Returns. Although I haven’t been anywhere else but here. Because sometimes, or rather, every now and then, you seem to be there, you seem to touch some depth, but it doesn’t satisfy you. As if you were meeting with God not entirely attentively. He is there, you are there. And things happen. And yet there is no fullness. As if the final note to the quintessence of flavor were missing. As if that one empty space remained empty.
I circle around, trying to find words that would be true together, to find a common starting point. I think it will be insatiability.
For quite a long time, I focused on returning to myself. I kept saying that I wanted to return to Ania. The one who was once neither wife nor mother. Who dreamed with God and did what he told her. Despite fear. Despite the lack. Despite unresolved issues. And then she fell into roles that demand a lot. Ordinary daily duties. And extraordinary, great responsibilities. And dozens of worries along the way, which wouldn’t necessarily have to be there, but you’re a mom, after all. Amidst all this, Ania managed to shine through every now and then. But then she’d disappear again.
So I searched for solutions. I analyzed situations. I named them. I remembered. I arranged the interior. I placed things she used to like under her nose. Anything to find her. To call her back. To make her stay. To make her never leave again. So far, to no avail.
Until a few days ago, I discovered something seemingly completely unrelated to Ania. More precisely, that I was feeling a deep lack. And it wasn’t like I had a flash of something in my soul about someone missing. I discovered drought.
And I discovered drought through one encounter. I arrived somewhat differently. In complete darkness. Completely isolated from my surroundings. Relieved that everyone was asleep and no one would want anything from me. And not even completely alone, because with a recorded voice speaking of closeness. Of unity. About communion. About how being with Him is more natural to man than breathing. In design. In creation.
And although I breathe constantly, I don’t always find Him in that breath. And yet He is there. I know He is there.
In this darkness, with Him, it was unbelievably good. Safe. Relief. Unimaginable relief, and a deeper, fuller breath. He Himself filled me. As if with every breath I took in, He came and renewed the meaning with which He conceived and created me. I was broken and thirsty for Him, without even realizing it. How did this happen? When? I don’t make a single decision without Him. I surrender my days to Him. I discuss what will happen with Him first. Or at least, I call on Him. And I feel, I feel connected.
And yet the world screams at me. What I have to, it screams. Children scream. And I still scream, silently, that I can’t anymore, with the recurring question: where is Ania? And it’s like the noise at school—you have to yell during breaks, not talk. It’s like that inside me. So how can I truly hear Him? To the end? In detail? Without separation, it’s impossible.
But the second thing, right after the felt saturation with the Presence, happened during that Meeting. Do you know who else was there besides Him? Ania. There was Ania. Not summoned by anything. Unanalyzed. Not after therapy. Unsorted. Unresolved. But still found. Present. The same one I’ve been searching for for so long. As if she had always been there and had never gone anywhere. Unnoticed in the din of the day. Overlooked. Just like me.
And yet I always knew I couldn’t find her without Him. Nevertheless, I began the search on my own, perhaps needing a sense of agency. Because any movements on my part, even if they were helpless flapping in the air, are still action. And action, as we know, is deceptively better than nothing.
For quite a long time, I focused on returning to myself. I kept repeating that I wanted to return to Ania. The one who had once been neither wife nor mother. Who dreamed with God and did as He told her. Meanwhile, I needed to return to God. In separation. In the darkness. Without stimuli. Without people. And there, and there, I found her. Ultimately, it was in His Presence that I learned who she was. Right after I met Him.
And yet I knew well that one must come to God in its entirety. It’s a process, not a few encounters. It’s a decision and work, not a momentary rapture. But there it is, the road ahead. Found. Returns.
My song of happiness has always been only about Him. Ania’s song of happiness.
“So I have looked for You in the sanctuary, To see Your power and Your glory. Because Your lovingkindness is better than life, My lips shall praise You. Thus I will bless You while I live; I will lift up my hands in Your name. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness, And my mouth shall praise You with joyful lips. When I remember You on my bed, I meditate on You in the night watches. Because You have been my help, Therefore in the shadow of Your wings I will rejoice.”
Psalms 63:2-7 NKJV
I wish you such returns too.
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