‘I was lookin' for love in all the wrong places
Lookin' for love in too many faces
Searchin' their eyes
Lookin' for traces of what I'm dreaming of…’

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net/David Castillo Dominici

That was me for far too many years; searching for a soulmate, ‘needing’ a fulfilling relationship, hoping for domestic bliss. Yet the harder I looked the further the prize receded into the distance.

It’s a basic human need, this need for love and belonging, and we reach a point in our lives where our spiritual and emotional growth can become stymied if we fail to satisfy that persistent yearning. We become ‘stuck’, unable to move on with other important tasks and milestones in life. Most of us settle down and marry in our twenties or thirties and muddle on with varying degrees of conflict and stress, peppered with romantic highlights and for those who get lucky, some hard-won joy and contentment.

Others of us turn to our careers or what we perceive to be our passion to fill that nagging ache within our hearts and souls. Still others care for parents and relatives, and some of us are besotted with our four-footed furry friends. Every path taken is valid and significant, and every twist and turn can be molded into a valuable lesson. For me personally, ‘real’ love remained elusive and I settled into my 56^th year determined to find ways to live a meaningful life without a partner by my side. In fact, God sort of arranged it for me.

It’s not that I’d forgotten about God over the years or even ignored Him overmuch. I’ve been a believer for a long time now and constant communication between El Shaddai and this somewhat wayward daughter of His has been the norm. Yet, I still made some wrong assumptions that drove a wedge between us. I was still trying to fill the God-shaped hole, which exists inside all humanity, with human love.

But God pursued me relentlessly.

A fiancé (not the first) exited stage right (my front door) in a flurry of doubt and confusion, citing unfinished business and pressure from his adult children. It’s a long and somewhat wretched story that I’ll leave entirely to your imagination. (Cue in the musical score from Les Misérables.)

This time, the separation was so traumatic, following close after my mother’s death, that I decided to go it alone for the rest of my days. Well, not quite alone…for God had finally got my full attention. I was done with human relationships (family and friends excepted). Absolutely done, I tell you.

I’d voiced similar sentiments in the past but this was the first time I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I truly meant it. I finally handed the reigns entirely over to my Creator and King, and the fear began to dissipate. Grief remained for a time but not intolerably so. Over the following months, as I read more and more scripture, searching each page with new impassioned eyes, a mantle of peace descended. My shoulders eased. The panic attacks began to ebb away.

As I steeped myself further and further in Christian literature and reached out to my priceless, loving Christian friends, I began to really know my God.

And you know what? I liked Him a lot! In fact, it wasn’t long before I was pretty sure I was in love! And the revelation that left me the most ‘gobsmacked’ is that I knew I’d finally found the one true love; the only one who could completely cherish every inch of my being; the only one strong enough, wise enough and gentle enough to give my still-girlish heart the depth of love and security I’d craved all my life.

But God didn’t stop at sweeping me off my feet. In very short order He set about building our very first home. It was a dream I thought I’d never achieve, and truth be known, no one else believed I’d achieve it either. Financial advisers insisted that, at my age and having only a disability support payment as income, I had no chance of breaking out of that iron-maiden commonly called the rental trap. Real Estate agents shook their heads and showed me through shoddy little hovels they assured me were within my price range. It was disturbing to see the combination of pity and desperation in their eyes as I said no, time and again. God had better in store for me. I was certain of that much.

He knew and understood my special needs and He also knew the desires of my heart, as, of course, He still does. This was one guy I was going to trust to come through for me. We were a team now and I had to learn to work with Him, not under my own steam for a change. I listened carefully, and I stepped out in faith, asking Him to stay my hand if I misread His cues.

And so it was that I came to find a block of land in one of the most beautiful parts of the country; a bank to give me the very small mortgage I needed to secure it, and a builder to give me a fixed-price contract beyond all the odds, which just happened to fit my tiny budget. How those funds came to be in my bank account in the first place constitutes a whole parallel narrative to this story, but I’ll spare you those seemingly mundane details for now. In truth each step of the process was a miracle.

