digest them I wonder if this is true. Why do I still feel so alone though? Am I making a liar of myself by professing these words? I wish I could believe that I’ve never been alone – oh how I hope that it’s true. I mean I’m not saying sometimes haven’t been fun, but how is that I’ve been in this place for so long?

It’s like being lost at the fair. It’s fun at first – you ride the rides and eat a bunch of fried food, see some shows. But eventually the crowd will clear. You’ll be out of tickets and have a wicked belly ache and you’ll be alone. The ferris-wheel slowly stops spinning, the carny’s wipe off their makeup and it’s quiet, save for the bleating of the sheep. As they begin to shut off the lights you don’t know if you should cry or scream. Scream I tell you, SCREAM. But by the time you decide – you don’t bother. It’s too late. No one is going to hear you. So you sit down, alone in the dark, lifeless midway – listening to the barely audible clamor of the animals, who from what you can tell have more purpose in their lives that you – and you pray, to whatever god may be listening, that someone will find you tomorrow.

Never once did you leave me on my own

But what if they don’t? What if they don’t come tomorrow? How can I expect to be found when I don’t even know where I am? Or who I am, for that matter? I’m so far from where I “need” to be… wherever that is.

You are faithful
God, You are faithful

And for now, that’s all I have:
The faith that I will be found tomorrow.

For Him

There’s just something about you, in the deepest part of you that
makes me want to be better; and not for you – for me.

I see what a graceful mess you are; pieces falling out, but into place.
No idea where you’re going, but your travel’s full of peace.

When you talk it’s full of purpose, though you’re not sure what it is.
So still and strong and sturdy in something you’ve never known.

I wish I could be better, not so you and I would ‘work’.
You just make me feel like it’s ok to be lost as long as I keep moving.

For eventually things fall into place and someone will fall in love with
my train wrecked dreams and the way I see the sky.
And I’ll thank you, for showing me I’m worth more
than crossroads and train tracks and could’ve-beens,
for believing enough to take a step closer.

For making me better.

Little Treasures

"Fear wants to steer you into walls love never made to contain you."

Redeemed

Seems like all I could see was the struggle
Haunted by ghosts that lived in my past,
Bound by shackles of all my failures
Wondering, 'how long is this gonna last?'
Then You look at this prisioner, and say to me "Son,
Stop fighting a fight that's already been won"

I am Redeemed.
You set me free.
So I'll shake off these heavy chains,
And wipe away every stain,
'Cause I'm not who I used to be.
I am Redeemed.

All my life I've been called unworthy.
Named by the voice of my shame and regret.
But when I hear you whisper, "Child, lift up your head."
I remember Oh, God, You're not done with me yet.

I am Redeemed.
You set me free.
So I'll shake off these heavy chains,
And wipe away every stain,
'Cause I'm not who I used to be.
I am Redeemed.

Because, I don't have to be the old man inside of me,
For his day is long dead and gone.
Oh, I've got a new name, A new life, I'm not the same
and a hope that will carry me on.

I am Redeemed.
You set me free.
So I'll shake off these heavy chains,
And wipe away every stain,
'Cause I'm not who I used to be.
I am Redeemed.

Oh I'm not who I used to be.

I am Redeemed.