She Didn't Get Me
November 12, 2009

This week's article is by Paul Perkins, Bill's son ...

A couple years ago there was a girl I really liked. I'd only met her a few times, but she was beautiful and interesting -- and I could tell she was a diamond in the mire and mud of today's world of immodesty and excess. But because she lived a couple hours away, I didn't have the opportunity to spend much time with her. So I began corresponding with her over email, and we fell into the habit of sending an email to one another about once a week. Sometimes our messages were brief and to-the-point. Other times I'd spend hours carefully crafting what I wanted to say, trying to make my words as poetic and meaningful as possible.

About three months into our written-relationship, on the cusp of spring and in the middle of my second semester of law school, I felt like I needed to try and move the relationship forward. To interact at a deeper level. So I attempted to put into words a longing I've felt all my life -- a mysterious movement in my soul that defines what it means to be human, at least for me. This is what I wrote:

I think I'm ready for the sun and heat and flowers and color. I like to sleep with the window open, the sounds of crickets, the smell of rain -- the timelessness of night. I like to stay up late and not care about tomorrow or the next day ... but I rarely do. I like to walk in the middle of nowhere, distant hills and wooden-fences and massive-trees and a yellow sunset; or drive towards the ocean with no end on the horizon ever in sight and wonder what it would be like to float out there, all alone; or stand under the shower and pray that these concerns of life will drip into the drain -- melt off my mind like a candle near flame. I'm haunted by the question of what life would be like had we chosen different paths in our youth. Are we the guardians of our destiny -- the artist of this portrait -- or are we guided along like the mystery of gravity and its tug on the moon? My take on all of this leads me down on my knees, not knowing the answers, but at least knowing where to look. I take comfort in that.

Feeling fairly pleased that I'd finally expressed a deep part of my soul to this girl, I anxiously awaited her response. Would she tell me that I'd written about feelings she'd had for years but could never explain? Or would she open up and describe the desires of her heart?

A week later, I got her response. Instead of something equally profound, she told me it sounded like I suppress my urge for freedom from my schedule. To say that I was disappointed is an understatement -- she had completely misunderstood me. Instead of identifying with me, she had tried to diagnose or correct me. It was as if she didn't get me. Within months, our relationship came to a close. But I've never felt a sense of peace about what happened. Like I failed in presenting who I am to her (though I realize that can be tough when you're corresponding electronically instead of face-to-face).

Now, three years later, as I reflect upon all of this, I think there's a larger lesson here. I think all of us have a desire to be known by others at the deepest level. Most probably hope that person will be their wife. But even those who are married, when they're honest, will confess that loneliness is never far, even when your wife is sleeping by your side. Others hope they'll find a best friend like they had as a child -- someone who will accept them without conditions. But as we all become adults most of us quickly learn that good, quality friendships are difficult to find, and even harder to maintain. And even then, if we're able to find true friendships, there's still a lingering awareness that those who are closest don't fully understand us. They still don't really know who we are.

God's word tells us that we were not created for this world -- that our true home is elsewhere and that until we finally arrive, we'll never be fully satisfied (1 Cor. 2:9, Hebrews 11:13-16, Hebrews 13:14, & 1 John 3:2). As a popular Switchfoot song puts it, "[I'm] created for a place I've never known." We all know this is true. We feel it inside ourselves every day (though we often try to ignore it). It's called the human condition. And I believe this longing -- this desire to truly be known -- cannot be met by mere humans. It can only be met by God himself ... and only on the day when we are in his presence.

This doesn't mean we shouldn't seek to be known by others -- in fact, the contrary is not only true, but a necessary component to a Christian life. What it does mean, though, is that we should strive to align our thoughts with our heart. We should allow that craving we have for an unknown home to influence the way we live our lives in the present. In other words, we should live with a constant awareness that this world does not define our identity and that God created us for something so much greater. A place we've never known.

Paul is finishing his final semester at GW Law and is in the process of writing a personal memoir about his life.