"All of you is more than enough for all of me,
for every thirst and every need,
you satsify me with your love,
and all I have in you is more than enough."
It had been a while since I had heard this song when we sang it at church last Sunday night. Of course, it served as yet another example of God's intimate knowledge of my heart: I have been feeling thirst and need in a deeply painful and acute way as of late. As I raised my voice with the people around me, the song became as much a prayer as it was a declaration. I found myself thinking, "Father, please let me know this is true." When I spend days upon days feeling an ache I can't quite even name, I want to truly know that he is enough for me.
When I was in college, a mentor once challenged me to just sit down and tell God what I need him to be. This is both an intimidating and vulnerable thing to do. But how will I know that he really is enough- no, MORE than enough- if I am not honestly coming to him with my lack? In many ways, I suppose it is a matter of trust, both in his power and in his love for me. Do I really believe his love is big enough to satisfy all the hurting places? And even moreso, do I really believe that he will answer when I call out in such pain? Do I believe this enough to say "no" to the all the counterfeits for satisfaction and just wait for him to come through?
As I drove home from school yesterday, I felt like I was about to drown in a Grand Canyon of anxiety and need. So I took my mentor’s advice: I resolved to refuse the counterfeits, and I came before God with my lack. It was less than eloquent, but it was all I could muster.
C.S. Lewis described healing from pain as “the warming of a room or the coming of daylight. When you first notice them they have already been going on for some time.” I’m not sure when it happened- whether it was when I walked into the calm of an unexpectedly empty house, or when I stepped out into the most perfect evening air imaginable. I don’t know if it was as I ambled past grazing deer, or when I paused to watch the way the sprinkler water rolled in rivulets, dropping from leaf to leaf down a tall-stalked plant. I don’t know the details, but somewhere in those few hours since my pained cry, the room had started to warm, and the sun was coming in. By the time I looked around, well….you know that impossibly deep canyon?
It was filled up with more than enough.