JENNIFER J. CAMP

4 min read ⭑

I am here, sitting at the desk once inhabited by my middle son, a young man who craves uniqueness as much as being confident in who he is. I understand. I crave the deep quieting of being grounded in true identity, too.

I am here. I am breathing. I watch the wind’s breath gently shift the tips of the pittosporum outside. The roses need deadheading. The squirrels are quiet, and the birds, too. I look out the window for clues. What am I thinking? What am I feeling? I plead with the natural world to filter through me. Lead me ever deeper — into what is both familiar and brand new. 

I am here. I am considering how I can find any quiet — the most profound quiet of the heart — in the most unexpected places. Yesterday, in a coffee shop with Justin, I fumbled with my thoughts for a good hour, which felt deeply satisfying.

I am here. I do not crave an answer to every question. Yet the search for answers is entertaining; the answers I need require my heart to sync with my mind. 

I am here. In my conversation with God yesterday, which I wrote in my journal, my hand grasping my turquoise-inked pen, I told him about my confusion about many things. I told him I could only discover honesty through the quiet thinking of my heart. I told him it takes the mind and heart to access hints of understanding we would never otherwise know.

I am here. When I talked to God, I told him about my difficulty sleeping and how I think Fulton’s (our dog’s) death — and my being in this new season of empty nest, as well as my sensitivity to the aging of people I love around me — has had a strange effect on me. I told him that, as I lay in bed last night, I was thinking about our soul’s inhabitation of our bodies — specifically, how when we die, our bodies have just done their best and become spent; it is time for them to go. And then, in the midst of my tossing and turning, a confession: I started to question the value humans bring to God. I felt alone, and my spirit was disturbed within me.

I am here. I asked God why he made us — why make people at all? I told him he wasn’t lacking anything when he created us, the sky, the heavens, the air and the earth. Nothing was missing — and what exists is only because of him. So, if we — persons he made — were never created, would we be anything to miss when we were gone? 

I am here. I told God I believed he loved me. I told him that, actually, I believed he would miss me if I did not exist, but only because he decided to miss me. He is the boss, after all. And still, I felt alone.

I am here. And I told God that he made himself vulnerable by loving us, dreaming of us and creating us. I told him that vulnerability hurts: Missing those we love hurts when they are no longer with us. “So, why, Lord,” I asked, “did you create us and want to hurt yourself on purpose?”

I am here. And this is what God said, answering my question with two questions: “Why do you love? Why do you seek companionship?”

“I like to take care of people,” I said. “I like to feel understood.”

“I love you,” he responded. “I love loving you. You don’t have to figure this out. I knew loving you would be something I would never regret. Do you ever regret loving another? Love is what connects you. What else is the point of existence if there is no love?

I responded, “Some people feel they’re missing out on love, Lord. They feel love is hard to come by, receive and/or give. I believe you when you say that love is what connects us. I believe you.”

“I love loving you,” he said. “Love is irresistible to me. I don’t want to resist it. I don’t want to be immune to it. I could not; it is not who I am. I choose love — to love — because I am myself. I am who I am. To love is to accept me and my love for you. To not love is to reject me — my love — and who I am.

He continued, “The Creator does not explain himself to the created. Do you love what you make? Isn’t it a part of you? Don’t you esteem it? Don’t you see its value? You cannot measure your value, and you cannot measure Me. We are the same that way. You are immeasurable, and I am immeasurable, and isn’t it best that way? Isn’t it better to not trust in things you can fully understand? Isn’t it better to just love and be loved and live in love? I love you. Each moment you love me enables you to live in my love evermore. And in this place of abiding in my love, you will let love wash over you and remove all fear.

“Your life is not a timeline. There is no end in my version of ‘the end.’ I am the beginning. I am the end. I frame you. I fill you. I substantiate you. I flow through you. Do not trust just in what you can see. Trust even more in what you cannot see. What you cannot see is timeless, lovely, perfect and good. I am where you come from, where you can live now and where you will return. 

“You are at the center of my heart — and my heart, my love, exists everywhere. Be everywhere with me. Always. Right now.”

I am here.

Jennifer Camp is a poet and listener who delights in investigating the deeper places of the heart. She founded Gather Ministries with her husband, Justin, and manages Loop Collective, a community for women who reject complacency and pursue connection with God.

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