BZZZZZZ
BBZZZZZZZZZZZ
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
As I wake my eyes open, I am reminded that there are a few fates worse than death.
It is the iPhone alarm. It’s never a loving interruption. It instantly reminds me of all that I have to accomplish in the next twenty-four hours.
Every snooze button I press, the sleep doesn’t get any sweeter. Though my heart wakes up yearning for peace… quiet… a moment to breathe, my mind is replaying the constant schedule of what is next.
Where are my glasses? Where are my slippers? I have 30 minutes to walk my dog Azula, 20 minutes to read my Bible, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a minute to eat breakfast. Oh wait, I forgot to respond to this one friend, I have to take a minute to call them too… Maybe I’ll call them after my walk? What if I shortened my walk, but that’s not fair to my dog.
What if I read my Bible later? God wouldn’t mind. (He wouldn’t, but I’ll be too tired anyway).
If you are reading this, wondering why I’m walking you through my morning routine, I hope this next moment feels familiar. Or if not, tell me how you don’t let yourself get to this…
Stumbling back in from my walk and being frozen from Chicago snow, I’m running to feed my dog and give myself a moment to eat something before I prepare for a long day of therapy clients. I walk into my apartment, set my keys down, and my eyes immediately lock onto my Bible.
Anyone else have the shared experience of locking eyes with someone they love, but saying nothing? It’s like that moment for me. I long to be with my Father. I wish I could turn off my brain and sit in his safe arms. I want to take off work and be at the Masters’ feet.
I want to be with my Heavenly Father, the only place I know I will find my rest.
I want nothing more than to hide away in his house and take a breather.
But I can’t. I have work. I have to eat.
I get to create a space for others to process their traumas and stories.
I want to be with my Heavenly Father, the only place I know I will find my rest.
But I put my keys away, lock eyes on the Word, and run to my fridge for some food.
I mean can you blame me, I’m starving?
I make my breakfast, turn on my worship music, sit in front of my Bible.
Since I wasted too much time making breakfast, my Bible reading time went from 20 minutes to 7.5 minutes. There’s no point in reading now. I mean, if the Lord was sitting in my living room, saw me being avoidant and disregarding him… why would he ever meet me in these 7.5 minutes and counting?
He probably has bigger and better things to do. More devoted children. A daughter who probably is a lot more intentional and good at getting into his presence… So why even bother…
My work as a licensed professional counselor often helps me see attachment styles take place in new ways. In my own personal walk with friends or in dating, I teeter between secure and anxious attachment. But with Jesus, I can be very avoidant.
Attachment theories, which originated in the 1950s, suggest that our early relationships with caregivers create the foundation for how we form and maintain relationships later in life. An avoidant attachment style has foundational roots of caregivers who are likely to be physically present but emotionally distant.
Caregivers who didn’t express depth of emotion nor encourage it.
Arguments happen, but rarely truly processed and repaired. Hurt is swept under the rug, and that pile keeps getting higher. For those of us who are avoidant, we crave connection and intimacy. But being known and seen is our greatest fear.
Why do I do what I don’t want to do?
Avoidant tendencies in friendships or dating relationships tend to feel like that, too. No matter their efforts, they aren’t enough, won’t be enough, and believe even the ones who love them think they are failures. On the surface, we avoidant folk look hyper-independent, self-sufficient, and fulfilled. Internally, we are alone and craving the connection with others.
So why do I do what I don’t want to do? Why do I avoid the very thing that will bring me rest? Why do I avoid the reality of me choosing things over him? Why do I avoid sharing my own sin? Why do I do what I don’t want to do?
Paul’s words in Romans 7 feel like a song that I just can’t get out of my head. As a devoted believer in Jesus, I actually get angry with myself for feeling the way that Paul did. Shouldn’t I get it by now? Can’t I ever just get this relationship with Christ right, for once?
But the reality for this writer is that she does what she doesn’t want to do for a few different reasons.
1. A fleshy heart.
There is a sin-like nature in me that I can’t fix. Only Jesus can.
I know he alone has enough grace for me, enough patience with me, even enough love to pour out when I prefer my sin over him. My fleshy heart wants the very things outside of God. People say they grew up in church, and I like to say I grew up in the world.
I’ve tasted and seen it all, and my fleshy heart prefers the quickness of temporary satisfaction. My fleshy heart wants life to be easy; avoiding the pains of pruning.
2. A feeling heart.
God is a God of deep emotion.
I let my emotions dictate how I spend time with God… but is this a wrong thing? My emotions are not a wrong thing. God is a God of deep emotion; he feels the things within us beyond comparison. I know my feelings aren’t wrong—they sway my judgement. They will influence my next action.
