Yearning does not phone ahead.
No heads-up email, or text. No forwarded ETA. Amid tinsel and candy and LED stars, yearning arrives like a long shiver: down-in-the-bone lonely. An awkward Soul-guest. Seemingly hungry.
But not lost. No.
Across its imaginary palm, scrawled in blue ink, the address is yours, and mine. Deliberate, then, this surprise visit.
What we do next will determine more than our mood.
“Present” day
Has yearning knocked at your door lately? A longing you can’t quite name?
It woke me on my birthday. Interrogation failed: I hazarded guesses as to its source but failed to define my sense of loss and incompleteness (and thus dismiss it).
It’s with me, still. Maybe it wants a hand to hold?
Or a handout?
Or a hand up, to heave itself free from past disappointments—because it aches, this inward sigh.
So what now?
Here’s what I suspect (and I hope you’ll share your insights, in the comments below)
Yearning arrives as the teacher—a timeless gift—when the learner is ready.
Past time, passed forward
What if yearning sent the travel-stained child named Mary to visit Elizabeth?
Trembling, Mary nears her kinswoman’s windowless door feeling mostly awed, slightly bewildered. She’s thirsty and maybe a little bit dreamy, having walked so far. Having carried such secrets.
Elizabeth’s work-worn hands pull her over the threshold. She barely contains the leaping within! She is loud with her blessing.
And puzzled to be her Lord’s host. Why her? Why here?
Sure as the almond tree is the first to bloom and the last to lose its leaves, Elizabeth sees Mary’s faith. She strokes that teenage face lit with hopes and dread and a hundred questions.
There is singing and sighing, and prophesying. There’s probably soup. And honey, drizzled across unleavened bread.
There are weeks of rising and working, then resting together, stroking their bellies as night comes on. John is a kicker, a roller, a swimmer of rivers; Jesus has yet to fidget or turn. He is quiet. Contained.
The two friends gaze at each other, and maybe they think:
Something never-before-this-Real wants to be born, through us.
Welcome yearning
Mary and Elizabeth differ from us. Their enigmas were already named: John, and Jesus. The long yearned for son and never-dreamed-of boy arrived, as gifts, clearly labeled.
We who have yet to understand our restless Soul-guest can learn from St. Benedict’s Rule: “Let everyone that comes be received as Christ.”
“‘Lord, when did . . . we see you a stranger and invite you in . . . ?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” —Matthew 25:38-40 (NIV)
Like Elizabeth, we extend our hands toward mystery.
And if the riddle is me?
Yearning also invites us to welcome estranged parts of ourselves. What talents, dreams, or personality traits have we shelved, or dismissed?
Exiled, or denied?
Mary, at Elizabeth’s door, might have ached to feel reassured. Scripture tells us she spent three months with Elizabeth.
Yearning is a timeless gift, worth opening slowly.
Like Mary and Elizabeth, we work alongside our yearning, and rest with it quietly at day’s end. We trust it will name itself, in good time.
Maybe yearning concerns something we’ve left undone. Or something yet to declare itself.
Welcome—be it inward only, or outward—begins long before the heart swings wide.
Welcome starts small,
a seed, shaped first in the mind,
which grows into the beckoning gesture,
soothing as soup, yeasty as bread, irresistible as the outstretched hand.
This is what I know, so far, about yearning.
What can you add?
I hope you’ll consider sharing this post with others.
This, “Yearning also invites us to welcome estranged parts of ourselves. What talents, dreams, or personality traits have we shelved, or dismissed?” Words that caused my breath to catch, slow my reading, pause and re-read that part, there. How I could hear your gentle voice, you leaning in, asking the question and letting it slowly fill in cracks caused in the dismissing.
Thank you, friend.
Sharon, how eloquently you usher me into your “moment” with the post. Thank you. Picture me humbled, grateful, praying alongside you (leaning in, of course) that those gaps brim again. Merry Christmas to you, and yours, my friend.
