Desire…Hmmm…desire for God…D-E-S-I-R-E…ooh la la, desire…desire for chocolate…desire to be famous…Humph.
No matter how I sounded it out, I wasn’t getting anywhere.
I tapped my pencil on my desk as my thoughts scurried. Why does this word escape me? I’m clueless. I know what my problem is. My brain is on sensory overload. I’ve had too much going on. I need to close my eyes and breathe.
I inhaled, one, two, three, and four; and exhaled, five, six, seven, and eight. I performed this exercise several times.
I opened my eyes, blinked, and stared at my monitor. It didn’t help. I was still blank. I ran my fingers through my hair thinking it would stimulate my gray matter. I spelled the word aloud. "D-e-s-i-r-e." Have you ever repeated a word until it no longer makes sense? I put my head in my hands. My brain began to lecture me.
You are an idiot. How difficult can this be?
I argued back.
“Oh, shut up. You annoy me. Leave me alone. I’m trying to think over here."
Is that right? Is this what you call thinking? Why don’t you go and read some of your friends’ stories? They inspire you and get your creative juices flowing.
I pulled up a story and began reading. Lucky me, it just so happened to be a tearjerker. Half-way through, I began groping for my box of Kleenex. My monitor was a blur on the other side of my tears. My brain jumped in.
Feeling inspired now, are we? Hmmm?
“No, I’m not!” I snapped.
What a sap. Sheesh, the story was supposed to inspire you, stupid, not turn you into a puddle.
“God, please help the poor woman in the story,” I cried. My brain whistled, disturbing me further.
Hello? Excuse, me, but you’re supposed to be over here with me, working on DESIRE. Can we stop the crying already?
“You selfish, pig.” I yelled. “Leave me alone.”
I’m not selfish. I’m trying to help you.
“Help me? You have no compassion,” I said.
Ahem, not true. If I don’t light a fire under your behind, you and I, neither one, will sleep tonight, okay? Call me selfish, but I need my rest or I’m useless to you and everyone else. Look at yourself. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Gads, you look horrible. Look at how you’re dressed for pete’s sakes.
I looked down at my tweety-bird pants, tucked inside my blue, suede boots. I was insulted. These were my good writing pants. I rushed to my own defense.
“Hey, I’m comfortable like this, okay? And the boots, they keep my feet warm.”
Yeah, right. Speaking of desire…I’ll bet your husband loves you in this outfit.
“He thinks I’m cute dressed this way. He’s told me so.”
All righty then, say whatever works for ya, sister.
I desired for this wrestling match to cease. I didn’t like myself right now. I began to think of Paul.
Paul made his words clear. The war of our flesh against our spirit is ongoing. Paul speaks of this in God’s word: “For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that I do not; but what I hate, that do I.”
(Romans 7:15 KJV)
I was beating myself up over a mere word. How ludicrous is that? God has called me to peace in all of life’s circumstances. I punish myself more than anyone else does. This is a major, character flaw of mine. I do it over the simplest of things. I tell myself its wrong. I’m special to God. I vow not to do it anymore. Yet at times like these, I find myself doing it, again.
I believe it grieves God when I put myself down. It’s like slapping the potter, because
I don’t think the clay is good enough. Ouch. Did I say that?
My heart reflects back to desire. Desire….wait…I see something…a flicker…a thought. My brain remains silent as God’s word comes forth. “The desire of a man is his kindness.” (Proverbs 19:22 KJV)
Reality sinks in. I can’t beat myself up anymore. God desires for me to be kind, not only to others, but to myself, too. I look down at my tweety-bird pants. I smile. I feel God smile. Hey, I like my pants.
I hear feet shuffling behind me. I look up to see my husband who puts his arms around me and gives me a hug.
Desire…what a lovely word.
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