“What Is Your Need?” – christinelind.com
A counselor asked me this question twenty-five years ago in the throes of a crisis. I sat there staring at him for the longest time unable to express myself, till he finally blurted out, “What is your need?”
It
stopped me in my tracks. Uh, what is my
need? I thought that was his job. Seems he considered it mine. There’s more
to this story, but let’s go back some years before that in order to understand my
answer.
When
my youngest daughter was little, we invited one of her playmates to the house for
a sleepover. When the mother came to pick her daughter up the next day, I
invited her in for coffee. Sitting at my kitchen table I noticed her glancing down
at my wood floors. “Your floor is so clean and shiny. How do you keep it that way?”
“I get down on my hands and knees and scrub it,” I said.
She
looked depressed. “Well, it’s impossible then,” she said. “I’m never going to
have a clean floor.”
I knew what she meant. Clean and shiny was not worth getting on her hands and knees for. But it was for me. The reason this wasn’t impossible for me was simple—it mattered to me. I cared. My needs at the time were to create a home for my family. The floors weren’t going to clean themselves, so I disciplined myself with my housework. The kind of discipline that gives life, which we’ll discuss more in Part Three.
What
does this have to do with my answer? Sitting there in the counselor’s office, I
was like the depressed woman in my kitchen who knew she didn’t care enough.
Instead
of the counselor’s voice, I heard the Lord.
“What
do you want me to do for you?”
“I
want to heal, Lord. I want to be whole.”
“What
do you want me to do for you?”
“I
don’t know, Lord. I don’t care.”
“What
do you want me to do for you?”
“Nothing, Lord. It doesn’t matter.”
“What
do you want me to do for you?”
“But Lord, it’s impossible!”
“Christine?”
I heard the counselor’s voice.
“I’m
sorry, what?”
“We
need to end our session.”
“It’s okay,” I said, with a smile. “Next week—I’ll get on my hands and knees and scrub the floor.”