I really like what you said about yearning being “worth opening slowly.” I think I often don’t recognize yearning when it first appears. I usually only see it in retrospect, as I look back over how things unfolded and yearning planted the seed.
Linda, thank you for being specific about what struck you. You say it beautifully! I often miss its inception, too, but hope to become increasingly attuned to its beginnings as I live more in the moment. Blessings on you, friend!
Oh my goodness, this post is glorious. So many words and thoughts that gave me the gift of “pause and ponder.” May I accept yearning’s gift and willingly open it slowly and attentively. May I carry every yearning as beautifully as Mary and Elizabeth.
Carol, thank you for sharing how it struck you, and even more, for your beautiful prayer here. You speak for me as well.
I agree with Jody: “you write such beauty with your words,” Laurie, blessing the reader twice over with your thoughtful content and creative composition. ‘Loved your expressive insights concerning Mary and Elizabeth. As for this topic of yearning: A season of yearning most often serves the purpose of turning our attention more pointedly toward God. We’re more apt to practice his presence, exercise perseverance, and develop some spiritual muscle. It’s a slow process, this working through a yearning, and an exercise of patience.
Nancy, thanks for your kind words. Your thoughts on yearning are practical as well as inspiring. This is the kind of practice I want to dive into each day, and I appreciate the heads-up about patience in the process. Thank you!
What a lovely post…you write such beauty with your words, Laurie.
When I think of ‘yearning’ it’s a constant state of mind, actually, in that I am always yearning to sit with my Father and read and listen. But there is so little time.
Rather than beat myself up for what I don’t have I take it as a good sign that my ‘want-to’ is from Him. And He knows all about my limitations life-wise and time-wise. And God is okay with that.
I praise Him for a thirst for His presence and His word whenever I’m able to ‘drink.’
Jody, this is a beautiful observation, and I am taking to heart this idea that our “want-to” comes from our loving, accepting God who understands the demands of our days and the limits of our strength. And praising him for the yearning, that seems really key for me right now. Thank you so much!
Beautifully said, Laurie, A teacher…a slow unfolding. I too have found “Yearning” to be one of those kinds of emotions that invites me and informs me as I listen and pat attention as you are so clearly doing. And it rarely becomes “clear” without a waiting, a listening and stillness. – all hard to come by in a time like this season we are in. I have learned it’s ok to be in this place a lot longer than i’d ever like to be and if I can’t focus now, I will find the time.
things that help:
1. Journaling often unlocks insights as I free-write.
2. Talking with wise spiritual friends who know me and can see things I can’t see
3. The support of therapy – I have been part of a therapy group for two years, soon to be transitioning out, but will continue to return to my counselor when I cannot see my way clear.
God’s peace to you Laurie as you listen and wait and pay attention.
“a waiting, a listening, and a stillness”—as the means to clarity, YES! This sounds deeply right, Carol. I haven’t engaged free-write journaling in a while. I hope to do so this weekend. You and Nancy and Jody have all spoken to me today as “wise spiritual friends,” and I thank you.
I am sure you have done this before, but actually starting out “dear God – writing and at some point write “dear Laurie” and see what God might say to you.
My friend calls it “praying at the point of a pen.”
again, probably not a new thought but i thought of it as i read your comment.
blessings as you free write.
“Praying at the point of a pen”—what a marvelous phrase. I’ve done as you suggest here in the past, using two colored pens, saving the red ink for what I perceive God wants to communicate with me. It’s been a while, though. Sounds like the next step! I appreciate you so much!
I’m inspiring myself. I have done some lately…I am “in the middle” and I just couldn’t focus on getting it down on paper. I did leave a vox with someone, sort of talking out the process…i think i’ll take my own advice here tomorrow or the weekend.
Carol, I am just sitting down now with new candles, fresh coffee, paper and pens . . . Blessings on your weekend oasis, and thanks for urging me toward mine, about to unfold . . .