The Search {how idolatry sometimes wears hashtags)
The first time I read Kelli Woodford’s words, I sat awestruck and then read them again, slowly.
Some things just can’t be swallowed fast. Some things need to be savored and chewed and allowed to sift from head to heart.
Kelli’s writing is one of those things. After meeting Kelli through this sweet band of sisters who love Jesus and love to encourage each other, I fell in love.
Not just with Kelli’s writing, but with her heart, too.
This mama of seven is on a journey to find grace, and in the process, she is running smack dab into Jesus in the most unusual of places. She believes that by the power of our beliefs, we choose what kind of world we will live in — a porous world, full of glory doors leaking light, or a flat world where everything is exactly what it seems.
This girl makes me want to throw open the doors of my ordinary life and dance in the glow of glory that’s been there all along. I hope you’ll want to dance with me after you meet my dear friend. And if you love her words as much as I do, I hope you’ll stop by her beautiful blog, Chronicles of Grace and be inspired even more.
Here’s Kelli…
The raindrops sing on my windowpane as I miss my life to peruse facebook.
Toys from a foiled naptime are still strewn on my bed, the four-year-old proving wrong my insistence that he still needs some afternoon zzz’s. As serendipitous background music, I catch a few notes randomly hummed downstairs as the dishes clank and the water flows. Then there’s heavy running and what must be someone’s courageous belly-flop onto a bed. I hear filtered laughter rushing up the staircase; feet like drum’s rhythm. And it’s life – a-buzz without me. Because I’m surfing.
Because I’m searching.
It’s the hunger that draws me to it, like a moth to a flame. Hunger to feel loved, to know that I’m valued, to believe that I matter. It draws me to find someone somewhere who’s singing my song, tweeting my posts, writing words that well up and spill over in time with the beating of my heart.
Yes, this is the why of the search.
And here, I must admit, it would be easy to turn this into a guilt-trip post. But with all that is within me, I valiantly resist.
So I strip it of its blame and look at the search for what it is. It is a desire to connect. To avoid the loneliness that perhaps, in some sense, defines our human condition. There are parts of this desire that can be good – know and be known, right? But in some ways we can be deceived. Blinded. And spun around with a sharp tack in hand to try to pin on the right part of a donkey we can’t visualize.
Because no matter how many posts I read that speak my heart and no matter how great the number of songs that reach the deep places, there will always be a place that is only for me. And God.
And the sooner I come to that, acknowledge that, the better.
I’ve walked long enough to know now, the search can wear you out. Anyone through whom you hear sweet words one day can just as likely speak sour the next. You can get your life caught up in someone else’s convictions, experiences, theology, and it will feel good for awhile. You will feel like you belong. Like you’ve found your thing. Like your tribe has gathered.
But it won’t last.
And then it will all come raging back to the surface again, this hunger. The frightfulness of alone.
They’re calming downstairs. The blue glow of the television puts them in a trance. I feel the quiet sogginess of bedtime seeping into the evening. It’s almost time.
Truth comes at us through strange venues sometimes and before I rise from my keyboard, I have a vision of earlier in the day: six-year-old hands, flat out like frigid starfish, on the table. They receive the strokes I paint over fingernails – ice blue and as delicate as an anticipated melting. Stroke, stroke. Dip and shake. Stroke, stroke.
Little miss serendipitous, she turns her face to mine. That wisp of a nose crinkles with her pumpkin-toothed grin. Her eyes sparkle, resplendent.
It’s like a veil is torn.
How did I miss this connection? Is she not bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh in a way Adam could never say of Eve? Did she not gulp her first lungful of air only after I found myself emptied of air, life, energy and all? Do we not still wear vestiges of that imaginary cord which forever holds between us? Have I been so fully hypnotized by the daily-hum of my chronically tired life that I have overlooked what stares back at me over decorated fingertips?
True, she cannot understand the depth of adult conversation or the echo of years past the way a peer could, but the eternity in her heart, it calls to me. Our connection, the brush of common humanity, is beyond flimsy and faltering words.
And I’m enraptured with all the light in this moment.
With the way love reflects in those adoring eyes and the charm of musical smiles. With the painted fingernails and the running helter-skelter up the stairs because somebody you love is make you laugh and cry and scream and snort … and it’s wild fun. Suddenly, the search seems so silly.
All I have is all I need.
And it was here all along.
Before I rise to help them to bed and tuck blankets under chins, I watch the rain. It is given, the Good Book says, to the righteous and the unrighteous. The just and the unjust. The sinners and the saints.
There has rarely been a time when I felt the weight of this revelation so personally. For the wanderer who doggedly pursues that desperate search and the bone-weary traveler with eyes turned back to Home live in the same skin. It is the story of the sinner/saint.
It is the story of me.
