The Book of Longings

by Sue Monk Kidd

All my life, longings lived inside me, rising up like nocturnes to wail and sing through the night. That my husband bent his heart to mine on our thin straw mat and listened was the kindness I most loved in him. What he heard was my life begging to be born.

To be ignored, to be forgotten, this was the worst sadness of all. I swore an oath to set down their accomplishments and praise their flourishings, no matter how small. I would be a chronicler of lost stories. It was exactly the kind of boldness Mother despised.

Lord our God, hear my prayer, the prayer of my heart. Bless the largeness inside me, no matter how I fear it. Bless my reed pens and my inks. Bless the words I write. May they be beautiful in your sight. May they be visible to eyes not yet born. When I am dust, sing these words over my bones: she was a voice.

I wished God might notice what I’d done and speak from the whirlwind. I wished him to say: Ana, I see you. How pleasing you are in my sight. There was only silence.

When the longing of one’s heart is inked into words and offered as a prayer, that’s when it springs to life in God’s mind.”

When you love, you remember everything.

I had nothing to offer her but my willingness to sit there while she endured her pain. “I’m here,” I murmured.

The anger made me brave and the grief made me sure.

It was true that Jesus had stepped into my path at the same moment the rest of my world collapsed.

Could we know the ways of God or not? Did he possess an intention for us, his people, as our religion believed, or was it up to us to invent meaning for ourselves? Perhaps nothing was as I’d thought.

“They are condemned as impure, but God is love. He would not be so cruel as to condemn them.”

His laugh rose and fell and rose again, and I told myself I could love him for that alone.

It’s always a marvel when one’s pain doesn’t settle into bitterness, but brings forth kindness instead.”

We had our togetherness—why should we not have our separateness?

They were tinged with disappointment that slowly softened, then ebbed. He said, “Little Thunder, I won’t judge the knowing in your heart or what choice you make.”

He heard the quake that lived at my center, and he didn’t seek to silence it.

I think every pain in this world wants to be witnessed, Tabitha. That’s why you shouted about your rape on the street and it’s why I wrote it down.”

We women harbor our intimacies in locked places in our bodies. They are ours to relinquish when we choose.

“To avoid a fear emboldens it,” she said.

“All shall be well, child.” I reared up then. “Will it? You cannot know that! How can you know that?” “Oh, Ana, Ana. When I tell you all shall be well, I don’t mean that life won’t bring you tragedy. Life will be life. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. All shall be well, no matter what.”

We won’t give up hope, Ana, but neither should we allow our hope to be false.

“We will teach you about our God and you will teach us about yours, and together we’ll find the God that exists behind them.”

“Anger is effortless, Lucian. Kindness is hard. Try to exert yourself.”

“What most sets you apart is the spirit in you that rebels and persists. It isn’t the largeness in you that matters most, it’s your passion to bring it forth.”

“Your goodness will not be forgotten,” I told him. “Not a single act of your love will be squandered. You’ve brought God’s kingdom as you hoped—you’ve planted it in our hearts.”