I am hurting and God won’t give me what I want; so I give him the silent treatment to force his hand. I am excited and overjoyed and forget about seeking Jesus when life is wonderful. I am broken-hearted, depressed, anxious… and I believe God has abandoned me since life is no longer easy.
But, as John Piper says, “My feelings are not God. God is God”.
My feelings are an alarm. No matter if I'm depressed, joyful, content, anxious, excited, nervous, fearful, my need to spend time with God should remain the same.
James 1:2-8 summarizes pieces of my heart and posture, as if I am a double-minded woman, unstable in all my ways!
Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.
I doubt God, more than I think I do. My emotions even guide me to trust the small seeds of doubt—leading me to be tossed and driven by circumstances.
3. An unfulfilled heart.
I am not ashamed to say, there have been seasons of wrestling with God, where after an hour of being with Him, I still feel unfulfilled.
Maybe the unfulfillment is from loneliness. Or unanswered prayers. Or this idea in my head that God should have given me what I want. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the disbelief that he truly cares for me at all.
In my relationships with others, and especially towards myself, I lean on a very anxious attachment style. I have spent the majority of my life trying to convince others that I am valuable. I have been abandoned and betrayed by people dear to me—so when I do receive love, attention, relational connection, and intimacy, I cling to it claws deep.
I would do anything to maintain a relationship that mattered to me. So much so that I would self-abandon—put someone else’s needs above my own, give more of myself to convince them how valuable I am.
With Jesus, I have felt I am only valuable if I pray enough. If I read my Bible enough. If I disciple enough women, if I show up for prayer nights, if I do and do and do and do, then maybe God won’t abandon me.
As a second-generation American Punjabi woman, raised in a Sikh household and leaving former ideologies in college, I have to live up to that name. A woman of such bravery and boldness, but internally fearful, alone, and scared.
In the past year of my life, I’ve been placed in positions to be bold, creative, and even take up space in the ministry world. A space that doesn’t seem like it’s made for women like me. It’s rare to find North-Indian converts speaking to a room full of South Indian Christians. Even then, I feel inadequate, unworthy; chasing the urge to prove my value and worth.
The influence of my cultural background... didn’t go away when I gave my life to Jesus.
Anxious with my loved ones, people pleasing with the world around me, and finally avoidant with God. Most importantly, I walk into meeting him while holding all the shame of what I did wrong. You see, the influence of my cultural background as a "Desi Girl" (young female of South Asian descent) didn’t go away when I gave my life to Jesus. It is still something I am finding myself wrestling with, seeking Jesus and reiterating, why do I do what I don’t want to do?
It’s in my vulnerable moments with the Lord; I begin to do what I don’t want to do: I express my heart, I invite his closeness, I name that apathy and discontentment I feel. I remember that my bones know—it’s only me that’s caused such a great distance.
My soul reignites by his gentle presence. He reminds me of the validation I am looking for:
Ayna, you are not your own. You couldn’t buy your way into heaven, even if you tried. I love you totality from the second you were born, the day you submitted your life to me, and every day following that. My love for you did not grow greater by you reading, praying, or living for me. My Love remains the same, yesterday, today and forever.
The world will pass away, and it will betray you, and you will have trouble. Yet I will not abandon you in those troubles. And the moments that activate how you have been abandoned, my presence does not forsake you. It is not in my nature, to leave you. My Son went to the cross for you. Therefore, I will not leave you.
My heart longs to be with Him, and slowly but surely the hardened parts fall off my heart. It becomes less about my fear, and more about who I am in him. The more I tell him, “I don’t want to do this, God,” the less I feel weighed down. The more I name how broken I am, the less forgotten I feel. The more I call on God’s will, the less I cling to my own.
The more I sit at his feet, the less I sit in what I avoid.
Originally published by the Center for Asian American Christianity's Imagine Otherwise Substack. Republished with permission.
Ayna Kaur Virk, MA, NCC, LPC, is a Licensed Professional Counselor in Chicago, Illinois, who supports individuals, couples, and families navigating depression, anxiety, trauma, grief, and identity exploration. Rooted in a multicultural and narrative-focused approach, she integrates DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) and somatic (body) focused therapies to help clients reclaim their stories and move through life transitions. Rooted in her Christian faith, Ayna’s worldview shapes the empathy and care she brings into the therapy room. She holds a deep passion for young adult ministry, hoping to bridge the gap between Jesus and therapy. Ayna has also engaged in speaking and writing engagements, sharing insights on mental health, faith, and cultural identity.
The Center for Asian American Christianity at Princeton Theological Seminary is focused on advancing the scholarly study of Asian American Christianity, developing a forward-looking vision for Asian American theology, and equipping and empowering Asian American Christians for faithful gospel ministry and public witness. You can find them online at: https://ptsem.edu/academics/centers/center-for-asian-american-christianity/.
