Day 263

Right now I’m sitting on my couch in my newly rearranged livingroom.

I just spent the last six hours cleaning and organizing.

Once a year, close to my birthday, because of all the cards received, I pull out my memory box.  I save them, rereading them one last time before I file them, but also looking over, in fondness, the cards already in the box.

This time I read the greetings of friends far away, glossed over notes from my parents, and reminisced over the words of men who used to love me.

Unfair, God¸ I murmured to myself.

I miss this.  I miss them.  I remember eating with her.  I remember laughing with her.  I remember when he held me.  I remember when he loved me.  Where is this happiness?  Where are these people?  Where are these moments?  I miss them, and I want them back.  I want this back.

I refolded the cards tenderly, remembering what it had felt like to read the words the very first time—how loved I felt.

I miss those deep friendships.  I miss the weekly meetings.  The Bible studies.  The dinners.  The intimacy felt between friends.  I miss the concern.  I miss the attention.  I miss the willingness to be a part of my life.  I miss being loved.  I miss the affection.  The professions of love.  Being held.  Being kissed.  Being missed.  Being trusted.  Being enjoyed.

There are so many things I don’t understand right now, God.  I don’t understand what You’re trying to tell me.  Am I forever bound to feel lonely in a sea of people?  Where’s the intimacy?

A week ago I made the decision to attend 12 alone.  I’ve spent the majority of this OYC solo—it only seemed appropriate to continue on in this manner.  I expect to gaze out into a maze of couples, dancing and slow dancing together—which, at weddings, has proven to be the loneliest moment for me—and I’m going to have to be okay.

In the moment, this is difficult for me.  But I know it won’t last forever.  As reassurance, it was repeated twice today by two different mediums, “God-given struggles don't come to stay—they come to pass.”

Come to pass.

As I keep moving through my files I found old journal entries about those old relationships.  Those heartfelt cards had counterparts.  I read the tears, the hardships, the differences and the struggles I had prayed about then.

Those struggles?  They came to pass.

God was faithful to me then.  I’m wading through His faithfulness now.  Not gratefully waiting on Him, but ungratefully, impatiently waiting with questions hinting at distrust.

God, is this loneliness necessary?

Am I meant to be alone always?

What purpose does this serve?

Is this punishment?

Don’t You love me?

Where are the desires of my heart?  Have I not delighted in You?

He didn’t answer these tonight.  The only words heard were…

Necessary.  Necessary loneliness.

God, is this Your voice?  I can’t tell…

Isaiah 59:19 reads, “When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the LORD shall lift up a standard against him.”

God, please just protect me.  Be with me.  Give me strength.  I feel so weak.  And without a hint of what the future holds, my eyes are focused on the rearview, and this can be a dangerous place.

Day 200

This kind of love it's what I dreamed about

Yeah it fills me up

Baby it leaves no doubt

This kind of love it's why I'm standing here

It's something that we can share

I can't enough of this kind of love

This Kind of Love, Sister Hazel

I loved him.

It may have been one of the shortest love stories of my life, but it was by far the most powerful.  A lot of nights lately I think of him.

I miss him, I think.  And I think.  And I think.

And then I thought, But why do I miss him?

And I started thinking about what I miss about him.

His friendship.

What is friendship?

Friendship is loving someone for all that they are, through all that they are.  I miss that he loved me for all that I was, knowing everything about me.  I miss how we laughed together, and how goofy we were.  I miss how we were friends.  I miss how he respected me.  I miss how I could so freely be myself and that he loved me through it all.

And as I let these thoughts drift through my mind, I do miss him, yes, but it’s more I miss what was because I don’t believe this will ever happen to me again.

To have someone know me—know all of me—and love me still.  To want to be with me.  To be tender with me, to be my best friend, to laugh with me, to enjoy the same things together.

I think this is why Bryan’s prayer on Sunday caused tears to well up.  His words of a loving, but strong husband left me feeling empty.  Who would ever be that to me?

I think myself so odd that I may fare better alone than ever with anyone again.

No, not fare, but be left stranded, for who would die to themselves so much that they would love me?

Even now as friends prime me for dates, as men are beginning to notice me, as I’m beginning to have options, I really don’t see them as options as all.

Someone is laying groundwork.  God, I feel You starting something.  Right now, He’s lining up men I can and will say no to, because I’m developing some standards.  It's like a practice run.  An exercise.

But the flip side is this: when other men ask—men that I feel would be lowering their standards to date me—will I say yes even then?

Or will I make the decision for them?

Suddenly, I leave the realm of me simply saying No, I’m not attracted to you and bump into No, I’m not good enough for you so let me save you the trouble of getting to know me and let you spend your time on another woman who would be such a better wife to you, a woman not so stained and heart so battered.

There is a part of me that believes the lie that it was a fluke that he came into my life.  It was all a fluke; the timing, the love, the circumstance.  It wasn’t a gift from God, because I don’t deserve gifts as beautiful as that one.  And if it’s a fluke, it’s not likely to happen again.

How little do I trust my God with this?  I choose to be led to see differing patterns of either He never gave and it was coicidence, to He gives, but only to take away.  It happened with him, and it happened with my community.

There is so much hurt in my heart still.  Deep, settled, rampant hurt.  And I know I want to trust Him with my heart.  I just don’t know how to get there.

And so I think of what’s past and wonder if I’ll ever feel that way again, or if I’ll keep my heart locked up forever.

Happy 200th day, beloved, I hear Him say.  I know it's only by Him that I have come this far.  So why do I feel so hopeless?

Day 112

I felt like I was in the palm of God’s hand as the sun set on the pier.

Alone, I watched the oranges mingle with the pink hues, warm colors blending into the cool night sky.

The ocean water reflected the remaining sparks of light, and soon these sparks were only glitters of the lights of the city.

Appreciating the majesty of the scene spread before me, I walked slowly to my car, drinking in every moment.  I knew it could very well be another year before I would be able to see again the wonders of the bay at twilight.

On the drive home from San Francisco, I thought thoughts to myself, contemplating, for the first time, the reality of moving back to the state I so deeply swore in which I’d never again live.

As I drove east on 580 crossing the stretch between Pleasanton into Livermore, a second ocean spread before me.  It was an expanse of sparkling amber and iridescent diamonds.  Rubies freckled the earth and the far reaches of the landscape drew me back to the years of my childhood.  I was driving down through the valley at night.  My family and I had made this same trip several times before.

The horizon shimmered before me, beckoning me with these tender memories.

And all at once the tears came.  My thoughts were indecisive, and too overwhelming.  Lyrics of a poignant, sad song filled my temples, my heart erupting in a chorus of confusion and pleas to God to light my path—His path for me.

The span of jewels blurred.  Leave California?  Easy enough.  Leave my family?  Tougher every year.

Instead of being held captive by the city below, I was bound by my memories.

And the sadness I felt was a reflection of the realization that future memories are limited.

I only have so much time left to make memories with my family.  How can I justify living 2,000 miles away from them any longer?

Through the dark hills, the lights drew me closer into the city, all the while losing their magnetizing luster.

The ocean of sparkles turned into streetlamps and taillights lit the road to my childhood home.  Like a landing pad for a plane, the sight drew me in.

If home is where the heart is, the question remains, just where is my heart?  And where are the lights bound to lead it?