We were driving home from the Farm Show the other night (yes, we are hicks) and after the kids had fallen asleep and we'd driven out of range of WJTL, Todd turned to the CD player for music. That thing rarely gets used anymore. U2 started playing. Despite being country bumpkins, we do listen to cool music from time to time.
So I said, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for."
And Todd said, "You haven't?"
I was identifying the song. But it's true. I haven't.
On the one hand, I feel I should just stuff my desires. I have so much to be grateful for, right? People would kill for my life. To have a husband like mine and two healthy kids--and to be able to stay home with them in a big house. What more could I want?
But I do want more. It's always just beyond my reach. I can't quite get my hands around it.
That's what makes me start a Daniel Fast and then a week into it I still wonder, "What am I doing wrong? There has to be more to it than this. I'm not spending enough time in prayer. When is it all going to come together?"
It's why I sit down at the end of 2011 and write out goals for the new year. Goals I could only accomplish if I were given 48-hour days, during which the children slept for 24 hours or so.
It shows itself in grand plans for a "Great Purge" when I will eradicate everything from our home that is neither useful nor beautiful to us. And finally--miraculously--we will be free of clutter.
The desire for more. It's what turns my heart towards this man who shares my life and pushes me to never stop wanting more, to keep growing deeper in love.
It's why I write. And write. And send out queries and manuscripts. And write some more.
It's why I look at my children and see that they're not babies anymore . . . and weep.
Why isn't all that I have enough? Is it that I'm greedy? Ungrateful? Or could it be that He has put eternity in my heart. The desire for more . . . beauty, truth, meaning, significance is all wrapped up in wanting more of Him. We may get glimpses of eternity in this life, but it's just a taste of what's to come. And so we're left wanting, longing for the real thing.