My Deepest Need

What is my deepest need? I hardly know sometimes, though every now and again I catch a glimpse of it.

Like when I hear Sara Groves’ singing Going Home…
I’ve been feeling kind of restless.
I’ve been feeling out of place.
I can hear a distant singing, a song that I can’t write,
But it echoes in what I’m always trying to say.

Or when I read Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
These woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

Or when I watch Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ,” and see the Savior stumble beneath my awful burden. His mother comes to him, and through the thorns and blood-matted hair his eyes pierce her soul. While what he says is technically not in the gospels, the theology is right on. “Behold woman,” he says, “I make all things new.” Who would have thought our salvation would look like this? (see Revelation 21:1-1-5 and Isaiah 53:1 in The Message).

Sometimes I see it in the eyes of people I see each day. They are facing death in a way I can’t really understand. Their life is slipping away. Moments pass far too quickly for them, and they are visited by people they may never see again… at least in this world. Yet even when Death has come calling, and sits there day after day in his silent vigil, they still choose life; they still choose to love; they still choose to laugh. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.

I get a sense of my deepest need when in those all too infrequent times of reflection and prayer, I sense a deepening of sorts, a presence within me, something wild and powerful, something fierce, unpredictable and untamed… but something good. And I am reminded that the Creator, the Triune God, has moved into my neighborhood and is sharing their life with the likes of me. Now that is really incredible.

The other day my daughter, Jenna, came to sit with me. She often does that when I get home: she holds up her little arms and smiles because she knows she will be lifted up into my lap. We play with her princess toys she’s brought with her. She's usually Belle or Snow White or Cinderella. I’m sometimes Prince Charming, or just “the King.” (Yes, the tiny Elvis in me loves that one!) We play, we laugh, we snuggle.

One day recently she looked at me and voluntarily said, “I luj you daddy.” My heart leapt within me and I very nearly wept because I knew exactly what she meant. I wasn’t happy just because she said it first and not just as a response to my own “I love you, Jenna.” And not just because she really meant it and knew what she was saying. (I’m convinced she knows!)

I very nearly wept because in that moment, in that place, I needed to hear that from her. And in the deepest places of my being I knew I had heard the voice of God through my daughter.

In that moment my deepest need was very clear.

My deepest need is to be hoisted into my Father’s lap, to rest my head upon him – to snuggle with him – and to say, “I love you Daddy.” Sometimes it comes out wrong and if you were to overhear, it may not make much sense to you. But my Papa understands. And I think his heart leaps too. Does it move him to tears of joy? The mystics of this world say yes. I wholeheartedly and unequivocally agree.

“I luj you Daddy,” I say, “because you are the only one with Whom I feel really safe. You secure me and comfort my aching spirit. I come to you, because I am weary down into my very bones, and you give me rest. You lead into far green countries beside quiet waters; you refresh my very soul. And I am absolutely assured there will always be room in your lap for the likes of me.”

“Don’t be afraid,” replies Papa. “It’s all going to work out just fine. Now you have Me, Jim. Now you have me…”

May it be so with you.