You Are the Beloved
Reflections on desire, beach cruisers, and the source of true well-being.
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First, thank you to everyone who read my last post, My Life List of Books for Spiritual Formation. It was so fun to read your comments and connect with so many others who share a love for good books (and I got to discover a handful of new titles for my TBR list, too). That post got over 3,000 views—more than any other essay I’ve written! If you’re here because of that post, then welcome. I’m grateful for your company and hope you find this to be a thoughtful, hopeful space.
In Henri Nouwen’s book, Life of the Beloved, he writes this:
“Aren’t you, like me, hoping that some person, thing, or event will come along to give you that final feeling of inner well-being you desire? Don’t you often hope: ‘May this book, idea, course, trip, job, country, or relationship fulfill my deepest desire.’ But as long as you are waiting for that mysterious moment you will go on running helter-skelter, always anxious and restless, always lustful and angry, never fully satisfied... Well, you and I don’t have to kill ourselves. We are the Beloved. We are intimately loved long before our parents, teachers, spouses, children, and friends loved or wounded us. That’s the truth of our lives. That’s the truth I want you to claim for yourself. That’s the truth spoken by the voice that says, ‘You are my Beloved.’”
I could end this post right here because what a gorgeous thought.
Desire is a funny thing, though.
I’d like to think my deepest yearning is for God’s love. Knowing I am Beloved should be enough, right? We’re told that our desires for anything other than God won’t satisfy, and—as Augustine said—our hearts are restless until they find their rest in him.
But some days, I’m not sure my greatest longing is for God. Ambitions woo my attention. Pain also woos my attention. I find myself searching for that inner well-being in all the places Nouwen mentions: a book, an idea, a job, or a relationship. Because God placed us into a world that is earthy and touchable, I find myself drawn to things that are also earthy and touchable. Maybe it’s a favorite place (like the American River), a home of my own, that teal bicycle I’ve been eyeing on Facebook Marketplace, or the excitement of a new creative project. These are things I see with my own eyes or get my hands around. Their value is tried and true. (For example, I know that if I fasten a wicker basket to the front of a beach cruiser, I will look like a cool Californian when riding down the street. This image brings me more joy than I care to admit.)
I don’t always desire God because God is not something I can get my hands around or easily understand. He is wildly unpredictable. And on days when I am struggling, I don’t necessarily long for God’s presence that can feel more like the wind than a sturdy hand to hold.
Still, I know the emptiness that comes from pursuing things you can hold in your hands. The shininess fades. They become hollow. I lose vision for my creative project, or some conflict breaks down the honeymoon phase of my relationship. This is when I become exceedingly grateful for God’s mysterious, maddening, unpredictable largeness.
When the things we’ve always enjoyed or relied on suddenly disappear, we realize just how much that divine presence was holding and sustaining us all along. What a comfort that is.
Hold onto that. It won’t slip through your fingers.
With you,
Bailey
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Thank you!!! Encouraging words, nourishing reflection, and images to bring to prayer.