During this honeymoon period of ours, God flooded me with His miracles. It was a tsunami of blessing and abundance. Along the way, there were some headaches and stresses, but that’s to be expected when you build a house.  We took it in our stride. Mostly, we just had fun! What a happy time we had collaborating over building design and materials, flooring, paint colours, tiles…and all the little extras that make a house a home. It was effortless!

The House that God Built

We moved in about a month after the expected hand-over date but He had even that under control. At first I was disappointed about having to wait but I soon realized that, with my chemical sensitivities, I wouldn’t have been able to live with the odour of fresh paint. It would have brought me to my knees physically. And so God delayed things a little. By the time He carried me across the threshold (for real!) the odour had dissipated and all that remained was the heady fragrance of fresh mountain air.

For the finishing touch, He proceeded to fill my rainwater tanks with bountiful rain. They’re overflowing as I write.

I don’t know any human being who can pull that off, do you?

I think I might finally have met ‘the one’. And He doesn’t even mind if I find human love as well, as long as I continue to put Him first. Either way, I’m going to be just fine.

God makes a fine husband. In fact, there’s none better.

And the view's not too shabby, either.

Melinda Jensen is a writer concerned with social justice, spirituality, the environment, and equality. She authors a blog on domestic abuse, particularly as it pertains to its psychological and emotional effects. Over the years she has had a smattering of short stories and poetry published in national magazines and anthologies.  At the moment she is working on two fantasy novels with environmental themes, both aimed at middle school readers. And more importantly, she’s engrossed in a non-fiction work that focuses on thriving in a materialistic, consumerist world, while limited by a tiny budget.

My Dark Night of the Soul - Melinda Jensen

 

I'm no theological scholar but I’ve long been captivated by the writings of sixteenth century mystic, St John of the Cross. His exquisite treatise on the soul’s journey towards union with its Creator draws me in as surely as the moon draws the tides.

Many argue that humankind’s greatest spiritual challenge is aligning the will with that of the Great I Am, a striving depicted by St John of the Cross in his ‘Dark Night of the Soul’.  This spiritual struggle involves a depth of despair many modern Christians prefer to ignore, lest it threaten their comfortable existences. They prefer, instead, to instruct their careworn brethren to hand everything to God and wait for their lives to ‘work out.’ Proper faith, sufficient repentance and an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what’s in the mind of the Creator, they say, lead us unerringly to abundant living.

I disagree. There are Christians whose lives appear to be charmed; they enter their middle years with secure marriages, fat bank accounts and the freedom to travel, invest, and indulge their whims to their healthy heart’s content. I cannot be counted among their number.

For decades I blamed myself for my lack – for not ‘hearing’ God correctly despite dedication to His Word. I sought pastoral counseling, prayer warriors, Christian literature and of course, scripture itself. My first thoughts, before opening my eyes each morning, have long been directed to my Father, and before those eyes open I ask Him to direct my steps.

It has not, nor has it ever, prevented any injustice, illness or abuse from infiltrating my being.

A brief synopsis of my adult experience includes sexual abuse, abandonment by my children’s father, single parenting without support and, twenty years ago, contracting a debilitating, life-limiting illness that remains with me today. I’ve also suffered verbal and emotional abuse at the hands of an intimate partner, abuse so sadistic that my psychologist describes it as a spiritual crime. I am left now, to face my golden years in poverty and pain.

But don’t grab the tissue box just yet because, frankly, I feel great.

And that, is surely the abundant life scripture promises. Christ came so that we might have life, and have it abundantly. Money is dead. Possessions are dead. Only the human spirit is truly alive.

The breakdown of my marriage, which lasted from 2011 until 2013, heralded my spiritual turning point.

