I want a lot of things.
I want a new bag. A plate of steaming pizza rolls. That amazing pair of leather boots from Urban with the fanned pleats on the back. A promising future and a paycheck to match. A chance to see Shaun. An evening of cupcakes and jellybeans and Friends with Morgan Moore.
I spend most of my time thinking about what I want, making efforts to secure these desires, and exploiting them once I’m satisfied.
Without fail, each and every time I get what I want, I only want more.
But you know this. Most of us are this way–it’s in our nature. We’re never satisfied.
But I’m so SICK of wanting. It’s disgusting, dirty, pathetic. It’s all a great chase.
I know that God offers me everything I want, everyday, in the relationship He offers me. And I know that all this crap I find to temporarily stave off all my desires is nothing compared to the eternity He wants me to have with Him. I know these wants are worldly. I know they’ll only make me unhappier.
But I can’t stop it.
I want to want.
I haven’t written much lately, mostly because there’s not a lot going on in my life right now and any attempt I might make at explaining all this nothingness would only prove to be the most boring piece of text anyone might ever read. Ever.
I am, however, going crazy.
There’s no way for me to not do anything like this and not get disgusted with myself. I can’t relish the chance to relax. I need purpose. Something to do. Something to work toward. Something to enjoy.
Right now, I’ve got nothing.
I sleep. Eat. Throw birthday parties for whiny toddlers. Read. Eat. Sleep.
I can hardly write, I’m so empty of everything.
DAGGGGGGG.
I’m sorry you read this.
Filed under: life | Tags: *NSYNC, 12, death, Jeep Wrangler, Lucky Charms, mint, Oreos, The Wizard of Oz, zoology
That I once had a pet hermit crab named Hermie?
That from kindergarten to eighth grade, I won the spelling bee four times, and only in even-numbered grades? (Second, fourth, sixth, eighth–I’m a walking dictionary).
That my favorite color for several years was black?
That I can read text upside down just as easily as when it’s written rightside up?
That my chosen career was to be a wild-animal zoologist until my junior year of high school, when someone let me know that it would be a waste if I didn’t pursue writing, no matter how uncertain it would be?
That my primary childhood celebrity crush was Lance Bass from *NSYNC?
That my neighborhood was built in front of a tiny, tiny cemetery tucked away into the woods behind my house?
That I have a scar on my ankle from a nasty spill playing wheelchair basketball in freshmen P.E.?
That I love mint-flavored things?
That my dream car has always been a red Jeep Wrangler?
That as a child, I found The Wizard of Oz to be a terrifyingly frightening movie, simply because of the part with the tornado at the beginning?
That I can’t help but laugh when people trip or fall?
That I tried to run away with Carmen when were younger because my parents tried to make me finish my vegetable soup, but couldn’t go through with it and ended up standing at the front door, begging my parents to let me back in the house?
That my favorite number is 12, and it almost always shows up on my Lucky Numbers list from fortune cookies?
That I used to play the clarinet, the oboe, and the drums?
That I want a tattoo?
That I almost always write in cursive?
That I can speak in a freakishly accurate British accent, thanks to years of pretend tea parties with Danielle?
That Danielle and I also started a band in fourth grade named Capri, and that our practice sessions consisted of us singing karaoke-style to songs cut by artists like the Dixie Chicks, Dream, Hanson, and *NSYNC?
That I’ve made only one three-point shot in my entire life?
That if I had to choose, my favorite book is The Giving Tree?
That I have over ten nicknames, including Na, Nome, and Nomi?
That I have a fear of ovens?
That when I eat Lucky Charms cereal, I save all the marshmallows for last?
That I broke up with my first boyfriend on a pew card in church?
That I had a guinea pig named Rebecca (after the character from TailSpin) who I hated, because she’d eat my hair if I got too close to her cage?
That I can only eat Oreos in their bite-size form?
That I love to peel my skin after a particularly nasty sunburn?
That I love pizza rolls, but only pepperoni?
That I am not at all afraid of dying?
…Yeah, I didn’t think so. Just thought you should know.
Have you ever read the second chapter of Proverbs?
If not, go get that Bible. Do it. Crack it open and take a read from the first fifteen verses.
I’ll wait.
…
Okay. Maybe, for you, this isn’t profound. Maybe it sounds like typical Biblical wisdom, paralleling the adages of the Bible’s Top 100. (By that I mean verses like Romans 3:23, Acts 2:38, and the biggest crowd-pleaser of them all, John 3:16).
Anyway, when I read this in church today, it seemed amazing.
See, I try to do a lot of things as a Christian. I try to read my Bible everyday. I try to pray ceaselessly. I try to set an example in behavior and attitude. But I fail to find time to read. I forget to pray. And sometimes, well, I can be a really terrible person.
And while I realize that failing as a Christian is part of wearing the title, that God loves me regardless, and that, according to James, I’m supposed to actually take joy in my failures and hardships, sometimes I feel like I’m never going to learn to do things the right way. I worry I’ll forever be making the same mistakes so that, at ninety-seven years old, I’ll still struggle with spiritual stagnation or keeping a check on my tongue or having patience or discovering selflessness.
I’m afraid I’ll never grow out of this struggle I’m in.
Passages like this one offer me the encouragement I feel I need to grow. They make promises of the relationship God wants with me and that I starve for. They make me yearn for a faith that’s stronger, that means more. They make me keep trying.
