Hunger gnawed as I attempted to shed a few pounds instead of gaining them during weeks of inactivity in motels. My eyes scanned the room—scratched nightstands held orange, sixties-something lamps obliging both sides of the bed. As I wrote, I leaned against a faded orange vinyl headboard facing an intrusive television hulking upon a dark bureau. Two vinyl chairs addressed a small, scuffed table near an ironing board that waited against a blank wall for my husband’s white shirts. I no longer smelled the old motel odor that greeted us when we first arrived because we had since amalgamated with it. Engines rumbled outside and traffic lights flashed. Airplanes roared overhead and commercial buildings broke the horizon.

I shall not want? But, I DID want! I wanted a steak dinner with dessert. I wanted my own beautiful home—a two-story complete with guest rooms and a fireplace. I wanted a home near our children, grandchildren, friends, and relatives. I wanted my husband home in the evenings, content in his work and ministry. I wanted to write books and publish them. I did NOT want to live in motels, my husband’s on-the-road job, an empty nest, my children 2,000 miles away, lack of purpose, ministry, a church home, homelessness, or loneliness.

I stood before the Shepherd of life and poured out all my wants to Him. Brokenly, I released them one by one. I had to acknowledge Him as God, that He is love, and He is wise. A small child’s rendition of “The Lord is my shepherd, that’s all I want” came to mind and I yearned for the faith of a child—so completely satisfied in Him that I too could misquote this verse and say, “You are all I want.”

In this quietness, with no one to talk to but the Lord, He unexpectedly fed my soul. I began to write my way through the twenty-third Psalm day after day—there in that smelly, ugly, lonely, and painful place. He met me there and breathed life into each word, each phrase until I no longer noticed my physical surroundings or focused on our life changes. His words so delighted my soul that He became enough, more than enough for all my wanting.

Over the years, God not only continued as the object and provision of all my wanting, but I enjoyed steak dinners on occasion, came to own a beautiful, two-story home complete with three guest rooms, a fireplace and woodstove, all near all our children and grandchildren. He provided friends and family, a church, a ministry, and many evenings with my husband. I’m still writing and just celebrated ten years of publishing our mission’s Courage for Bush Ministry Women magazine.

The point being: He is enough without all the rest of the stuff. But once we find the real thing in our relationship with Him, He often lavishes us with the other things as well, just like Jesus said to us, “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matt 6:33).

PRIORITIES

I pray in bitterness of heart
For things I’ve prayed so long
And I wonder why I bother
When things keep going wrong.
Each idea, thing or person
I have clutched in fond embrace
Has faded, died or broken
Before my hopeful face.
And with each disappointment
A part of me has died.
The part that wants and wills and cries
When things are so denied.
I’ve thought and planned—imagined,
What life should hold for me,
Yet Proverbs says, man plans his course
But God says what shall be.
A God whose love is infinite,
Whose wisdom far exceeds
The thought or plan of finite man,
So helpless to succeed.
A God who asks that I would trust
His perfect love and grace
To guide my way, supply my need
Until I see His face.
And so I bow before You, LORD,
A child now weaned and still
Because I choose to put my trust
In the One who will fulfill.
The One who works all things for good
For those who love Him so,
Will bring His purposes to light
In those He calls to grow.
Have ideas, things or people,
Now lost from fond embrace,
Been dearer to my heart
Than the sweetness of Your face?
O LORD, please cleanse my heart,
My first love You shall stay.
Please give me eyes to find Your grace,
To walk the narrow way.
Perhaps my disappointments
Were meant to set me free
To love and trust an awesome God
And from living selfishly.
©—MarJean S. Peters