The pursuit

Wednesday she woke up needy.
Needy for sleep first. It had been fitful—she woke at 1 a.m. and couldn’t return to sleep until she drank some tea, read her Bible. Even after that, sleeping seemed a chore—until the morning when sleep was unused vacation.
Her next need eluded definition. She shuffled off to work, went about the day searching for something, aching, hungering. But not for food. She felt no hunger pangs and decided not to eat until she had to.
A coworker, whose 16-year-old daughter recently gave birth, called the office, gushing with how smitten everyone is with the baby.
Another need awoke, started crying within. The need to give life, to care more for another being than for self.
She kept looking at her phone, hoping it would ring, to satisfy the need to connect. At the same time she wished it to not ring, for the fear of talking without relating. She felt the emptiness even more when she attended a party that evening. Useless words given, nothing memorable received.

Thursday was different.
She woke with a feeling. A calm sense someone had spoken to her as she slept. She didn’t remember any distinct words. I was like someone injected a peace in her veins. How else could she feel so loved, so sure that even though she’d done nothing to deserve it, someone would cherish her despite her weakness, her fear, her intentional self-abuse? Someone wanted to tell her he loved her more than she loved herself. And that made her want to change, to be better. Not because she felt the need to earn this love, but to return it somehow.

She later learned someone had prayed this prayer on her behalf:
"O most loving Father: Grant us faith that we may dread nothing but the loss of You. Teach us to expect you. Give us your adventure and abandon, your risky hope, your absolute confidence. Teach us to be sure of only You. That we may follow you with the peaceful awareness that knowing You comes before knowing; trusting You before understanding; following You before itineraries.
Interrupt us where we least wish You to come; handle and heal us where we ourselves would most protect; rattle us where we are most comfortable; astound us where we feel least safe, where we least trust You; distract us where we are most self-consumed; wait for us where we least believe we can go. Astound us, O Lord, with Your grace. We would be exuberant children, Father, more thrilled by your return home than by any gifts You may have for us in your pockets. And we Your children pray this by Your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, Who lives and reigns with You and Your Holy Spirit, Our God of Eternal Surprises, Our Light in dark places. Amen.”

This message delivered exactly what she needed. A reminder of the hymn she relates so well with: “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.”

Now He is drawing her back, once again. She senses Him pursuing her with His presence, as she’s readily ignored so often before.

This special “someone” helped her remember that the God of the universe is romantic. He pursues us with His sunshine, amuses us with laughter, and calms us in what seems disaster.