From the outset, I laid my pain before God, never doubting He was ‘for’ marriage and ‘against’ divorce. I trusted Him to guide me towards reconciliation. I repented of every mistake and mis-communication. I begged for guidance and wisdom, and followed His leading to the best of my ability. Honesty and authenticity were integral to my actions. Deceit and manipulation seemed integral to the other party, a man I believed once loved me. I was absolutely certain the Truth would set me free; the Truth would out; the Truth would bring justice to bear.

It did not.

I raged. I told God I was through with Him. I called Him a flawed, gnostic demi-god and accused Him of abandonment. In a logical, worldly sense, He did abandon me. Decades of devotion had led me to naught. Liars and manipulators, I concluded, were the real winners in life. I was nothing but a mug. I dug my heels in and resolutely refused to give God another moment of my time. After all, how much worse could things get?

Weeks slid by. Nothing got worse. Nothing got better.

I wasn't grieving exactly, nor genuinely depressed. Just…empty. Lonely. Terribly lonely. Unfulfilled. Inspiration and creativity deserted me. I was cold. I had no compass for my life’s direction. Life became interminable nothingness.

This…was my dark night.

All the success in the world would never bring light to my soul.

I began, tentatively, to test the waters. Are you still there God? Like a small child, I clung to The Lord’s Prayer, saying it over and over. It was a divine anxiolytic, and from those small steps, I came back to the foot of the Cross.

And so I do not believe in a prosperity gospel; rather, that the treasures God gives us can't be measured by outer circumstances.

I am grateful for my dark night, and yet…a little fearful too. According to St John, there may be more dark nights to come. I hope I recognize them.

 Mother and grandmother, writer concerned with social justice, equality for all; environmentalist who believes we are stewards of the earth, not controllers; follower of Jesus who prefers to think of herself as a Christianarchist.

Blessings Abundant!

With the weather becoming warmer I thought I'd bless my son with a treat from his school canteen for lunch. To save him some time I had the order written out and told him, as simply as possible, "You just have to take it from this front pocket of your bag and place it in the lunch order box. That's all you need to do. Do you understand? Yes?! Okay."  This conversation has now occurred every morning for the past two weeks! It is so frustrating; I just want to bless him, to give him his most favourite chocolate milk drink as a way of saying, "Hey, kid, I love ya!" But as much as I want him to have this, there is still that one step that he needs to take to receive the blessing.

Yesterday morning, having gone through "the speech" once again, I watched him walking to his classroom and hoped that today would be the day that he finally 'got it' and received his treat.

"Get your camera out and go for a walk this morning."

I started the car and left to drop our youngest boy at daycare.

"Get your camera out and go for a walk this morning."

Leaving daycare.

"Get your camera out and go for a walk this morning."

By the time I returned home, I knew without a doubt that this was not my mind prompting me to "Get my camera out and go for a walk this morning."  I like indoors. My computer. Coffee!  But I recalled my thoughts to my son from barely one hour earlier, 

". . . as much as I want him to have this, there is still that one step that he needs to take to receive the blessing."

And so I did. I didn't even take my mobile phone with me! And it was such a sweet, calming, relaxing time of "aaaahhhhhhh-ness" that what I thought was, perhaps 45 minutes, was a solid 2 hours of standing beneath the trees that I look out upon every single day; talking to the galahs - privy to the courting ritual of one couple that was so delightful - looking at the ways the trees moved and the patterns in their bark; I even cheered on a baby bird as his mum and dad and aunts and uncles waited eagerly for him to leave the nest and fly!

On returning home I stopped; to smell the roses, to watch a spider spinning her web, and to play hide-and-seek with Sticky the Stick Insect. I marvelled at the abundance of life dancing in the sun's cascading warmth in my front garden. 

And in all of these things, I praised our awesome God for his gift to me; this time away from my usual thoughts and actions and feelings, this gentle and most excellent display of His provision and joy and love for all creation. 

And His personal, father-heart love for me - Helen - his daughter, whom he wants to bless over and over again, in ways that will draw me out of the everyday ruts and drudgeries of life, and fill me to overflowing with his beauty once again.

May you, too, be blessed by our Father God in a big way, by the small things of everyday life.

Helen