The Beautiful Ache

I asked her how she was doing. She had been under relational stress for a long time. She began to share, inviting me into her story, which was rough. Her vulnerability opened a path into her heart which I longed to explore. And then, with a door-slamming abruptness, she declared with a smile, “But it’s all good. It’s all good.” 

Her story was pain-filled and felt a bit hopeless. It was anything but all good with a smile on top. Perhaps if she were to sit in the real a moment longer, she feared it would devour her. Or bring shame. Or provoke unanswerable questions. Or take her down a path that would be too much for her heart to bear. I have known all of those fears. I did not judge her. I just longed to know her and be with her and be salve to her wounded soul. 

Whatever her reason for zipping up her heart, our communion came to what felt like a premature end. This was her pattern for navigating life. Her glass wall she could erect in an instant to protect herself from pain and ache. She’s not alone. In this season of Corona, I’m finding myself resistant to attuning and attending to my insides. I’m struggling to remain present to the ache of loneliness within me, even though I’m surrounded by a houseful of wonderful family members continually. But, when I do, I create space for Jesus to fill the void which has been filled by others in the past. I’ve leaned into the beautiful ache of emptiness for the past 15 years, inviting Jesus to fill those spaces in my soul which I’ve filled with people/things/experiences previously. Jesus longs to fill our souls with His soul-satisfying self if we create space for Him to do that. 

an unnatural befriending

It begins by befriending the ache and unmet longings.

In this Corona season, I am aware that my aches and unmet longings seem to be compounding, which is triggering my desire to escape the ache. I have friends feeling similarly. Good practices can become not-so-healthy when they’re used to silence the ache. My personality is manifesting in restlessness. I feel pressure to achieve while aware of a sluggishness in my body which is difficult to overcome. I want to achieve partly to prove I have value, partly because it has protected me in the past. I need to listen to my body for it’s seeking to tell me a story through it’s desire to slow down. God might be telling me a story through my body if I take time to listen. Some are escaping by counting their blessings, or thinking positive thoughts. Some are consuming more alcohol than usual. Some are escaping in electronics or books. None of these things are harmful in and of themselves. They only begin to harm our us when we use them to quarantine our ache into a dark corner of our souls, muzzling it into silence.

We were designed for an abundant, vibrant, God-glorifying, soul-satisfying life. The mystery of our anticipated kingdom [of God] lies in the fact that it is both present and future, now and not yet. It overlaps the edges and sometimes intersects the very heart of this ragged world—but it comes from another place altogether. In those overlapping, intersecting moments, our desire is most keenly felt. We know we’re made for more than this. We’re just not sure whether to bury our longings or embrace them—whether to deny the disappointments of everyday life or dive deeper and plumb their depths.  --Lee McLeroy, The Beautiful Ache

When I’m tempted to run from the ache of my story, I wonder if Jesus feels like He’s been straight-armed to the other side of the glass wall around my heart. He waits eagerly for my invitation to enter and commune with me, comfort me, plumb the depths with me where I will find myself more grounded in His love.

When I do open the door and invite Him into what feels like the millionth ache, I find myself wrestling and weeping with Him, asking Him to give me the courage to see my ache and unmet longing as beautiful because it is stirring my hunger for more of Him. Sometimes I don’t have the energy to feel much at all and only ask for the grace to remain present to the story we are co-authoring through my life. Wherever I’m at, I rest in knowing He’s glad I showed up and invited His inpouring presence.

1 There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2  a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot,

3  a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

4  a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance… -Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

In the West, we seem to be bent toward the side of the pendulum which contains laughing and dancing. It’s a discipline to create space to attune to those realities whose traveling companions are mild discomfort to mourning and weeping.  The cruciform life holds in tension the distant poles of reality—living and dying, planting and uprooting, weeping and laughter, mourning and dancing. There is room for it all. And all of it is designed to ignite our senses, to stir our hunger to be filled with more of God and His beauty. All so that we may pour it back into Him and into others.

a suggested practice

Pay attention to your emotions. Is there resistance to any of them? Is there a temptation to ignore some of them? Experiment with befriending the ones you resist and invite Jesus to be in that space with you. Listen for His kind voice.