Empty

The tears well up but don’t fall. They form clouds that shadow my gaze but withhold rain. I forgot how it feels to really cry—never mind what it’s like not to need to. Far from being caught in the throes of a torrent of emotion, I am sad like a dripping faucet that fades into the background, almost unnoticeable. 

Yet, my life feels like a raging river. Like letting go would mean drowning in the undertow. Uninvited words and notions fly through the recesses of my mind. I didn’t ask for them. I can’t remember how to make them stop. Wasn’t there a time when I could check things off—neatly, one by one—and banish them from my thoughts? Now the tasks come like an avalanche. If I slow down, they’ll bury me. There’s no time to pause, no room to think, no rest for the weary. 

At least that’s how I feel on this day when the tone of the voicemail is kind but the message feels cruel. Nearing her fourth year in heaven, Olivia made it to the top of a waiting list we’d placed her on at age two. Here I am with my own never-ending list, and I want to cry but I can’t. In this month that will always be their birthday month—I see the memories flash across my phone, behind my eyelids and back into a past that grows more distant each day. Chocolate cake smeared across his chubby, one-year-old face. Blue eyes wide with joy. I gasp but my lungs won’t take in the air. I’m a fish on dry land. I’d welcome the grief if I could only breathe it in.

Inhale. Just breathe.

I need to slow the rhythm of my heart. Not the racing mass of muscle that pounds against my chest in protest. My heart. The real me. Not the girl who snacks instead of eating and naps instead of sleeping—afraid she’ll run out before it’s enough. Not the face behind the computer screen. Me. 

Where is she?

Realization settles over my heart—my real, actual, connection-craving, eternity-blazing, unsatisfied-by-anything-but-Jesus heart. The living Word of God cuts through confusion, and I see the truth. She is the source of my struggle. She. Or I. Or me. Count the personal pronouns in every rambling sentence that precedes this one. Count and you’ll see. Her greatest need is to be emptied of self. 

“Adopt the same attitude as that of Christ Jesus, who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be exploited. Instead he emptied himself by assuming the form of a servant, taking on the likeness of humanity. And when he had come as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death — even to death on a cross.”–Phillippians 2:5-8 (CSB)

Jesus emptied himself to offer us life and breath, peace and rest. We empty ourselves to receive the same. His more-than-enough for our never-enough.  

It’s a worthwhile trade.

Beauty for ashes. Joy for mourning. A garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.

_____ for Jesus.

Father, 

Empty me. Rid me of myself. I lay everything I am at your feet. I want Jesus. I need what only He can offer. May your Son be exalted in my life.

In Jesus’ name, 

Amen

“The Spirit of the Lord God is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and freedom to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of our God’s vengeance; to comfort all who mourn, to provide for those who mourn in Zion; to give them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, festive oil instead of mourning, and splendid clothes instead of despair. And they will be called righteous trees, planted by the LORD to glorify him.”–Isaiah 61:1-3 (CSB)