As a post-script, I feel the need to point out that the internet is not the only way to engage in the search. Any old love can be an idol when misplaced.
Kelli Woodford lives in the midwest, surrounded by cornfields and love, with her husband and seven blue-eyed children. They laugh, they play, they fight, they mend; but they don’t do anything that even slightly resembles quiet. Unless it’s listening to their lives, which has proved to be the biggest challenge of them all.
Linking with Jennifer for Tell His Story, Beth for Wedded Wednesdays
So, so beautiful, Kelli. I was just talking with someone at church today about how the idols of most people in this country masquerade as so many other things – and then the two of us started listing off some of ours. This one’s not at the top of my list, but definitely one to watch out for – and such a great reminder to look at the things that are. Thank you so much for sharing, friend.
Oh, Kelli, thanks for lingering here with us today; for inspiring and encouraging and sharing truth in that beautiful way that only you can. You are a treasure, dear friend. And I’m honored to have you at the Overflow! Thanks a thousand times over for the gift of your words.
hugs and kisses to you, Alicia! thanks for this opportunity – it has been rich.
Ahhh, Kelli. A favorite for sure.
Amy! so nice to see your familiar face here.
thank you for reading and for your encouragement, friend.
It’s so true isn’t it – that only God can satisfy. He understands our thirst and quenches it like nobody/nothing else can. Thanks for sharing your story and for confirming what the Lord has been impressing upon my heart about my own family. Blessings to you and yours.:)
oh, dear one.
we need those confirmations sometimes, don’t we? i’ll do it for you today … and perhaps you will do it for me tomorrow.
thanks for reading!
A life lesson I’ve had to be reminded of over and over here, that there’s a space only He is meant to fill, only He can truly fill. And yes, I sometimes overlook the gift of connection right under my own roof.
Beautiful writing, as always, friend.
perhaps that’s the nature of our humanity – to learn and re-learn. i think i’m finally getting to be more okay with admitting that. and trusting He will come again, He will teach me again, I can breathe and not beat myself for forgetting.
thank you for your friendship, Elizabeth. you are a powerful encourager.
“There will always be a place that is only for me. And God.
And it was here all along.”
Great words, Kelli. Thanks for sharing them here at Alicia’s.
and thanks to you, Lisa, for reading. bless you.
Oh Kelli this is beautiful in so many ways. You *know* I get this. I struggle with it incessantly. I feel very alone, but I feel drawn to Quiet and Stillness more and more and I like what was said– He. Is. Enough. What I have is all I need. Thank you for putting this into words, this human struggle. You know my last post on idolatry and the pursuit of creativity? I’m writing something in continuing that theme and it falls along the same you say here, throwing off the guilt bc He is enough and it’s for his glory, not ours. And when we’re really living, and we’re shining, it’s a beautiful thing to Him.
i do know, my friend.
and you must be writing one incredible piece because i think you just summarized the heart behind these words of mine in such a succinct way. you bless me big.
Ouch, dang! So this is what conviction feels like? I have been blessed by the community I’ve entered into on FB, but alas, it is a rabbit hole, Thank you, Kelli, for wise words, Grace, and a swift (but loving) smack to the back of the head.
This is good stuff.
Peace and good to you, Kelli, and to you, Alicia, for hosting. Kelli’s words do make you want to slow down and dive deep.
how nice to see you here, Chelle. i’m looking forward to getting to know you better, too. 🙂
peace and good and love and grace, indeed. these are words i hope cushion that smack … a little?
Kelli – the pull toward the screens, the affirmations, the interaction, the longing to feel included, valued, part of the group … this can all be a rather toxic mix, yes?
right, Linda.
i think so much of it comes down to the WHY not just the WHAT. screens, affirmation, interaction — all this has its place. but perhaps it can overrun its banks when the root hungers are not being satisfied in Him … ?
this seems to be true for me.
thank you for taking the time to read and comment, friend.
Dear Kelly
To want to belong is a God-given desire. I think of Adam and how God said that it is not good to he alone and then created Eve. But even then there is that place, our new heart and spirit, that can only be satisfied and at home abiding in our Lord Jesus.
Much love XX
Mia
yep. you heard my heart exactly. thank you, Mia.
blessings to you!
My oldest boy, I found him lying on the floor of the family room one day – when I asked what he was doing, he said, “soaking” – soaking in God. Sometimes it’s not in the searching we find God – it is being being still where we are, or being engaged in where we are – and listening for Him in it – soaking Him in:) Sometimes I wonder how often I wander off to search for God – and He stands there amused watching me search for Him when He is right there all along:) Beautiful food for thought today, Kelli!
