The Unsettled

We walk through days and days, and yet nothing feels tangible. As we wander neither here nor there, looking and waiting to see what will come. Hoping for something new to come, but never being satisfied when it does. That thing. That thing we can’t quite put a finger to. That thing we bite our lower lip over. Reaching with our minds towards something that can’t quite come into focus. And whether or not we say the words, the question still lingers…

What is it?

Where is it?

When will I find it.

When will I have it?

That thing. That thing we hope in. That thing we hope for.

That job. That paper. That grade. That call. That someone.

That thing. Those things. All of those, and more. The ones that create craters in our hearts that ache from emptiness. The ones that maintain whispering nuisances of not quite enough. And while we wait, and while we look, and while we strain, we become more and more, unbeknownst to us, apart of the culture. The culture that so actively grows larger as the days grow longer. That culture of The Unsettled.

We are The Unsettled.

Wandering nomads of status and stuff.  Seekers of followers and friends. And even as I write this, I sigh deeply hoping that thing will appear out of air much too thin for these dreams, but still I hope. How did we get like this? How did we become a people so focused on how many? How many likes. How many followers. How many this. How many that. We are The Unsettled. And I, I am in the thick of this crowd. And I hope and I long and I reach for those things. My things. Those things that I think will quiet and satisfy my soul.

Just as Eve reached, and took, and ate. But it did not fill. And so to share in the void, she gave to her husband. And he reached, and he took and he ate. But it did not fill. And so it began. And so it continues with us. And now all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve reach. Born with arms stretched out and fingers grasping, grasping for what they do not know, but still they reach. And so we grow, always reaching, always unsettled, always hoping still. Hoping still for that thing. As if our answer was within the tangible. Oh the fools we have become. For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools. We became fools. Chasing the culture. And exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for an image in the form of corruptible man. For they exchanged the truth of God for a lie and worshipped and served the creature rather than the creator.

Woe to us. Woe to the scribes. Woe to the pharisees. Woe to the religious, who have no need for relationship. Woe to those who have no desire to know the Creator over the creatures. Woe to us, who walk in shoes of the believer on paths of this world. We who say we follow the Christ, yet chase after the culture. We, who in our heart of hearts, do not seek the abundant life, but rather seek to fill. Woe to us. Woe to the unsettled.

We are the unsettled. We were made to be different. We were made to bring light to the darkness. We were made to honor, to give thanks, yet we gripe and grumble like our predecessors in the wilderness. And still He provides and water spurts forth from rock. And it is not enough. And so bread falls from heaven, and we complain that there should be more. And so quail falls, and our bellies are full but our hearts are not and all we can see is how much more. We grasp and take, more than needed for our day. We grasp and take and wake up to the rot of materialism. And still, all we can see is how much more. How much more we need. How much more we want. How much more there should be.

And there is no abundant life, and there is no relationship, and there is no need for a creator. For it is the creature we worship. And status and stuff, and followers and friends. No, our heart leads us to the rot of materialism. And suddenly there is no need to seek a kingdom we can not see. For we have lost our First Love, we have lost our way from Zion, and all we care to see is ourself. And all we care to exult is ourself. And all we care to know is ourself. And so the abundant life never comes. And we continue to reach, and we continue to grasp, and we continue to eat what never fills. Like ghosts wandering here nor there, without beating hearts or purpose, we walk. Never full. Never satisfied. Grasping, reaching. Always hungry. Always looking. Grasping, reaching. Always seeking. Always needing. Grasping, reaching.  Waking, sleeping, Always doing. More and more and more and more. Grasping, reaching. Always unsettled.

And then we tire. And we grieve. And we finally see the broken blocks with which we built our life. For the creature we so worshipped, brought us nothing but hollow pain. Are you tired? Tired of balancing what seems so small and seems so big? Tired of always doing, always reaching? Tired of the empty that consumes you?

Let down your nets beloved. Let down your nets for deep catch. Come to the One who awakens your soul, come to the One for which your heart was made. Come unto Him and He will give you rest.

Romans 1: 21-25 | Matthew 11:28


3 thoughts on “The Unsettled

  1. banrelk says:

    As always, you are right on. You have such an amazing way of speaking truth into what we all feel but don’t know how to put into words.
    Love you sweet girl!

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