On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night.
- Psalm 63:6 (NIV)


Over the past few months, since starting work, I've been having this deep longing of leaving home and trading it in for a more reclusive lifestyle. I've been having visions of being practically swaddled in a thicky, wooly blanket, cup of cocoa in hand and journal in front, and curling up in the corner of my log cabin nestled in the woods in some faraway mountain area. This is rather unlike myself because the thought of living alone - and in a remote area in a foreign country, no less - scares me. Nonetheless, the picture gave me peace and a longing that did not quit for months.

The feeling became more pronounced as recent developments at work surfaced, and the pressure to keep up with my colleagues mounted. It didn't take long before the pressure, the unfulfilled longing, and the resulting disappointment and weariness seeped into my work life and my already-poor spiritual life. Yes, I still clocked in early and clocked out late to finish work; but I did so without much motivation to do more than was required. And yes, I still kept up with devotionals and reading plans; but quality quiet time was nonexistent.

Dry. Tired. Starved.

That was the state of my soul. I knew it long before the problem came to a head, and I knew what to do. But I didn't do it. My soul was wrung out because of my conscious decision to not sit down with God and pray to Him, to not lay down the burdens that He never meant for me to carry.

But God being who He is - ever faithful - gave me moments of reprieve that gave me hope.

There is this plot of land that I pass by on my daily commute. For some reason, I relish the three seconds afforded to me whenever that happens. Even when I get off from work, I don't cherish it simply because a day of work is finally done but more so because of the jeepney ride well into the evening, when I get the chance to pass by said plot of land again.

It's nothing special really. In fact, it's a pretty neglected piece of real estate; it's a gated-off property that's up for sale and has been overrun by weeds and all kinds of growth. But somehow, I'm rather fond of it.

You'll know when you're right outside it when the air feels cooler and smells of grass and freshness (granted, sometimes there are traces of garbage/dung smell, but I really just overlook it 😅). In those three seconds of being right outside that plot of overgrowth, the feeling of longing intensifies yet is satisfied at the same time. And I can only attribute it to God, to acknowledging that, that certain pull is from Him.

Today, after days since I last felt a discernible weight in my heart due to the longing to escape, the feeling has muted. But in the past couple of weeks, while I was in the thick of this spiritual and emotional fog, God has revealed quite a lot, particularly in the area of escapism.

He showed me how very ingrained this tendency of escapism is in my nature; and while I know that it's God who planted in my heart a deep desire for more than this utterly broken world can offer, the longing for eternity in heaven (Eccles. 3:11), He has alerted me, confirmed through many a reading material, on the danger of my tendency to want to neglect reality. It's as if I thought and believed as a nonbeliever would, forgetting God's faithfulness in everything and His ultimate promise that nothing can snatch me away from His hand (Rom. 8:38-39).

As for that specific vision of a life as a hermit writer in the pines, maybe it's a God-given foretaste of a life I'm yet to experience here on earth (perhaps except the hermit part). Maybe it's yet another suggestion from God, a confirmation, that there is something more to this gift of stringing words together somewhat coherently. Maybe it's simply a reminder from God not to neglect what I had dedicated to Him as my personal form of ministry.

Whatever the case, I now know that the longing to run away was a God-given longing for more. It was His invitation to sit with Him in the secret place so that He could tend to my dry, tired, and starved soul. It was a longing for God.


Stay golden, hupomeno, and God bless you!





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