Why are you cast down, O my soul?

Why am I so restless?  Why must I be so full of longing?  Is this what it means to be human? or am I missing something?

I am constantly dreaming about what I want my life to be--wrestling myself into that next step. Pushing, pleading, crying out for something.

At times, I've named this longing, begun to know it.

But never have I come close to controlling it.

So, here I sit. Full of the same old longing.  Drawing plans and blue prints, making charts and lists. Forcefully laying a foundation for this unknown thing I seek.

It comes to me with many names, touching each of them but incomplete.  It is Narnia.  The Shire.  The Given Life.  I find it in simple goods--baking, eating, laughing, walking.  I see it in the trees and hills. Glimpses even in the strange landscaped structures of my suburbia.

I dream that it will come to me when I stop working for pay. When I am able to delight in my dear child's face. When I rest upon my own porch and watch the sun fade.

I both sense and know that it won't wait; I must find it now or search for it always.  But can it be found?

Am I meant to search, or meant to find?

And like Orual, I find that my asking is my answering.