a homeless kind of hunger

it’s not about food, but somehow it becomes all about food, because food is easier.

it’s easier to eat or not eat than it is to acknowledge the way we’re breaking inside. breaking from not feeling loved. breaking from wanting the world to stop and see us. breaking for wanting a safe place and having nowhere to go. breaking from having the people who say they love us do very unlovely things. breaking from knowing we were made for more than this life, but being stuck in this life nonetheless.

there is a book called, ‘room’, and in it, a five-year-old boy knows only the 11′ by 11′ walls of the room he lives in with his mother, and for him, it is home and world combined. when they finally escape, he is bombarded by society’s beauty and pain. one day he learns about an experiment that was done on baby monkeys; a scientist took them away from their mothers and kept each one all alone in a cage, and none of them grew up right, because they didn’t get any cuddles.

that night, the little boy wakes up crying. “why don’t the scientists bring the mother monkeys back and say sorry?” he asks his mom.

“…don’t think about the baby monkeys anymore, okay?” she says. “they’re okay now.”

“i don’t think they’re okay.”

and his mother holds him so tight his neck hurts.

there’s no escaping the sad stories. they bombard us. we all live in our own little rooms until one day, we’re forced into the scary world and bombarded by beauty and pain. and if we don’t have someone to hold us so tight our necks hurt, we can lose ourselves in the pain of it all.

so it becomes all about the food. food can comfort, and food can numb. some of us choose to over-eat, and others of us choose to stop eating all together. it is a choice. a choice that manifests itself in the decision to stop feeling. the decision to save ourselves from the pain of our circumstance. the decision to show the world we are worth noticing. the decision to punish our loved ones for doing very unlovely things. the decision to recreate our own little room, to become invisible.

the bible says God is love. if God is love, and he conceived us, then we are love’s children. our dna is our father’s, and our father is in heaven, and we are stuck here on earth. we are homeless children longing for home, and meanwhile, we have other homeless children called parents taking care of us, trying to show us the love only a perfect God can truly exhibit.

we all deal with this homelessness in different ways, but some of us take it to extreme, and hurt ourselves. we do this because our longing for beauty, our longing for home, is too painful.

we are sensitive souls. many of us are artists. others just feel way too strongly. for some of us it starts very early–for me, it began when i was nine. that was my breaking point. my soul couldn’t take the confusion any longer, the longing for extravagant love and finding none. the confusion of seeking beauty and finding so much ugly. the confusion of being taught that i was God’s creation but never having truly met him.

i hope we can meet him here, together, friends. that we can walk in the garden with him, again. that we can can learn together what it means to be made in Love’s Image. because it is possible for us to be homeless and happy…

***

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4 thoughts on “a homeless kind of hunger

  1. I related so much to what you wrote here, Emily. “we all deal with this homelessness in different ways, but some of us take it to extreme, and hurt ourselves. we do this because our longing for beauty, our longing for home, is too painful.”

    I chose many ways to hurt myself because my longing for beauty and for home became too painful. Recovery from any addiction, I believe, is finding beauty and that home here on Earth by continually making conscious contact with our Higher Power. It is simple but not easy, as they say.

    Good luck with the book. In Christ, all things are possible.

    • i agree with you sheila. it’s about making conscious contact, so we can find the strength to handle each day. it’s about remembering where our true identity lies. thank you so much for sharing part of your powerful story with me… you are beautiful, friend. xo

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