I Come Desperate

I know that many people, at the beginning of a new year, pick out a word they want to focus on for the remainder of that year. I’ve never been one to try to find a word I want to encapsulate my entire year. I love words and typically can’t imagine tying myself to just one.

But this year, my word found me.

It’s not a word I believe to be the most uplifting or encouraging. In fact, in most contexts, it can come with a negative connotation. But when I tried to find another one– a word that made more sense– I couldn’t. This word is worthy of my year, not because of anything having to do with me. But because it directly points me to my neverending need for a God who knows me beyond what I’m capable of knowing about myself.

The word is desperation.

Last year, going into 2023, I was desperate for a job. It took me 8 months to find a new role after losing my first job in 2022. It was excruciating knowing I had to enter a new year without a means of financially supporting myself. My shortcomings from the year prior were already spilling over to my fresh start. No one was hiring (or so it seemed). Companies were altering their headcount requirements as I would go through rounds and rounds of interviews. I saw each rejection email as a direct disqualification of my potential.

These failures fueled my desperate need for things beyond my control.

A financially stable income.

The “yes” of an employer.
The end of my jobless season.

But as the story goes, I got a job that spring of 2023, only to lose it four months later due to a round of layoffs and restructuring.

Desperation seemed to get the memo it was to resurface back into my life front and center. When not properly acknowledged, desperation can hijack our relationship with God. It can emerge during the most inconvenient, vulnerable times and disguise our true, deeper-rooted needs. It can wrongfully elevate our fleshly, worldly, and earthly desires to surpass our spiritual ones.

That’s when desperation can become dangerous.

However, as I’ve spent more time alone with God, I’ve been brought face to face with the real, unmasked version of desperation. One that keeps us weak only so that we can be lifted up by His strength. A desperation that imprints humility on the hearts of those who know they need Him. Desperation that manifests as a magnet for ultimate closeness with the Father. A desperation that opens our eyes to the sad truth that so many of His children go through life being dependent on all the wrong things.

The definition of desperation is to be in a state of despair, typically one which results in rash or extreme behavior. I believe that is the kind of desperation that has plagued my generation. The anxiety-ridden kind that sings its anthem, “You’re nothing if you don’t have that.”

That new role.

That prestigious title.

That relationship status.

Worldly desperation controls the narrative, limits our perspectives, and rejects gratitude. It corners us until we believe the lie that our survival is tied to this “thing” we don’t have. It can become our source of oxygen if we let it– giving us just enough air to get by. Desperation can be suffocating if directed at the wrong wants and desires.

I see this happening a lot in the relationship world. I’ve lost friends because of the poison that desperation can spread.

The last time I saw one of my best friends was sitting across from the table with her and her new boyfriend. It all happened suddenly, so they were catching me up on their new relationship. But it was difficult for me to understand– this was my best friend of 8 years. We survived high school together, spent countless hours hanging out every week, and she even joined my family vacations.

This man who she was falling for was slowly taking pieces of my best friend and replacing them with hollowed-out personality traits that were still wet with the fresh ink of his stamp of approval. Everything she had confided in me about what she wanted for her future disappeared during that last conversation we shared. It was like everything I knew about her was now written in invisible ink.

She told me she wanted someone who would love her unconditionally, but he was divorced with lots of conditions.
She wanted to get married, but he didn’t.
She wanted kids, but he already had a child and didn’t want any more.

It broke my heart. I tried to get her to see what I saw that night. I tried to unveil her worth and value so that she could know she didn’t need to settle for the first man who showed her attention.

But eventually, her desperation for the relationship to work out ended up costing us ours.

When this realization hit me, it crushed me in more ways than one. I hurt knowing that I couldn’t save my best friend. I was hurt knowing she chose him over me. But the wounds have since scabbed over and scarred. And now, when I think of what happened, I can look at it from a renewed lens.

The only kind of love I should be desperate for is the one that calls me worthy and wanted.
The kind of love that’s always pursuing my heart and my time.
The kind of love that doesn’t cause me to lose myself but instead reveals the most beautiful, raw version of who I am at my core.

Who I am when I have nothing–
Nothing but God.

Desperation for the Lord is the most pure kind of desperation we can have. It strips all unnecessary layers the world places on our identities. It calls us to surrender until there’s nothing left for us to give. But instead of leaving us broken and empty, it heals us of past hurts and fills our cups until they overflow with the kind of love that never stops pouring into us.

So as I walk into 2024, I come desperate.

Desperate for His love. His holiness. His grace and mercy.