Maryleigh
I feel her words so intently in my soul these days. It is a struggle. Such a struggle. I am a blogger. It is the door that God is opening and continues to keep open, but it is addictive and so much easier than real life and messy relationships and heartbreak. But even this week God has proved that He alone is my sufficiency, my grace, my all in all. Even those I love the most will abandon and fail, but God will not. He meets me in my heartbreak and tells me He alone is enough. Without accolades, without reassurances, without praise. He.is.enough.
oh Marty, can i just say that your words seem to carry the weight of your emotion? feeling it with you and for you, friend. thank you for acknowledging the addictive-ness, the temptation to take the easy path rather than get all messy in real life relationships. this is so very true. as with most things, we seem to be a very polarized people – prone to believe it must be ONE WAY or ANOTHER. but i think, in this case, it is both. it is good to cultivate those not-so-tidy relationships and learn the lessons they teach. AND it is good to come apart from life to meditate and connect in a different way online.
you have already said the answer and that is that He is enough. yes. and He can come to us in so many forms. thankful for grace to receive Him however He loves …
thank you for your very heart-felt comment, friend.
My oldest boy, I found him lying on the floor of the family room one day – when I asked what he was doing, he said, “soaking” – must soaking in God. Sometimes it’s not in the searching we find God – it is being being still where we are, or being engaged in where we are – and listening for Him in it – soaking Him in:) Sometimes I wonder how often I wander off to search for God – and He stands there amused watching me search for Him when He is right there all along:) Beautiful food for thought today, Kelli!
Maryleigh
yes! i love that, Maryleigh. soaking in the One who is always there. amen.
I find it funny that as I try to read this with smart phone in one hand, baby in another, my distraction allows milk to spray all over little guy’s face. How long was he being showered with his mid-morning snack? I don’t know because I too was busy searching, when an oh so obvious connection was present right in my lap! I have felt conflicted about this in the past, partly why I am constantly joining and leaving Facebook. But I feel like God is showing me more and more how I can accept the way life is and be grateful for it. For example, I’m having a hard time getting outside with both kids to exercise (something I feel like I SHOULD be doing). But I’ve accepted that a half hour of a dance party indoors reaps the same benefits and is just as acceptable. So my reaching out on the Internet is not the flesh and blood interaction with Church I’ve always imagined it SHOULD be. But it’s what I can manage right now. And as long as I can make sure it doesn’t become an idol, I can appreciate it for what it is. And I am grateful for God’s way of using all things to help us connect. Any opportunity that I can connect with you, my friend, is a blessing! As always, thank you for your thoughtful and encouraging words.
Keturah!! so fun to see you here!
i think that moving from the “just can’t get it right’s” into the “God will make it enough’s” is like a second conversion for so many of us. a beautiful heart for others you have always had – no matter what form it takes presently. i’m thankful to call you ‘friend.’
oh, and poor little Lincoln getting a milk bath? just about had me in stitches!
I feel like I’m sitting on your shoulder walking through your home and watching your children play and laugh and love. Your writing is always so vivid and smooth like silk, Kelli. I’m so glad that Alicia is highlighting you today and has grown to love you like I have as well. It’s an amazing thing how God has brought us all together here in this space that isn’t even really a “space.” Yes, it is to connect … on Facebook or in blogs. I pray it is not time wasted. Hugs to both you lovely ladies!
thanks, Beth. yeah, there’s so much life around me, i’m afraid i don’t do justice to the half of it – but i try. maybe that counts for something, eh? i always enjoy reading your comments, friend.
I love the way you wrote this one. Among many other good parts I loved how instead of it being a guilt trip (which produces nothing of value) you swept guilt aside and listened more closely, letting it be a conversation with the one who gives rain and all good things undeserved, all gifts of love. Thanks for sharing this, and thanks Alicia for your place here. Very encouraging.
if anyone knows that i despise guilt trips as a way to incite change, it’s you, Jase. 🙂
thanks for being here. isn’t this a great place? don’t i have the coolest friends?
Oh my, Kelli, your words slays me. I find myself in this tale. How often does *something else* call to me while my children call my name? My laptop, my iPad, chores, a library book that I just have to finish… you’ve both convicted me and encouraged me today. That six year old lives in my home, too. I think I’m going to log off now for the day and go paint some fingernails. Blessings to you! (And Alicia, thank you for sharing Kelli’s heart with us today!)
you gave me a great compliment to say that you found yourself in this tale, Becky. it’s the mark of a great story, i believe, that the readers find their own narrative being told. so thank you for that.
and yes, by all means – paint some fingernails! blue is nice …
oh kelli. you know that i know this. that i pull myself away so that i can feel the blood pulse through my vein, and not in time with with the adrenaline of being “seen” by another. this is a hard practice because i too search so long and hard for that connection, to hear that something i say matters. love to see you beside me on this as well. we will keep forging these roads in the mundane moments, still to return to each other, breathless with the beauty and pain of it all.
breathless with the beauty and the pain, indeed. said like only you can say it, Tara. so much love to you.