The Longing and the Not Yet

I’ve had the great privilege of becoming a mentor to a sweet little itty bitty eight year old. She does gymnastics, and cheer, and soccer, and loves all things pink and girly, and unicorny. She’s a chatterbox when it’s just us two, but grabs my hand and hides her face when she meets new people. I knew I loved her the day I met her.

After bringing her to an event where she met some of my friends and their families, she asked me from the back seat of the car as I drove her home how I had become her mentor. I explained the process. “Did you,” she began cautiously, “pick me?” I smiled at her through the rearview mirror: “Yes, I picked you.” I didn’t have a good answer for her next question of WHY I had picked her, or the next question . . .

Having recently joined a “forever family,” belonging was hot on her mind. Would I stay with her? Would I continue to meet with her? Was there anything about her that made me want her . . . or not want her? . . . were the questions I read between the questions. She had longed to belong, and now she longed to never lose it.

In many ways, I identify with this sweet girl. Though coming from vastly different backgrounds, I’ve definitely experienced enough hurt to ask the question, “Does anyone want me?” I’ve experienced the longing . . . often for which I don’t even know.

A single friend confided in me this week that she longs to be pursued. Another friend just updated her blog post on their journey with adoption as her and her husband long for their child. Still another longs to move past the toddler stage, and I can think of many others waiting, longing, desiring.

And I long . . . for a family, for a job promotion, for a ministry calling, to go back overseas . . . for something.

Filled with a myriad of emotions the other night, I brought the issue to God. What is it? What is it I long for? What feels wrong or missing? I prayed hard that day for wisdom and truth. And as I prepared dinner that night, it came in one soft word . . . eternity.

This isn’t it, Emily, I felt Him say. What you long for is not quite here. I have friends, family, community, and may one day have my own family . . . but there is something more that I want. I heard myself echoing the question of my little mentee during my “making dinner” conversation with God: Did You . . .  pick me? Do You want me? . . . Yes, I picked you, I heard His love and assurance. Felt His smile . . His desire. 

I leaned in. In the midst of the odd combination of discomfort and beauty, I embrace the longing. It keeps me leaning in toward my true home . . . eternity. It keeps me leaning in even closer toward Him.