It’s much easier to write about
brokenness, sadness, heartbreak. It’s easy to talk about the many times I’ve
felt alone and tired, wondering how I could have missed it—because the guy
left. It’s safer to expect that I’ll be alone; that I can’t trust this, but
instead I’ll sleep in his sweatshirt until it doesn’t smell like him anymore;
and I can’t think straight when I’m around him. He’s kind and smart and sweet
and funny, and some crazy mix of a middle school flirt and a chivalrous man and
I’m just hoping he stays…
I was falling
asleep in chapel. I’d had a nightmare the night before. The older man walked on
the stage in front of me. He began to talk, and I began to listen.
He spoke of love.
Not romantic love, not infatuation, but something much deeper than both. He
spoke of the love of God, the uncontainable love that pours through a person
when they know first that the God of the universe loves them and desires to be
in relationship with them.
He spoke of
sharing the Gospel in simple ways. Getting to know people by asking questions
and responding to those questions. He spoke with peace and purpose, and I could
tell that with each story, his heart broke with the brokenness of others. He
celebrated when the conversation led them to Christ. Their pain became his,
their joy, his own.
And I got the
feeling that he’d want to know me.
My eyes filled
with tears and I didn’t know why. Listening to him speak reminded me of a book
I read, someone explaining their testimony. When the author read of Jesus in the
Gospels, it struck him how Jesus interacted with others. Jesus responded with
such intentionality and care, the author got the feeling that Jesus would want
to know him as well. Jesus would like him. Jesus would want to talk.
I got the same
feeling about this man in front of me. He understood love. He understood the
simplicity of living in the confidence of Christ’s love, and showing it without
partiality to others. He understood it was his privilege to love other people.
He understood how to care in a way that pointed back to Christ, and how to let
God’s love show through him.
And I understood
that just as he wanted to communicate with and get to know each person in his
stories… He wanted to know me. Not because I am something special, but just
because I exist and that makes me special. So, this man… he’d want to know me
because God already does.
I waited.
His message
complete, other people spoke with him.
I smiled and
hugged friends who passed beside me; asking how they were, small talk...
Finally it was my
turn and I didn’t have anything to say.
He asked me
questions like the ones from his stories. My name, where I’m from, what my
major is… He said I was running on all cylinders, and that was true. I thanked
him for expressing love with practical simplicity. I don’t know how I worded
it. I felt awkward, like my words were stumbling the way I do when I run too quickly up stairs.
“You saw what you
are.” He said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You saw, in the
way I spoke, what you are. You desire for others to know the love of God beyond
your love for them, though your love is well intended. You want them to know
God’s love; to have it pour through you.”
Again, words
failed me. He was right. I had seen my own desires echoed in his words. And I
was right; he wanted to get to know me. When our conversation ended, he prayed
for me.
I started to walk
away. I was thought I was fine. I intended to walk to the class.
Instead, my eyes
began to fill once more, and my feet carried me to my room. I had to read
something I had refused to look at for months.
In my journal from
this summer, I found the whimsical scribblings I’d written late at night,
wearing the sweatshirt of another, as I fell in love. I remember it so clearly…I
was cautious but hopeful, holding close the exuberance, as I made a choice: I
would give this my all. He said he was giving it his all, and now it was my
turn. I’d decided it was worth it. He was worth it. He made promises, plans. He
spoke of taking trips together, months down the road. I began to rest. I began
to trust. I knew that he would stay. He was right; he was different from the
other guys. This was real. This was happening. I was safe. Maybe, just maybe,
this was love…
Until it wasn’t.
Promises were
broken, silence fell for months and it was up to me to realize that I wasn’t what he
wanted after all.
With no response,
my letters to him changed from naked vulnerable words of commitment, to the
painful reality that… he just didn’t want this.
He didn’t want me.
There was no
goodbye.
Instead, it felt
like slipping from one room into another. Simple, natural… Over.
I wish I could say
that I didn’t mean to fall in love. I wish I could say I didn’t mean to trust
it all… like it was some accident that I can’t take the blame for. As if this
pain was never supposed to be an option… but that simply isn’t true. Loving him
was a choice. I decided I would. I decided I would trust in, and believe in,
and hope for him. I didn’t mean for it to be under false pretenses, but nothing
on my part was an accident. I’d meant every moment. Everything was on purpose.
I’d chosen to be
vulnerable, knowing he could decide he wanted something else more than he
wanted me…
And today I finally
let myself think about it. The tears were
bittersweet, after the months of knowing that it wasn’t my fault… yet, I was overlooked.
The idea that I knew I’d done nothing wrong, but it all felt like a mistake.
I’d trusted him, and he’d lied.
I’ve always been
one to preach that girls don’t have to wait for a guy to make them feel worthy
of love. A girl doesn’t need to let men have that power, because God already decided
that everyone is and should be loved. It’s a fact.
But that is easy
to forget when it feels that I’ve been so easily forgotten.
It’s easy to
forget when I find myself asking, if God
loves me so much, then why is it so hard for a human to stay? It is not a
fair question. It gives far too much power to people who didn’t ask for that
power. But it’s a question, nonetheless. Along with the idea that the “smart”
thing is to expect to be unwanted, unloved. Somehow it is my fault
if I believe anything else.
I know it is incorrect. It goes against everything I really believe. But when the only thing speaking is the silence,
and you’re left to hold your broken heart together again... It can feel true.
So this morning,
sitting in chapel, listening this man who I did not know, knowing that because
he understands why we are to love others, he’d want to know me…
The fears got
quieter.
And I talked to
him. I found I was right. I am worth knowing, worth loving, because I exist,
and because God loves me.
To feel that
another person values me this way is not too much to ask for.
Christians are to
value everyone this way.
We are to make
others feel like they are loved deeply, committedly, genuinely by God.
Therefore, they are loved identically yet imperfectly by His Children.
We should love one
another as He loves us.
I was touched that
just as easily as my doubts about the authenticity of God’s love appeared, He
found a way to show me His love anew. When I was tempted to place my worth in
something else, He brought me close to Himself.
And it was good to
know that I am never alone. My brokenness is never unknown. And God uses His
people to love me well.
