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After questioning God about the reason for her irrational frustration, Jen Scheuermann is reminded of her heart’s deepest desires. 


I can take care of myself 

It was late. I was hungry and tired. I wanted only to eat and climb into bed.   

Why do high school track meets end so late? Why is my son always in the last event? Doesn’t anyone realize it’s a school night?   

My silent complaints were interrupted by my husband’s voice announcing that he would walk me to my car after we walked our son to his.   

I should have been grateful for a husband who cares about my safety and wants to protect me. I should have smiled and said, “Thank you.”   

Instead, a deeply woven thread of self-reliance combined with irrational frustration over this six-minute delay fueled my curt response: “It’s okay. I can see my car from here. I’ll walk to it by myself.” The exchange that followed was anything but loving. 

 

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The heart, at its core 

I read the story a third time before setting down the devotional and closing my eyes. I knew God was speaking to me. Inviting me to sit with these words. Inviting me to see how this story — though it seemed unrelated — actually spoke to my own.   

The story described a man who’d lived a hard life: It was chaotic and dangerous. It involved a broken family and gang involvement. It included prison time and homelessness. Considering how different this man’s life was from my own, it’s a wonder I connected with it at all.   

But the Holy Spirit was reading with me.  

The man’s demeanor, described as reserved and cold, was familiar. I’ve encountered it in patients with similar experiences. Keeping others at a distance is a method of self-protection. I closed my eyes and pictured this man. His head down, minimizing eye contact. His body posture tense, avoiding physical contact. His answers guarded, offering only the bare minimum. I closed my eyes and pictured this man as he did all he could to protect himself.   

Then I pictured his heart.   

A heart that — at its core — ached to be accepted. To be wanted. To be held and loved. A heart that longed for the very opposite of what his words and actions so boldly declared.   

Find your delight in the Lord who will give you your heart’s desire. (Psalm 37:4)  
 

 

Sitting quietly in prayer, I closed my eyes and allowed the memory to unfold. I’d asked the Lord to help me understand my irrational frustration after the track meet. Hunger and fatigue aside, I knew my response was bigger than the situation called for, but I didn’t know where it came from. God was answering my prayer, slowly bringing to mind memories from my past—from times I’d wanted nothing other than to be taken care of. But I hadn’t been. As a result, I slowly concluded that I must take care of myself, and without realizing it, this belief had shaped how I live my life.   

But in showing me these memories, God also showed me my heart.   

A heart that — at its core — actually aches to be taken care of. A heart longing for the very opposite of what my words and actions so boldly declared.  

 

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An unspoken prayer 

I don’t know the exact words or even the episode, but I do recall replaying the words from the Poco a Poco podcast that had captured my attention. Words reminding me that God knows each and every desire of my heart. He knows them because He placed them there. And He placed them there because He has a plan to fill them. 

You formed my inmost being; you knit me in my mother’s womb. (Psalm 139:13) 

 

This truth — one I knew in my head but struggled to believe — chased me for weeks. It collided with all God had revealed about my desire to be cared for and gave birth to a silent prayer that took residence in my heart: “God, help me see the deepest desires of my heart. The ones placed there by You. The ones that lay behind all I think I want. And help me trust that You have a plan to fill them.” 

 

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God’s tangible answer 

I walked into the empty hospital chapel, sat down before the tabernacle, and closed my eyes. A few moments later I heard the chapel door open and footsteps approach. Opening my eyes, I saw a man standing beside me, pyx in hand. Realizing he’d just brought the Eucharist to a patient I nodded and smiled, expecting him to replace the pyx and leave.

To my surprise he turned, looked directly into my eyes, and spoke. “Would you like to receive our Lord in the Holy Eucharist?”  

Responding “Yes,” I was slowly filled with an inner knowing, and I finally understood:  

The deepest longing of my heart, the one that lies beneath and behind all I think I want … is Jesus.  

 

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Copyright 2024 Jennifer Scheuermann
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