What Are You Really Longing For?

Spiritual Detox Series | Wednesday, May 28, 2025 | Paid Subscribers + Practice Tool

Not every longing in us is holy.
But every longing points somewhere.

This post is an invitation to pause and ask what you’re really hungry for—not in theory, but in your actual, lived life with God.

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When Faith Becomes Therapy Lite

Our problem is not that we don’t have desire—it’s that our desires are too small.

We’ve settled. We’ve spiritualized comfort and called it maturity. We’ve mistaken inner restlessness for a lack of faith, when often it’s the Spirit stirring something deeper.

C.S. Lewis famously said:

“We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us… like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea.”

We’ve bought the T-shirt. We’ve been there, done that. And yet we are still thirsty—because the longings we were made for can’t be satisfied with the shallow hopes offered by a therapeutic gospel.

In recent years, a concept has emerged that gives language to the diluted spirituality many have absorbed—Moralistic Therapeutic Deism.

Here’s what it means:

• God wants me to be good (moralistic)

• God wants me to be happy and feel good about myself (therapeutic)

• God is there when I need Him—but mostly stays out of the way (deism)

This version of faith doesn’t ask too much. It promises comfort, personal meaning, and general well-being. But it rarely produces depth, maturity, or transformation.

What it offers is a spiritual placebo: just enough belief to feel okay—but not enough to be changed.

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The Couch of Transformation

That’s why my time with Elton Trueblood was such a jolt. He didn’t want to make me feel better. He wanted to help me become someone.

I had just finished seminary and was planning to pursue a doctorate when I received a curveball invitation: become the sole full-time student of Elton Trueblood. No degree. No title. Just mentoring from one of the most influential Christian thinkers of the time—for both me and my wife.

It took my wife and me about three seconds to say yes.

I thought I was signing up to deepen my understanding.
I didn’t realize I was entering a formation experience that would surface my true longings.

That couch in Trueblood’s library wasn’t for comfort. It was for clarity. There, he helped me name not only my longings, but also my excuses. He helped me weed out the fake ones and hold fast to the ones that made my heart sing.

It’s taken a lifetime to live into those desires. But I am closer now than I’ve ever been. And it started with someone asking, “What are you really longing for?”

The Desire Beneath the Desire

The psalmist once cried,

“My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with God?” (Psalm 42:2)

This wasn’t poetic flourish. It was desperation.
Holy longing has always marked those who know God best—David, Paul, Moses. Their lives were shaped not only by belief, but by a hunger to go deeper, to know more, to be wholly formed by the One they worshiped.

As A.W. Tozer wrote:

“David’s life was a torrent of spiritual desire... and Paul confessed the mainspring of his life to be his burning desire after Christ.”

These weren’t men content with initial faith. They had it—but they craved more.
“Show me your glory,” Moses pleaded (Exodus 33:18).

“God has given me that genuine righteousness which comes from faith in Christ. How changed are my ambitions! Now I long to know Christ,” Paul cried (Philippians 3:10).

Their faith didn’t lead them to comfort—it led them to cry out for more.

“Their faith didn’t lead them to comfort—
it led them to cry out for more.”
— Gene Maynard

That’s the ache Elton Trueblood helped me name. And it’s the same ache Socrates once drew out from a young seeker who came asking about wisdom.

The Aegean Test of Desire

There’s an old story about Socrates that lingers in my mind.

At the height of his influence, Socrates had attracted a growing number of admirers—including a young man who wanted nothing more than to become as wise as Socrates himself. He studied him. Imitated him. Listened closely to every word.

One day, he mustered the courage to ask Socrates how he could gain such wisdom. But when he searched the city, Socrates was nowhere to be found.

Eventually, the young man located him sitting silently on the shore, gazing over the blue-green waters of the Aegean Sea. The young man approached, stood quietly, and waited. Finally, he blurted out, “Socrates, I want to be as wise as you. Can you help me?”

Socrates said nothing.

Instead, he stood and walked slowly into the water until it reached his waist. He gestured for the young man to join him. As soon as he did, Socrates grabbed him and plunged him under. After a few seconds, he pulled him up and asked, “What do you want?”

“Wisdom,” the man gasped.

Down again—longer this time.

“What do you want?” Socrates asked once more.

“Wisdom!” the young man shouted.

One last time, Socrates forced him under, holding him there until the young man fought for breath. When he finally surfaced, gasping and flailing, Socrates asked, “What do you want?”

“I want to breathe!” the young man yelled.

Socrates looked him in the eyes and said, “When you want wisdom as badly as you want air, you will have it.”

Longing is serious business. What if the thing you’re aching for is trying to lead you somewhere deeper with God?

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