by Betsy Delzer

There is a vacancy within each of us, an aching emptiness that we long to fill. Ronald Rohlheiser describes it as an unquenchable yearning and desire, a holy longing.

Where do we paint from, write from, sing from—move, and breathe from, but the groaning of these very pockets of the soul? Caverns of longing that we turn toward someone, something; if only—with him, if only—a child, if only—my home, bank account, parents, job. . . .The desires are bountiful in number and we fixate our minds on the imagined outcome.

…And then what? With sought-after man sleeping soundly alongside, with child swaddled in the arms, with bank accounts full, fat, ripe—we hear the groaning, we turn to the pockets, we indulge in despair.

It has been said each of us is fighting a battle. I wonder if the battle is not against the void within, but a battle that fuels the barren heart. Perhaps the battle is the very recognition of my want, of my ache, evermore and always present. We are living in the constant quest– then reminder, of knowing there is nothing here, nothing that can create the whole.

This is precisely when my soul takes flight with the moon, hears the birds’ chatter; when sunlight wraps me up tightly and some part of our day cracking over the horizon reminds me that there must be more.

In a discussion on faith and soul ties someone once asked me, “So, you think you have it figured out then?” And if by that he meant neat and tidy answers to all the loose ends, the response will always be ‘no.’ I have figured out I’ll be asking the questions. I have figured I’ll be digging, discovering, recovering with a whole lot more meandering, wandering. Prone to wander…prone to leave the God I love. I love the way blogger Glennon of  http://momastery.com/blog/about-glennon/ sums it up:

“When it comes to God and faith and religion, I have some hunches…but I only know two things to be true-

1.      I am God’s beloved child.
2.      So is everyone else.”

I too have some hunches. And I know some truth: what I carry to the cross are my empty pockets and envelopes waving in the wind.