What We Really Want

My friend John reminded me what I know but sometimes forget. And he answered the questions on my mind. Why don't you get what you want? And, what do you want?

He suggested that what I said I want isn't what I really want. In response to the question asked of me in a dream—"Why don't you get what you want?"—I said I wanted to be a teacher known for my compassion. John doubted that to be the truth.

"What you want is what we wanted years ago. Significance." He's right. When we were younger men we dreamed of position and prestige and power. But what we wanted was what most people want. Acceptance. Appreciation. Approval. Applause.

Little has changed with time. We want our lives to count. We want what we do to make a difference. We want who we are to matter. And we want to leave a legacy.

At age 58, that desire drives me. I know time is running out. I often say, "Time is finite and so am I," although I'm not fond of the fact that both are true.

I have even less affection for the notion that only now am I beginning to understand what I want and why. But I do understand now more than ever why I want what I want. And why you most likely want the same thing. Because we tend to want what we think we don't deserve.

It's less about thinking we can't have what we want and more about believing that we shouldn't want the best for ourselves. That to do so is selfish. That we don't deserve good things in life. After all, we know who we are and what we've done. And even when we don't want to admit our failures, much less confess our sins, we often doubt that we deserve as much as we are given.

Maybe that explains why the Hound of Heaven pursues us relentlessly to give us both God's blessing and his blessings. Because as Mitch Albom points out in Have a Little Faith, "Man likes to run from God." But as Adam discovered in the Garden of Eden, we can run, but we can't hide. And when we try, God usually asks another question, "Do you know where you are?"

More often that not I must admit, "I don't have a clue," which is usually followed by, "Please help me." And he does.

I've been fortunate. When I ran, God pursued. When I hid, God searched. When I was lost, God found me. And I'm comforted by the truth. What he has done, he will do—as long and as often as necessary.