Tuesday, September 12, 2006


I am beginning to uncover the germ of something that has been stirring in my soul intermittently over the past several years....Dissatisfaction. Perhaps it's the process of getting older, or the disappointments of life that worm their way into the cracks of our souls like water seeping into the lowest crevice in the ground, but there is a sense of dissatisfaction with things that sometimes follows me like a shadow, staying just behind me, seen only briefly through my peripheral vision. It overtakes me in brief, unpredictable moments that eventually dissipate, but leave a faint mark upon me.

Why should I be dissatisfied? I have a good husband, two kids that I adore, even a dog that follows my every move. We have a roof over our heads, food in the refrigerator, and clothes to wear.

Of course, I realize that satisfaction has little to do with the things you have and much to do with acceptance of what you do have.

For many years I longed for acceptance from my immediate family. We loved each other, but I never really felt appreciated for who I was. I never felt understood by them, or as if they "got" me. This sneaky little hole in my psyche would often leave me longing for a mother I didn't have as opposed to embracing the one that I did. I even was surprised when my older brother, who is a Christian like me, didn't spend much time with me when he was last in town. Surely, I thought, we would be able to connect because we shared the same beliefs that the rest of our family didn't. But, after many years, I have come to discover that it just isn't going to happen.

Like a bolt of lightning I sensed that really everyone feels this way. Everyone is looking for validation and acceptance. Yet, how many of us get it?

Friends and family can light the spark within us temporarily, but then, when the harsh winds of reality blow, and the Norman Rockwell moment passes, we're right back where we were before.

True satisfaction only comes when you find it in God. He always gets me, even when other Christians don't. He always knows what I mean and doesn't misinterpret what I am saying. He sees my heart when others only see my body language. He accepts me as his child. He is the parent I never had; concerned about me, loving towards me, directing my path when I don't know which way to turn. I hope that I can parent my children with the same love that He has shown for me.

At least I know that when I tell a joke, He gets the punchline, even if the rest of the room is awkwardly silent.

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