The Needs and The Wants

A year ago I was in Vegas handing out water bottles to prostitutes struggling to find shelter from the high sun in the shadow of concrete walls, the sidewalk burning the bottom of their bare feet, but they never seemed to noticed. The undervalued Princess slowly wastes away from no one stopping to notice the dignity she carries. The one bearing the image of the Divine Creator is deprived of her needs for she is now given worth by how she meets another's wants.

And a year later I am a waitress in Kansas, where a successful night is determined by the number left on the tip line or the bills left on the table. Where customers somehow have determined they have the privilege to dehumanize a server through words because there is too much ice in their water.

I am reading a book by Jefferson Bethke called It's Not What You Think. In the book he defines an idol as that which we acquire our satisfaction, worth and value from.

Many idols subtly enter our lives. We idolize ourselves for thirty minutes while we are out to eat: as we are being served somehow we find ourselves as the god who deserves the lowly server to meet our every want and desire, most of which are not vocalized but somehow expected to be known and met.

Then we leave the restaurant, upset when our wants were not met, and somehow find ourselves justified to bash the server and tell all our friends and family how terrible of a job they did. And when we see the server, who did not meet our wants, at Wal-mart or church or climbing into their car across the street, we remember the time they did not meet our wants, and the self-righteousness in us grows a little stronger.

And suddenly, we have determined their worth and value simply by how well they met our needs. We place ourselves a little higher up, and push them a little farther down. We bypass all of who they were created to be and define them by how they failed to fulfill our wants.

[[I have gone from serving the needs, to serving the wants.]]

{{and I wonder if I was the one speaking life or death}}

Here's the thing: my worth and value do not come from anything found on this Earth.

My worth and my value is not found in a number or in a customer's satisfaction or in a job title. My worth and my value is not something I set myself or I do to acquire more of or I do to take away from. My worth and my value is something I choose to accept and to walk in. My worth and my value were set in the days of old, when Abba started dreaming about the day I would finally walk the Earth. He set my worth and my value when He so tenderly formed me. His finger prints cover my body, no amount of scrubbing could ever remove them. My image is that of His, no amount of denying could ever change that. The air that first filled my lungs came directly from His, no amount of science could ever say otherwise.

Abba spoke life and passion into my soul. He calls me Child, Beloved, Accepted. He is madly in love with me. Even when I mix up food and drinks orders, He does not turn away in disgust; He is not ashamed or embarrassed when I fail to meet the standards and expectations of others. He shouts from Heaven, "BELOVED! KEEP GOING! I LOVE YOU AND I TAKE JOY IN YOU!"

There is this incredible capacity we humans carry with us: the capacity to allow Heaven to crash into Earth. Heaven crashes into Earth when we speak life and truth over each other. Heaven invades Earth when we reaffirm and empower others to walk in their original design. We were children sitting at the table long before we were lost runaways. Abba is waiting, He is pacing around the dining hall, waiting and longing for His child to return so He can embrace us and reseat us at the table.

The capacity I carry is to remind you of the seat chiseled out just for you at the table.

The capacity you carry is to remind me of the seat chiseled out just for me at the table.

So here's to the needs and the wants and all that is in between. All the empty places where worth and value are sought after, but never found. All the places we reflect the Maker of Light or the Father of Lies. All the places we are given the wild freedom of choice to acknowledge His presence, but somehow are never able to escape it.