“If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”
Do you ever see the colors in the sky and wish you could freeze the moment? Your heart is so overwhelmed by the beautiful colors that even the greatest Instagram filter could never do it justice. You know when the sun slips away, it will come back. You know when it slowly submerges itself into the sea, it will be replaced by a tapestry of brilliant stars, and you know your soul will dance for the night sky, but you don’t want it to go away.
You want it to stay. Even though it will rise again in the brilliance of the sunrise, with pinks and peaches and golds and blues in the prettiest of pastels. You understand this, but still, you just want to stay; you want the moment to pause. There’s something about these moments. Whether it’s a sunset or the taste of a sweet summer strawberry on my tongue, or the floral embrace my nose receives from my favorite purple hyacinths, my heart feels a longing. There’s a longing for it to stay that way, even though I know I will love whatever change I am surprised by next.
This is my heart, yearning for Heaven, longing to be filled and experiencing just a small taste of it now. It’s a feeling of homesickness that I only feel when I allow God to show me my emptiness, when I let myself feel uncomfortable instead of artificially filling myself with distractions.
I get this feeling when I think about warm Arizona mornings on my grandparents’ porch, basking in the early morning sunshine with my siblings as we eat sticky, juicy grapefruit we just plucked from the trees in their backyard. This is what I feel when I walk through the first snow, imagining I’m in a snow globe. This is what I feel when I eat one of my dad’s chocolate chip cookies, warm and goey from the oven.This is what I feel when I see the signs of fresh, fragrant, colorful life appearing in the spring, or smell my favorite Victoria’s Secret body mist that takes me right back to a pleasant Arizona memory that I can’t quite place.
I don’t want the bottle to run out. I don’t want my plate to be empty. I don’t want the sun to go down. I want to pause my mornings for forever, and my slow dances for hours. I want my family parties to never end, and for my cousins to always be around to jump on the trampoline, sing bad karaoke in the barn, or play in the pool. I want to forever be sitting on the warm Florida beach with my mom as the sun rises, sipping hot chocolate and collecting seashells and tossing pieces of our donuts to the sea gulls. I want this the same way I wanted to always be small enough to run into my dad’s arms when he came home from work, or look at my siblings and squeal “EW!” every time my parents kissed before he left the house.
I want the sun to stop in the sky where the colors are bright and warm and welcoming. I want the flowers to bloom always, and I want to always feel big enough to approach my dreams, but small enough to run to my mom when things don’t work out.
I can’t hit pause, because moments are too precious for a button to stop them. I can accept these longings though; I can accept these feelings of overwhelming joy and yearning as an indicator of what is to come. I can smile as the sun sets knowing the moon will soon fill the sky with an ensemble of glittering silver stars. I can enjoy each moment of the night and feel the golden hope that rises with the sunshine in the morning.
Every moment is precious, much too precious to pause, so I’ll delight in every second and embrace my empty longings. I won’t try to fill them with fun or distract them with Netflix. I will learn to love these pangs of homesickness, for they are postcards God has sent me, promising me of home.