The God-Shaped Hole

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Here I sit at the dining room table at 2:30am, completely sober. Why am I up at this ungodly hour without the aid of a drink or drug, you ask? Lately, I've been doing some thinking. Honest introspection and personal revelation have yielded some rather nasty truths that seem to be affecting my slumber.

For the better part of 29 years, I have lived a life of total self-centeredness. Existence has become a prison of self-seeking behaviors, self-centered fears, and self-pity.  Somewhere along the line, I became preoccupied with others' perception of me. Becoming a people-pleaser and a master manipulator, I always wore many masks and turned into a chameleon, learning to mimic others in order to gain acceptance. In the process, I completely lost my identity. Obsessed with sprucing up the exterior, life became all about impressing others.

In the Bible, there's a story where Jesus is walking and starts to get hungry. He comes across a fig tree and, seeing leaves, expects the tree to also bear fruit. Apparently, a fig tree should bear fruit before the leaves. If the tree has leaves but no fruit, it's considered barren. This particular fig tree, despite it's abundance of leafy, green foliage, had no fruit to offer Jesus. It looked good on the outside but was all show. After reading this parable I noticed a parallel between myself and the fig tree. My efforts to impress others and gain acceptance in order to feel good about myself had turned me into a leafy yet fruitless tree!

With this epiphany fresh in my mind, I prayed for God to produce fruit in my life that would satisfy Him; real fruit that sustains and satiates, not the vain, ego-driven leaves that have been my trademark thus far. Oh sure, I look great on paper; two Bachelor’s degrees from an accredited college, awards, a wonderful family, two running cars, and a home in the beautiful town of Historic Smithville, NJ where "towne" is spelled with an "e". Sure, I’m currently unemployed, but it’s 2012. Who isn’t? On paper, I look like a model American. But deep down, in the pit of my gut, I’m empty.

To the onlooker I have it all, but between you and me, there’s something missing. Internally, there’s a hole in my heart that refuses to be filled with the junk of the world. Drugs and alcohol won’t suffice. Masturbation fails. Actual sex with other human beings is nice for a bit but tolerance for that rises quickly as well. My life has become a giant game of Whack-a-Mole (no pun intended with the aforementioned masturbation reference), attempting to pound the "obsession of the day" into a space where it refuses to fit.

I’m exhausted. And not because it’s 2:45am and I’m sitting at the dining room table attempting to “find my true calling and unlock creativity” by taking the suggestion of world-renowned author and self-help guru, Dr. Wayne Dyer, by getting up in the middle of the night to write (I really only had to pee. If I didn’t have the bladder of a 90 yr old lady, I wouldn’t be writing this now). No, I’m exhausted because it’s hard work chasing the wind. 

Don't get me wrong, I have lots to offer the gods of society. I bow down and worship the 7 Minute Abs DVD and pay tithes to the expensive gym in hopes that when I’m someday at four percent body fat and can grate cheese on my eight-pack abs, I’ll actually like what I see in the mirror. My smoking-hot wife and I are good little capitalists. We have produced two, adorable, children awash in consumerism who watch the commercials and eat the cereal and buy the crap that’s peddled every waking hour of the day. From the world's perspective, I have it all in the here and now; the clothes, cars, and the condo. But when Jesus walks by my tree and wants something to eat, what am I growing for eternity?

Sure, I’ve taught Sunday School and even facilitated a men's book study at church on the topic of sexual sin (only to go home, look at porn on the internet and masturbate some more). I’ve helped the proverbial old lady across the street my entire life. My tree is filled with leaves symbolizing outward success. But when Jesus is hungry and he comes to me looking for fruit of the Spirit, does He find any? No. He finds restlessness, irritability, and discontentment. Where’s the joy, happiness, peace, and all those other fruits of the Spirit that I can’t remember because I don’t read my Bible enough.

So here I sit, writing at 3 o'clock in the morning for the sole purpose of growing fruit. When Jesus looks at my life, I want so badly to be able to offer Him something to eat. I’ve tried everything else: sex, drugs, jobs, exercise, food, etc. Living for the praises of others or to please the desires of my flesh can't seem to satisfy the intense longing I feel on an indescribable level. So, desperate and willing to do whatever it takes to grow some legitimate fruit on my tree, I’ve decided to sacrifice a little sleep, use my tiredness as inspiration, and write from a place where honesty dwells.

Now, exactly how does one go about growing fruit anyway? Leaves are no problem; they practically grow themselves. I've always been a writer. Perhaps writing is my fruit-growing medium. Until now, fear and laziness (and drugs…drugs take up SO MUCH of your time when you’re doing them correctly) have kept me from making any serious attempts at writing as a career. Half-finished projects abound; I’m great at starting things. Seeing them through to completion is another story.

For one reason or another, the seed of inspiration has been planted here tonight. Maybe this blog will provide the Miracle Grow necessary to produce fruit of eternal value through my life. Or, perhaps this page will never get read and the blog will wither and die like the parable of the fig tree in the Bible. Regardless, there is a hole in my heart crying out to be filled. This blog chronicles my search for the stuff to fill the God-shaped hole.


Thanks for reading the very first Bent Straight post by Brandon Stephens. Check out some other popular posts and be sure to subscribe!

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