It's Okay to Need
Photo by Simon Migaj on Unsplash
Photo by Simon Migaj on Unsplash
Sometimes the hardest question we can answer is this: what do we need?
“Need” is a word that dwells like vinegar on our tongues. It is a reminder word, and a reminder that we would like to rebuke. Ignore.
There is something about “need” that communicates weakness. To need is to be without: without resources, power, ability, means, on and on we tumble.
Little kids, they have needs.
Not us. Not the grown-ups.
The verb “needy” is never used in a positive, encouraging way.
It is almost an insult.
But we need things. We can’t deny that.
The inability to admit our needs can create an unhealthy vacuum. We need what we need in order to survive, so going without isn’t an option. So we often improvise.
We find ways to take what we need. Through passive aggressive behavior we take what we need from others.
In turn, what should be an exchange of our humanity with another instead becomes a hostile takeover. The other party can’t discern what happened and is left with only one conclusion: that person is evil.
Relationships collapse because we cannot love each other enough to be honest about our own survival.
So instead we force our will.
We ignore sickness, exhaustion, or limitations in our knowledge so as to present the world someone who “never stops.”
Of course, part of admitting what we need is coming to terms with some significant realities.
We may find that we have needs that others can’t provide for us.
Needing validation because we weren’t raised with affirmation and encouragement, we try to meet that need through work or achievement. We let our ego go crazy like a toddler on Lucky Charms. In the end, we find ourselves crashing and unfulfilled.
And here’s the true tension. Admitting that we need things humbles us because it shows that we aren’t all powerful. Knowing what we need also puts us in the place of examining the why of our need and the feasibility of that need being met at all.
So with this ache – this gap – within all of us, what do we do?
The question of need is a deeply spiritual question. The draw to understand what we need is actually a kind of spiritual vocation. It is work. The spiritual part of this vocation is that to need something is to come to terms with our will, drives, and desires.
The vocation of humanity as a whole is to dive headfirst into this kind of work.
Every vocation is, at the heart, an invitation to die.
While that seems heavy, if we pause for a moment we come to understand that everything that is good in life requires a death of some kind.
To choose to marry is to cease dating. That part of our life dies.
Stepping into a career means that we put to death other paths of work and earning, at least for the foreseeable future.
If we take seriously the idea that we are people with needs who live in a community of needs, then the way will necessarily be dotted with little funerals.
We will bury our pride when we reach out to other parents and say, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my child.”
Eulogies overflow when we finally say, “I’ve made a mess of this marriage and I’m not even sure how. I need help.”
The fragrance of peace lilies flows restlessly in the air around us when we say, “I have lost my ability to work as hard as before. I need rest. I need the pace to slow down.”
The gift of walking with Jesus comes into the light here. We do not walk into our own needs unaccompanied. As we listen to the reverberation of our need we hear, “Never will I leave you or forsake you.”
Even though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil. (Psalm 23)
Why do you look for the dead among the living? He is not here. He is risen, just as he said. (Luke)
The story of Jesus means that with any of our little deaths we are only in Act 1 of a three act production. Act 1 is the crucifixion – the necessary deaths.
Act 2 is resurrection. Act 3 is ascension where nothing will be the same again. It is the way we live, move, and have our being. This is the map to our smaller journeys; the ones we all make towards wisdom and maturity.
In our journey death (small and large) is necessary. Just like the winter tombs lead to spring reversals, dying to our belief that we are impenetrable does not end us.
Quite the contrary.
The little deaths we die on our way to wisdom and maturity lead to new life, new growth, and new hope.
To know the depths of our need will bury something but the same power that brought Jesus out of the deep, deep dark stands nearby. Ready.
We stand again staring out over the vista of a territory we know: our life, our home, or our marriage. But we are different. Our fears have softened in some ways. They’ve intensified in others.
Yet there is a calm. The calm comes because that need is out there.
And even in our vulnerability we aren’t alone.
We leaned on someone else. The vulnerable words were spoken. We were honest about the fact that we’ve been looking for hope from people and places that couldn’t begin to serve those needs.
We died a bit. But now we live more fervently.
What do you need today? In the journey of becoming – the path passing under your feet – what is the unnamed shortfall? Where is it?
What is that desire or deficiency that, if named, would reveal to the world that you are not indestructible? How much does that scare you?
The invitation I want to offer you is this: to seek help for our needs is a kind of dying, true. But all death leads to resurrection. And after that, things will never be the same.