A longing heart…
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Her eyes smiled across the table as she sat down. The sound of street jazz swirled with the chatter of tourists, the smell of beignets and chicory coffee pulsed in the air. It was a perfect afternoon at Café Du Monde French Market, New Orleans. My plane had landed a couple of hours earlier, and I was filling in some free time before my conference began. We ordered fried dough puffs, heaped with powdered sugar, and soaked in the scene.
“What brings you to New Orleans?” I asked savoring a sip of bitter coffee. She weighed me with her eyes, shrugged, and said, “I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a couple of months ago. After years of doing all the things I’m supposed to, I decided to fill up my days with things I wanted.” I gulped and took a slow breath. I know what pancreatic cancer looks like up-close. Finally, I offered a weak “I’m sorry to hear that” followed closely by, “tell me about the places you will visit.”
We talked for a long time about the places she had been, and those she hoped to see. We sipped from our tiny coffee cups, dusted our jeans with powdered sugar, and let the silence settle. When our bill came, she paid for my treat. I accepted with gratitude and watched her walk away. People crowded, the jazz band played on, and our table quickly filled, but our conversation lingered long after that moment passed.
I know what the clarity she described feels like. There are moments in life when our heart’s wants and needs become absolutely, stunningly clear. Moments where we realize that we can simply acknowledge the things that lay achingly in our souls.
I’ve been thinking a lot about longing as I walk toward this season of Advent. Life is good. I have so much to be grateful for, so many blessings. My life is full and wide and deep. I have wonderful people. I have good work. In many ways, it is a scandalous grace… and yet. My heart longs for things I have not yet experienced.
Advent is a season of preparation for His coming. A time of embracing the darkness, in preparation for the light. This year, I am thinking about the darker places in my life. The places of not now, and not yet. The weary waiting places, where hope has gone flat. In this season, I want to acknowledge the dark corners of my soul and invite His light for healing and comfort, for courage and rest.
As we walk toward Advent this year, what is your heart longing for? What dreams have you let fall? What hopes have you laid down? Where does your heart cry out for what it wants?
May you find the grace to share these places with the One who holds your life with love.
Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in him.
Psalm 62:5 New Living Translation
