Jesus watches and waits in the cloud with his hand on my wrist to steady me, guiding my footsteps, and never a word demanding attention or anything else for himself; just to be by my side is enough. Sometimes I cough something dismissive at him through the haze, not expecting an answer, so he doesn't give me one... just smiles, often through tears. He is furiously in love with me and he hates this mist, hates the way the pushers zero in on my bed at dawn, hates them hooking me up to their equipment almost before I nod my lethargic consent. He will not let these needles puncture through to my soul.
Every morning Jesus spent on earth the first sound he heard was his own heart roaring for love. Unlike me he would not silence the voice of his longing because the denial of the deepest ache of the soul is sin. A thousand plugs injecting temporary fulfillment for temporary needs, all conveniently invented as distractions from the permanent need, this is idolatry.
Jesus isn't afraid to expose the God-shaped abyss in the human core because he knows God's heart has a similar space inside for every human. While I hasten to stifle the sound of my sobbing and spend my existence in a tedium of hypnotic denial, he lives non-stop in the place of deep desire, because only here can one experience true love. Jesus, I am tired of pretending I don't hear myself crying for you. As the sun sets I step off into the canyon of my neediness and freefall through its infinite depths until I feel your arms around me and then I am flying.
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