Clipped Wings

A friend recently bought me a copy of the New York Times bestseller, "The Shack," by William Young. I'll just start this off by saying if you haven't read it, do yourself a favor and get your hands on a copy. It's some of the worst editing I've ever seen, but the story and the message and the way it speaks to the reader are so powerful that you quickly forget this. I'm not a big crier at any time, but I can't sit down to read this without my eyes getting teary and finding myself touched in some really deep places, which is why I'm writing today.

I don't want to give too much away, but in the story Mack (the main character) is invited to spend a weekend with God - face to face - in order to deal with some really painful wounds and losses he's been through that have impacted his ability to have relationship with God. From the moment Mack "meets" God, I found myself on constant tear alert. The warmth, exuberance, openness and acceptance with which he is greeted are utterly disarming, and I found myself envious, longing and wondering why God doesn't do this sort of thing for us in the real world. What a difference it would make in our lives, you know? But even as I felt these things, I also felt happy because I know that the picture this author has given about how God feels toward us is as close to truth as we can get.

As God and Mack start really digging into Mack's issues, God explains that we were created to be loved, and when we live as though we are unloved we become like birds whose wings have been clipped so they are unable to fly. That hit me so powerfully, and I began to wonder what my life would look like if I could come to the place where I could live as one who is loved by God. How might something so powerful change my relationships, my lifestyle, my career, my passions, my goals?

I think I'm halfway there with this, but I'm not finished with the journey, and if God and I can sort this out, I think it will be the answer to a lot of the raw pain and honest self-revelations I've written about in this blog. In all the years I waited on God to make me feel whole, I was really waiting to feel loved. And in saying that I want to make something very clear. I don't need someone to convince me that God loves me. I don't need someone to tell me God loves me. I don't even need to come to a place where I believe that God loves me. I'm already there. I already know it. I'm convinced to a point that is even, perhaps, beyond faith. I don't just believe it; I know it. There's a difference there. I had several encounters with God during my Fundy years that were incredibly powerful in that way, times when a love so big and rich and powerful wrapped itself around me without warning and I couldn't help but feel loved, like that love was so rich and powerful and absolute that it didn't just surround me; it permeated my very cells and the trillions of atoms that come together to form this body. I know how exaggerated that sounds, but it's absolutely true. I remember those moments, and the ones that were most powerful and had the most profound impact on me were not moments I had to search for, work for, or fight for. They were moments I stumbled into, like the time I drove around a corner on my way to church and was so overcome without warning that I nearly had to pull over, overwhelmed at the wave of love that hit me. Sounds crazy, I know, but it happened.

Here's where the problem came in... it didn't happen enough. That's why I never got to that place of feeling really complete or really whole or really loved. I needed something more frequent than every few months or once or twice a year. Maybe that sounds like a lot to expect or ask from God, but I don't think it is. I can't imagine having a husband or boyfriend who thought it was enough to say, "I love you," once or twice a year. That relationship would get unhealthy really quickly. I don't want to be with someone whose mentality is, "I told you I loved you last week. You shouldn't need to hear it every day to know it's true." But whether I should or not, I do. I don't want to merely live with the knowledge that my significant other loves me; I want to live with the reality, the experience. I want to be with someone who reminds me of his enthusiasm toward me every day, whether that be through his words, his touch, his affectionate nicknames, his expressed desire to spend time with me. I want him to reach out and touch the chord of my emotions with the intention of making me feel loved, treasured, and desired. And if I need and want this in a relationship that is merely human, how much more would I desire it from God? How much more deeply would I long for the One whose love I need the most to tell me every day in ways I can feel just how much I mean to Him? Just as I wouldn't want my husband to make love to me once a week - or worse, once a year - and expect me to be satisfied the rest of the time with knowing I was loved but not feeling loved, I don't want to go through life simply knowing that God loves me and waiting 18 months until the next time He chooses to reach back and surround me.

Perhaps that sounds unreasonable, and truthfully I'm not saying I need or expect a mind-blowing spiritual experience every day of my life. But some "routine maintenance" would be nice. I wouldn't need to have an uber-romantic encounter with my husband or boyfriend every day, but a touch or a hug in passing combined with the occasional use of an affectionate nickname or a request for a little focused conversation and an "I love you" would go a long way toward making me feel loved in the in-between times.

So back to the book... what would my life be like if that were happening with God, if He reached out every day to touch my emotions in some way small or large that said, "I love you. I treasure you. I'm so glad I created you. You are mine." I can't even begin to imagine. Having such an excess of love in your life would undoubtedly make you a more loving, patient, giving person with others. You wouldn't ever feel insecure. You'd never feel the need to prove yourself. You wouldn't have to prove to everyone else in the lifeboat that you were worthy of love, approval and praise, as Donald Miller writes about. You wouldn't worry about stuff because you would live in absolute security that it's all under control and will ultimately work out for the best. You'd be at peace, full of joy, unafraid. You would be free to fly because you wouldn't have clipped wings.

I don't know anyone who lives that way, though. Or at least not all the time. And I wish God would help me understand this because the more I think about it, living in the daily light of God's love sounds an awful lot like heaven to me.