What Do I Want? What Do I REALLY Want?

I'm learning that more and more of my life is being punctuated by question marks, not periods or commas. Each year, a few more proverbial question marks get added, and my grammar and syntax gets worse.

This is a poem by Laura Kreger that was printed in the 'Psalms of Ascent' devotional through Imago Dei Community. I find myself completely identifying with the story, but finding hope and ease in the last paragraph.

I sit at a card table solving my 5,000-piece jigsaw puzzle. I know my picture doesn’t match the glossy one on the box, but not all the pieces are in yet. Follow you? Yes, Lord, just a few more pieces and I’ll be set.

My frame is done—the corners, the straight edges, the degree, the job. Next I need to fill it in. Maybe more school for a better job. See that big hole? It might take awhile: more Bible, more books, more art. You know, God, a husband would make this go faster, someone to help. Did that piece get kicked under the couch?

Pieces for parents, nieces, grandma, friends. People need me, they come first. Buying groceries, washing dishes. Tedious to-do list pieces need to be placed too. Is this blue more blue than that blue? I’m hunched over the table with bloodshot eyes. I’m so close.

Suddenly, the door flies open and a wind whips through the room, overturning the table, sending pieces flying. The floor is a mess. The box, crumpled. Through the open doorway, a voice: “Follow me.”

Not when I think I’m ready. Now.

I peek out. The scene from the box stretches as far as I can see, and farther. With light. Depth. Completion. I unclench my fists. All of this—free? Free. Anxiety begins to melt. Christ takes my hand and leads me into his picture.

In this Lenten season I often fine myself in a self-centered power struggle. That I'm not enough, I can't NOT sin. Thoughts start to creep in, to either give up or just start pretending. Those aren't very good options. In Luke 22, the story takes me to the end of Christ's life, where there is another option. In Christ's sacrifice, I can embrace the fact that I cannot deny sin, but he can, and I am in him.

In Rick McKinley's new book, "A Kingdom Called Desire", a book I have yet to finish (I'm only on chapter 3 at this point). He challenges us to sit inside the question, what do I desire most? I feel I've been faced with that question a lot in this Lenten season. In all honesty, I couldn't answer that question at first and it took some real self reflection to be honest.

So, really asking that question, what do I want? What do I desire most? Why am I afraid to ask that question? McKinley says,

We will know we are getting close to Jesus' kingdom when our deepest joy is confronted by our greatest fears. But what if we press into those deeper questions, joys, and fears, they may open us up to the unlimited possibilities of living into the life of Jesus.

I've really seen this in action. Because when I ask myself that question...I answer with more questions! McKinley goes on to say

The questions keep rolling because fear lurks behind the veil of our hearts and honesty pulls back the veil revealing our desires. Do we dare to be honest with God about our deepest desires?

Now I find myself back at the beginning, with many question marks punctuating the season I'm in. In the midst of those questions, desires and fears, I know that He is good and ever so faithful. So that is what I'll rest in, His faithfulness.