I can’t do Yoga. Well I can DO yoga, but it’s all of that look inside yourself to find your inner peace that I don’t get. When I look inside, it looks more like a tank of piranhas than a gently flowing stream. “Namaste” roughly means, “The divinity in me bows to the divinity in you”.
My piranhas don’t bow.
The worst part is it’s just not just yoga. Being what they call a “born again Christian”, I’m think I’m supposed to have the peace that comes with submitting my life to my savior. Just sign on the dotted line and – BAM – inner peace. At least that’s what I’ve heard.
So either I’m “failing” as a Christian, or is my theology wacked. I’m banking the latter.
But back to the piranhas.
See, for the past few years I’ve had this constant voice in my head telling me that I’m missing something—that my life would matter if I could just find it. I know, I know—oh the angst of the middle class, happily married, vaguely pretty blond girl. Trust me, I’m the first to know I shouldn’t complain. But I don’t think I’m the only one whose life is pretty much made and still feels a bit lost.
Solomon did. At least Solomon presumably did—assuming we’re right about who wrote Ecclesiastes. He had everything: the palace, the sex, the wive(s), more sex, the parties and, oh, the power. And yet he said it was all vanity. He makes me feel like I have an ally in this. Like I can shake my fist at everything under the sun and not feel like a complete jerk.
It’s funny how it alludes me, the thing I’m looking for. I have this vague feeling like I’m secretly born to do something the way Pavarotti was born for opera or Lance Armstrong was born to bike. Like my hidden talent is waiting just around the next bend.
And the funny thing is, my desire for my still undiscovered secret hidden talent (or SUSHD) isn’t really connected to a desire for riches or fame. Riches would be nice and all, but fame would be a drag. I don’t particularly love the spotlight. It’s more that I just crave something worth getting up for in the morning. In a word, I’m bored.
And what do we all do when we’re bored—the obvious choice is to do what my high school guidance counselor told me to do and play the “what if I won the Lotto” game. It’s supposed to help you pick the career that best suites you (Ha! We would live in a world of NFL quarterbacks and supermodels, but I digress). So if I won the Lotto tomorrow and never had to work another day in my life I would (and then you fill in the blank).
And that’s where I really start to freak out. Because I don’t have answer to that.
I literally cannot think of a single thing.
Sure, I would want to travel—see the world and all that. But I know after a while hotels would become a drag and I would just want to be home. And speaking of home, I could do the whole house remodel where I would turn my house into my dream home like they do on HGTV and then throw a bunch of dinner parties my foodie friends. But how long could I do that before I just feel fat? Though with all of my millions, I guess I could hire don’t-quite-on-me-now-Jillian-Michaels to get me into the best shape of my life…. Bleh. Vanity, vanity. **fist shake**
The truth of the matter is, the only time I feel my spirit ease is and the boredom evaporate is when I have an encounter with God. And I don’t mean a burning bush or audible message (so Old Testament), but just that moment when I read something about Him or hear something about how He designed the universe to operate and it just hits me as pure truth. It’s like desperately searching for my sunglasses only to find that they were on my head the whole time. It’s so obvious. How did I miss that?
So why can’t I have encounters with God all of the time? Why do I spend so much of my time searching for this vague and likely nonexistent thing to make my heart relax.
John Calvin has been quoted as saying that human hearts are idol factories. Mine has a vastly efficient assembly line.
Instead of running to a God who loves and already accepts me, I prefer to try on every other savior I possibly can first.
Just in case I like this one better.
Let’s face it, the comforts under the sun are much more convenient. Why depend on God’s strength to get me through the day when there’s a Starbucks on every corner?
And mine has a drive through.
And mine has a drive through.
I wonder how many times per day I take God’s gifts for granted. And worse, prefer them to Him?
I bet I could name ninety nine before noon.
