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  • Writer's pictureBridget Leenstra

Satisfied


To be deeply satisfied is no small thing. Our eyes are drawn toward more to want, more to be, more to work toward. Even when our needs are met, perhaps we look at what we have and see only the chores and interruptions, things that get in the way. It can be easy to be perpetually unsatisfied.


For me, living like that results in a sort of restlessness; overwhelmed, stagnant and lethargic. Nothing seems beautiful or joyful or holy. Certainly, I am not pleasant company by any definition. God is hard to find, even as He is reminding me, "Look up, I am here." That restless overwhelm is an excellent bellwether to remind me to pay attention. Something is out of whack.


One morning last summer, in a flowerbed teeming with weed-life, I was hurrying as fast as I could to pull those weeds out, or cut them down, whatever was most expedient. Muttering about their existence under my breath, my dissatisfaction was evident. I wanted to be done (completely! forever!) but it was only the early days of summer; there would be a lot more of this to come. And then, over my airpods, a song stopped me in my tracks:


"When the sun comes up, satisfy us,

before the day has passed us by.

Before our hearts forget all your goodness,

satisfy us with your love."


I let my eyes rest on my surroundings while I listened.

When the sun comes up, satisfy me...

Hostas, ferns, flowers, vines. I have the privilege of living where there is beauty. I have the honor of caring for a small part of God's creation, stewarding this little bit of Earth. My neighbors, if they were watching, might have wondered as I stood up with my arms open and my head back, allowing myself to look up and feel the presence of God in that place. There may have been weeds at my feet, but they were the result of abundance: rain, sun, seeds and summer.


There, then, I realized I had been dashing past my belovedness, jumping directly in to the distractions of the day and attacking them like enemies. No wonder I felt overwhelmed. And I heard the Spirit invite me to work here as though it were precious, and not problematic. To find a space for worship in the loveliness of this garden, even to make weeding a rhythm of prayer for the season. A little each day, no hurry, being with the Creator in His gift to me.


Before the day has passed me by...


It changed everything, that morning, to have the weeds reframed into abundance. To be reminded that my soul requires a deep drink of God's love in order to be truly satisfied. To be prompted to savor daily work as an offering of worship. A year later, there is still peace in this invitation, just as there are still weeds to pull. Sun, rain, seeds, abundance.


Might you find the Spirit whispering an invitation to joy, to satisfaction, where before you have found only striving and discouragement? To offer the regular, recurring things of life to be shifted to reflect the Giver's gift to you? If you are in a season of sorrow, if the idea of abundance seems impossible: would you imagine, in the tender company of Jesus, an invitation into love by the One who invented love? Perhaps this is the work He is longing to do, and that He alone can do. We only come, head thrown back, arms flung wide.


...before my heart forgets all your goodness, satisfy me with your love.




"Satisfy us in the morning with your gracious love so we may sing for joy and rejoice every day." Psalm 90:14 ISV



Photo credit: Dominique Estampes

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