I’ve done a few long-distance romances in my life, and even though I’ve sworn off them for good, it hasn’t made any difference. I’m still in one, one that’s been going on for 30 years as of this past January. You think I’m nuts? At times like this, and on days like this, I do, too.
And yet, this Person is “the lover of my soul.” You guessed it: I’m speaking about God and me. I consider this long-term relationship the ultimate long-distance romance. Which part of that title gets the modifier “ultimate”? All of it, but for different reasons than you might suspect. Like any flesh and blood relationship conducted over long distances, I can’t say it’s all been good. Lately, thanks to writer Donald Miller, myself, and other un-named individuals, this romance has been downright painful.
First, I love most of Donald Miller’s writing, so in implicating him, I’m actually giving him a compliment. In his essay, “Naked: Why Nudity is the Point,” which appeared in his book Searching for God Knows What (Nelson, 2004) he’s written something that has so spoken to my heart as to almost be on par with what God might say, it feels so true. I’ve read this essay before, and it whanged me the first and second times. But the third, fourth, and fifth times are killing me, even years after those first readings.
If you’ve not read it, here are a few paragraphs of summary. Miller opens that essay with the twin events of a trip to Yosemite National Park and taking a class that helped him learn how read the Bible as literature, “as though a human being were trying to tell me something about life, something he thought was beautiful or ugly, true or inspiring--you know the drill” (61). Just as Yosemite began to enlarge Miller’s impression of the vastness of the Garden of Eden, so, too, did this reading technique enlarge Miller’s idea of the dynamics of Eden and the Fall. He makes some startling claims, among them, “I noticed Adam and Eve didn’t meet right away. Moses said God knew Adam was lonely or incomplete or however you want to say it, but God did not create Eve directly after he stated Adam was lonely. . . . He did not give Adam what he needed immediately. He waited. He told Adam to name the animals” (63).
Miller then points out, mostly by conjecture, but convincing conjecture nonetheless, how long it must have taken Adam to name all the animals then-present in the world--maybe at least a hundred years (64). By the time God created Eve, Adam was more than happy to have her around, and Miller even notes Moses’ record of what Adam called her, “Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh”--not as some clinical response to seeing her for the first time, but as a beautiful statement of unbreakable recognition down to his very core of who his mate was, who was made for him--and literally so (66).
Miller then goes on to imagine the gratitude Adam showed God for bringing Eve into the world for him specifically, and then he says, “I wondered at how beautiful it is that you and I were created to need each other. The romantic need is just the beginning” (67).
To be more precise, he states,
“In this way, we are made in God’s image. Certainly God does not need people in the way you and I do, but He feels a joy in being loved, and He feels a joy at delivering love. It is a striking thought to realize that, in paradise, a human is incomplete without a host of other people. We are relational, indeed.” (67)
Miller goes on to point out that in addition to each other, Adam and Eve had the perfect relationship with God that none of us since the Fall have ever enjoyed, and because this must have been so, they must have felt the most incredible security--not just “safety,” as we tend to think of that word, but a soul-calming, life-affirming peace in themselves and toward God and each other (68). In other words, God knew perfectly how to love His creation, and so they, too, knew perfectly how to love one another, and Him.
That perfect love and peace is manifested for Miller (and Moses) in the fact that they were “naked, and were not ashamed” (68). He goes on to then contrast how difficult it is for most of us to imagine living life being naked; most of us will do anything to avoid it. We’re terribly self-conscious about ourselves, our vulnerabilities (69-70). He points out, as Moses does, that their knowledge of their nakedness didn’t appear until after they had eaten from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (70). In our Sunday-school wisdom, we’ve often just simply equate that to mean, “Nudity equals something evil; that’s why it was covered up.” But as Miller points out in a “frightening” epiphany,
“Man is wired so he gets his glory (his security, his understanding of value, his sense of purpose, his feeling of rightness with his Maker, his security for eternity) from God, and this relationship is so strong, and God’s love is so pure, that Adam and Eve felt no insecurity at all, so much so that they walked around naked and didn’t even realize they were naked. But when that relationship was broken, they knew it instantly. . . . All of the insecurity rises the instant you realize you are alone.” (70-71)
Adam and Eve had just entered into their first long-distance romance.
