On Desire
When It Becomes A Lie
“Half of the wood he burns in the fire; over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, ‘Ah! I am warm; I see the fire.’
From the rest, he makes a god, his idol; he bows down to it and worships. He prays to it and says, ‘Save me! You are my god!’
They know nothing, they understand nothing; their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see, and their minds closed so they cannot understand.
No one stops to think, no one has the knowledge or understanding to say, ‘Half of it I used for fuel; I even baked bread over its coals, I roasted meat and I ate. Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left? Shall I bow down to a block of wood?’
Such a person feeds on ashes; a deluded heart misleads him; he cannot save himself, or say, ‘Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?’”
Isaiah 44:16-20
The Template of A Good Time
My birthday is a big deal to me. Every March, years of positive association melt into sporadic singing and dancing in the days leading up to it. But the older I get, the more I have to handle the execution of celebration myself. And frankly, it’s a work in progress.
My birthday last year was, by divine intervention, great, so it became a template for this year—a photoshoot, rice and cake party with my family, nails, books, home. But the photoshoot was the biggest deal. I’d been curating looks for months, endlessly streamlining my Pinterest board. Even when my account balance was hacking blood and sputum all over my screen, I was still fervently pinning outfits during church service.
It wasn’t just about the clothes—it was a fixation. I could hardly rest. I was ill, with other whole projects to lead, but labouring over brocade at 2 AM because...
Because nothing.
A few Sundays ago, I stopped to think and realized I didn’t have a good reason for the physical and emotional rigour I was putting myself through.
So I called it off. And took a nap.
The Carpenter & Us
In Isaiah 44, the carpenter’s folly is obvious to the reader, but not to the carpenter himself. He is trapped in the exaltation of a thought. Thought—because his idol is first created and worshipped in his mind before its worth is poured into a physical vessel.
He does not stop to think. He never pauses to ask himself, “Is this thing in my right hand a lie?”
And neither did I.
The story of the carpenter is similar to mine in that desire can often be blind. Some desires are just pre-programmed vanities. We want what we have been told to want, without ever questioning its true worth. A certain career path. Marriage. To watch that Love In Every Word movie.
Like the carpenter in Isaiah, our minds craft vessels and import worth into them. The desire for acceptance, coolness, belonging, or achieving wields a power that is ours to give. And ours to take as well.
But idol-makers only break free when they realize that their god is a work of their hands—and that means it’s no god at all.
We are responsible for assigning worth.
We are responsible for asking ourselves, “What is really important?” “What desires are worthy of my pursuit?”
For my birthday, I asked myself these things. And instead of forcing ritual, I did other things—buying the expensive medicine I had been putting off, buying things for the house, going to church, and celebrating with my family.
Because my health, my communities and my family are what’s important.
That’s what I will pursue.
Closing Note
Greetings OTN readers.
Today’s OTN is a repost of an essay I wrote after my birthday this year, “On Desire”. It’s a topic I have been thinking about recently and so it feels appropriate. It is also convenient because I have refused to sit down and write anything new, and serendipitous because I think now is a good time to continue my inquiry into how you guys feel about birthdays and why. Here is a link to the form. Some of my best form work if I do say so myself. Please do me the honour of filling it.
In other news, Jollof & Fiction invited me to speak at their thing tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it. Such a fabulous community of thinkers.
That said, have a great rest of your evening, folks. Byyee.
I'd not read this to end on the day it was posted, I think 'cause I read the introductory part and realized it was a repost of a previous one I'd read.
Today, I decided to read it nonetheless—and I'm realizing you had mentioned your meeting with us (Jollof and Fiction) in the latter part.
And I think it's great that I get to read it now—when the memory of the things you shared with us during the meeting is still fresh. Your time with us was amazing, rich and insightful. Thank you.
Again, from this essay, this remains my favourite part as it was the first time I read it: "He is trapped in the exaltation of a thought. Thought—because his idol is first created and worshipped in his mind before its worth is poured into a physical vessel."