Putting a Feeling to It

I am 32. Very soon I shall reach 33. Or perhaps, it shall reach me.

I’ve never dated. For reasons that could be explained in another posting I grew up tacitly convinced that, like my father, 29 would be my last year. So although I was interested in romance I couldn’t see the utility in it. I never pursued it, and the few times it seemed to pursue me I ran away in terror.

After Time illegitimatized my own personal narrative (the Me-Dying-Before-30 Narrative) I considered how to replace it with a different and hopefully more redemptive one. In the new Narrative (the one that I like best) the plot includes marriage, children, and the adventure of growing with a family of my own. But as more birthdays visit me and the plot continues along a solitary trajectory a different kind of terror assaults me, the terror of being forever single.

“No one cares for my soul,” complained David from the Cave of Adulum. His was a legitimate complaint, holed up in that great darkness because a psychopath political leader was hell-bent on murdering him. He felt the loneliness of rejection and the terror of uncertain death. I remembered David’s song riding my bike today as I was searching for words to craft my terror-feelings into something more tangible.

No one cares for my soul. In David’s words I hear the guttural complaint of deep loneliness, grief, and fear. “Cares for” is the verb-part of his prayer. No one, says he, verbs my soul, actions my soul, looks out for or takes care of my soul. “Soul” is the essence of David, the substance of his being. No one notices or values the him of him. I hear him shriek from the Cave of Adulum. His is a lonely cry.

David’s words echo the feeling of it for me, this feeling of remaining unpursued by romantic love: No one cares for my soul. It feels barren, it carries grief, and it occasionally threatens with shame. Into David's cave I crawl.

I believe that I have emotions because God made humans to look and operate a bit like the ways He looks and operates. So sometimes when I have a feeling – a strong, lingering one, like the one I now have- I try to seize hold of it, bend and project it upwards, and look through it as a lens. The lens can teach me something about God.

This I do. And it surprises me. I learn that God’s nature is not to be solitary, but to enjoy and to relish in being enjoyed. I learn that He too craves intimate, active, holistic love. I learn that God also feels a wild grief when the Him of Him remains unpursued.

The lesson for me isn’t a new one; but finally it is becoming a real one. It is one to which I can now associate a real emotional experience. Through this I’m learning –experiencing- the tangible nature of God. And from my cave, it is a comfort. He is a comfort.

Psalm 142 ends in a redemptive tenor:

"The righteous shall surround me, for You shall deal bountifully with me."