Longing of the Soul

Why are we here
brief sparks beneath eternity?
What is our time,
measured in breaths and seasons,
and what is our purpose
under heaven’s wide gaze?
How shall the heart be satisfied?

What do we seek
when we rise before dawn,
when we labor, when we ache?
When shall the hunger cease,
The thirst be quenched?

What are songs truly written about,
if not the desire beneath the melody?
What is the deepest longing of the heart,
the question beneath every question?
How shall we then live?

What claims our thoughts
in the quiet hours?
What governs our heart,
our strength, our soul, our might?

We say the answer is love
but what do we mean?

Is it storge,
the comfort of the familiar,
the warmth of home,
slippers by the hearth
on a winter night?

Is it eros,
the fire of desire,
the consuming pull of beauty,
the heat that promises fullness
yet cannot remain?

Is it philia,
the joy of shared laughter,
the bond of brothers,
the ache of absence,
the gladness of return?

Is it agape,
love poured out without reserve,
the parent’s costly devotion,
the gift given
without condition or demand?

Is it mercy
the release of debt?
Is it grace
the gift unearned?

Or is there something deeper still,
a single truth beneath all loves,
an ache that no lesser thing can fill
a hollow we stuff with power and praise,
with gold that dulls,
with idols that rust,
with names that fade?

When will it be enough?

Is this not the mystery
every heart attempts to solve?
The hidden center of every quest?
The grail we chase
through work and war,
through pleasure and success,
through loss and longing
to finally be at rest?

And in the end,
is it not what we seek, but who?

Not an object,
but a presence.
Not possession,
but communion.

A relationship deeper than utility,
an intimacy beyond use,
a knowing that is also being known.

Not merely one like us
but the One
in whose image we were made.
From whose breath we came.
By whose likeness we live.
Mysteriously other,
yet nearer than our own thoughts.

Is it not a knowing so deep
it becomes union
a losing of the self
that is finally a finding?

As a child rests in a parent’s love,
as lovers give themselves away,
as years of faithfulness
grow quieter and stronger

These are signs, not sources.
Echoes, not the voice.
Facets of a single diamond
cut to reflect a greater light.

We were made for love,
yes
but ultimately
for love toward God.

For the One
after whom we were fearfully
and wonderfully made.
The One who alone
can hold the full weight of the heart.

To love Him,
to glorify His name,
to rest in His presence

This is the end of the matter.