Restless. Bone-jittering restlessness. Pacing the apartment. In one room and out again, circling to repeat, once, twice, thrice, until I can’t remember how many times.
Things to do. Homework. Cleaning. Writing papers. Everything. But I can’t sit. Every time I do, I’m up again feeling unsettled, not present, and restless.
What had me so unsettled, so muscle-spazzingly restless? I finally paused my steps and asked, “Barbara, why are you feeling like this?”
I knew. One of my best friends who was also a roommate had been gone for a week. Eternity. And she was on her way home. Soon, she would be here. And I could hardly wait. So I did what anyone do. Okay, maybe not. After all, it was a rainy, windy, autumn evening.
Marching out into the gust of weather, I plopped myself down onto the sidewalk in front of my dormitory. Legs criss-crossed. Arms tight to my chest against the wet wind.
I sat there for an hour.
And then she was there. We hugged, and I helped her drag her things in. But then again, I don’t really remember. What I do remember is that at that moment, someone invited me to go with them to do something else. And I went.
Ridiculous, right? Here I had been waiting, waiting, and waiting for my friend to arrive. When she finally did, I left.
Hours later, when she and I sat side by side on the couch on our respective computers, the silliness of it all just walloped me over the head. Now here we were sitting in the same room, and we weren’t even interacting. And I stopped what I was doing (probably browsing Pinterest) to take this all in. In my head, I questioned myself, “Barbara, why did that happen? Why were you so restless? And then when she arrived, you felt free to leave?”
I missed her presence.
It took my breath away. That someone’s presence could mean so much. The solidity of knowing that I was sharing life with someone day-in and day-out. We didn’t have to be talking. But her presence anchored me to a contentedness that I had missed when she was gone.
Take a step back with me. What about God? And his presence of the Holy Spirit? What is it like to not have the presence of God a part of your life? Searching? Freedom? Restlessness?
“I’m working on me.”
“I haven’t found my life purpose yet, but I’m young. I have time!”
“She wasn’t the one, but I signed up for an online dating profile!”
“I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea, but I’m open to whatever.”
I feel too young to talk about the Holy Spirit. And yet, I’ll tread on this audacious and presumptuous subject because of the simplicity of presence.
We’re searching. Whether it’s to self-improve or wander from job to job or finding your tribe, there’s such a sense of uncertainty and restlessness. I wonder if what is truly missing is the fulfillment of the Presence of the Holy Spirit.
I can’t help but think that missing the presence of my friend is very much like what it’s like to be missing the presence of the Holy Spirit in your life. If you have it, you often don’t miss it. Just as when you have someone you love, you don’t miss them when you are with them. It’s when they have gone that you are restless for them.
To the Giver of the Holy Spirit Presence,
Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me (Psalm 51:11).
Calm my bone-jittering restlessness and smooth the erratic beat of my rabbit heart.
Anchor me with your Presence to your hope-filled, plentiful promises.
But mostly, gratitude to you for the gift of your Helper Presence to teach me all things and bring remembrance of the things you have taught (John 14:26).
Hunger for more life-giving words? Check out one of my favorite chapters: Isaiah 55.
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