Wanting

What do you want most?

It’s a pretty broad question. But some things must flash forward: notions of happiness and love, certain landmarks in life you long to reach. But is there just one thing that could satisfy? Could one thing ever be enough? Enough to stop the pining, enough to feel content… Enough to treasure each precious breath instead of watching the horizon for our someday etched in the starry night sky.

It’s easy to believe that the acquisition of one success would colour our world bright again. Problems rise like mountains before us, blocking our view of what lies beyond. Desire to see the other side, to see that the valley that follows is green and full of promise and not barren and bleak, is overwhelming. The path over the mountain always seem to take a different twist or turn, yet still I reach the valley and it is everything I hoped, just not in the way that I hoped. But the bliss, the relief of reprieve is momentary. The steady surface does not last.

I want success. I want happiness. I want love. I want to see my dreams fulfilled. I would hardly be human if I didn’t.

The question that remains is this: are those the things I want most?

The gems of joy I find on earth I try to guard within my grasp. But I cannot. They fade and give rise to fresh worry, fresh pain. It’s wearying. Is life like this worth living? Perhaps not.

Thank goodness there’s a different kind of life, another way of living. There’s a love we are called to that does not fade. There’s a peace we’re offered freely if we unclench our fists. That’s what I want most: peace. Not just a fleeting feeling of reassurance, but a deep peace, one that pervades my very being, one that comes from the Source of all that is good and true. This peace, this hand to hold, guides me over mountains and through valleys, and with this peace I never have to be alone. I never have to be afraid. I’m free.

Yet so often I feel trapped. I am a prisoner of my fear. Maybe it’s because peace is a choice. Gifts have to be received. Imagine a present wrapped with ribbon, forlorn beneath a tree. Inside is something meant for the bearer of the name scrawled on the tag, but unless the wrappings are removed, it will lie there until it’s cloaked in dust and turns to dust itself.

I want to stop wanting.

And instead of struggling under burdens and shaking from my fears, I’m going to make a choice.

And receive.