The most important point Miller makes then follows: it is precisely the absence of God’s affirmation in our lives that drives us to seek it in others (71). For Miller, it explains--but does not explain away--all of human interaction (71-72).
The first time I read that, I understood the bottom-line motivation for my prolonged sexual abuse from about age 8 until my mid-teens, my first affair with a married man, my decision to marry when I probably should not have, my first affair with a woman, my long stint in lesbianism, and now, my struggles with building real, lasting relationships with men. Good grief, Charlie Brown! My whole life looks like one long search for affirmation.
Put another way, because of my fourteen-ish years of struggle to build relationships with men, I have been experiencing “the ache of emptiness and the sudden horrifying awareness of self” (73) for the past few weeks. And the sad thing is, I’ve had to do it in the budding stages of a friendship that matters very much to me. I’m still trying to figure out why that is so--the timing of these events and the importance of this friendship still elude my understanding. I cannot, as yet, see why God is doing whatever it is He is doing with me.
For one thing, I’m not normally so insecure--really needing affirmation of all kinds. I usually can plow through life only occasionally wishing for a mate, sex, or even someone to hang out with. I have a housemate, and we’ve been able to mitigate some of the loneliness that living in a small town with few dating options and lots of gossip presents. But that’s not the same as being special enough to someone else that he/she makes--willingly makes--you a priority in his or her life on a continual basis (as much as possible, anyway). Knowing we matter immensely to another human being is the best antidote for insecurity that I know of.
God MADE us for relationships with each other, period. And so, it follows that it’s no crime to look to others to fulfill some of what vanished after the Fall and banishment from Eden. The real crime comes in the certain betrayal we all will see. And yet, where else can we go? To whom else can we turn?
Some Christians like to say, “Well, you need to get your sole affirmation from God.” I personally think that’s mostly some over-spiritualized B.S. Why? Because God didn’t make just ONE person on the planet. Yes, Adam even had animals for company, but as Miller points out, it was a sorry excuse for what was on the way. God made us relational. To simply admonish lonely people to “find your peace and your contentment only in God” is just a cop out; it can’t be done. The stark truth is ever since the Fall, we’re all caught in the ultimate long-distance romance: Earth to heaven, human to God. It’s the furthest span of space we can ever imagine. And we can’t bridge the gap, not even a little.
I’m not saying God’s care for us is useless, worthless, or even sub-standard. I’m only saying in practical terms, “He’s there, I’m here.” All I have around me are other humans. And I’m part of the landscape THEY have; wouldn’t it make sense on every level to look for affirmation in each other, yes, but with a realistic and compassionate heart, one that knows sooner or later, we let each other down--and more importantly, why?
And when I can speak to God about that disappointment and hunger, I can do so from the most enlightened position possible: God, here’s what I need, here’s how I tried to get it--and why--here’s how it turned out, and here I am, asking You to heal us all. You can’t begin to cooperate with God to fix what’s broken until you understand how it works in the first place. Thankfully, He already does.
Adam and Eve didn’t have to worry about God letting them down, yet God knew they were destined to let Him down. And He--even He--came searching after them. He wanted fellowship restored and was willing to make the first move toward that end.
What continues to be most painful for me at this moment are two primary problems: 1. I am afraid I probably cannot be satisfied with any amount of affirmation when I feel this low, and because I might be inconsolable, I might not see a genuine affirmation when it shows up (a crime) and 2. The earthly source, the person I’d like it most from, is probably least able to give it. So the soul-hunger continues, and yes, probably only God will ever be able to fully feed that need.
But He’s THERE and I’m HERE. . . .
