Day 299

Customer: “Hey, is that a wedding ring on your finger?”

Me: “Sir, for one, it’s on the wrong hand, and, two…we had this same…conversation…last week.  Nothing’s changed.”

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When I tell people about the OYC, the banner that waves is usually taken for SINGLENESS—which isn’t bad, but it’s just that the scope is so much wider than that.

This challenge has given me so much more than just a contentment with being single.  It’s given me confidence.

Confidence in Christ.  Confidence in the Holy Spirit.  Confidence in God.  Confidence in myself.

Knowing Christ gave His life for me.  Because He loves me.

Knowing the Holy Spirit is with me, guiding me.  Present in every moment, every decision.

Knowing God loves me enough to bear both the burdens and the blessings He gives.

Knowing I’m loved and saved and my life is for the glory of God, and it is not worthless, but full of worth.

I trust Him because He loves me.  I love Him, not just because He loves me, but how He loves me.

My best friend said, “If you do this One Year Challenge as a task—as a list to check off—don’t do it, because inevitably you’ll fail.”

And she’s right.  It takes effort.  A lot of effort.  I have never more consciously, conscientiously, and consistently prayed about and paid attention to my actions and words.

But it’s all worth it.

Biting your tongue in love.  Walking away in love.  Sacrificing in love.  Humbling yourself in love.

What this OYC is, isn’t just an adjustment.  It’s training.  And if you are not ready or able to train yourself to be better, do not commit.

I’m only at month 9.75 and I have learned and developed so much.  I wouldn’t trade this experience for a husband—which is something, 9 months ago, I would have never said.  And I get to talk with, minister to, and advise single women who come into my life about this, and that is in itself a blessing.  To see where I once stood, to walk through the same pain and doubt, to do my best to tell them that joy in life is not from the having or unhaving of a husband.

There are far too many blessings of which to be thankful to God, and a far more many things to which we can commit should our singleness be our ultimate servitude to Christ.

I’m living proof that being single and loving God doesn’t kill you.

But it will make you stronger, if you are willing and obedient to follow God down either path.

Day 150

Bullies didn’t know anything about me.  They didn’t know I was kind, or smart, or sweet, or giving.

All they knew what was they saw, and they labeled every piece of me that they could see.

My crooked teeth were second only to my weight, followed by my homely clothes and long hair.  One girl loved calling me the “Shaggy Dog.”  Being quiet only fueled the fire, leading them to believe I was also too stupid to talk.

I wouldn’t walk away from this unscathed, but instead bearing a complex—rather, several complexes—that would affect every aspect of my life.

The Enemy doesn’t bridle himself when it comes to pain.  No, he lets it rage, stirring whatever he can.  And afterwards, that trauma is only a backdrop for future snares.

Not only am I fighting the insults from my childhood, but for the last four years have also been fighting another battle.

Attention.  Inappropriate attention.  Older men have made the most inappropriate of advances, and I’m left, burdened.

The Enemy knows my heart just about as well as God does.  He knows what can cause it the most trouble.  With friends to encourage me now where there weren’t before, he’s lost one battle.  But these old men, ah, these were his ticket. Until yesterday.

I was laughing with a woman about her husband’s upcoming purchase, a new motorcycle.

As we parted, I was still laughing and it was then he walked up.

Nearly 35 years my senior, he stood, too close, arms folded on the granite.

“Did I hear you talking about motorcycles?” he smiled.

Nervous about where this conversation was heading, I looked down.  “Yeah, she was just telling me about her husband’s motorcycle.”

“Do you like motorcycles?” he pried.

At this point I didn’t understand how he wasn’t reading my body language.  His eyes were certainly examining me well enough.

“I was just telling her I had never been on one, that’s all.”

“Well, what a coincidence.”  His smile scared me.  “I have one.”

Terror.  I was paralyzed.

“Would you like to ride on it?”

Hell no, I thought.

“Actually, I was just telling her how terrified I was...”

Please go away.

Eventually he trudged away, oblivious to my discomfort and disappointed by my un-answer.

What do I look like?  I thought, confused.  At this point in the day, five older men had all been inappropriate in conversation.  This in itself hurt me deeply.  But why?

I am so ugly I can’t even pull guys my age.  There must be something ugly about me--something that says, ‘I’m easy,’ that these men are the only men who are drawn to me.  If they feel like they can talk to me in such way--such a disgusting way--I must be disgusting.  I must look easy.  I must look desperate.  I’m doing something wrong.  I’ll never be married, because I’ll never be able to attract someone normal, someone my age, someone I want.  I will be alone forever, because I’m not good enough to have someone I want, want me.

These thoughts take about 2 seconds to think.  And afterwards, after he walked away, I heard another thought.  But this one wasn’t my own.

“Lies.”

Simple, but powerful.

I’ve been letting the Enemy destroy me with these thoughts.  To have no suitors while I was younger was devastating.  I felt unwanted and unloved.  Now, having despicable suitors, led my mind to believe that I attract disgusting men, because I am disgusting.  It’s like a confirmation.

Yes, you wondered if you seem easy and desperate.  The answer is yes.  Look at the type of men you’re attracting.  You’re not pretty enough to attract anyone worthwhile.

Genius on the Enemy’s part.  And I fully agreed with him, believing I’m ugly.  I’m unworthy.  I’m unlovable.  I’m easy.  I’m desperate.  My only options for a husband are men with no morals.  I will never be married.  I will never be married, because no one wants me, but for men I would never want.

Two weeks ago was our first connection class with Becky Morgan.  At the end of class, she asked that we list all the lies we’ve been fed throughout our lives.

“Your only sin,” she said, “is agreeing with them.  Ask God to forgive you for agreeing with them and ask Him what is the truth.  Ask Him to tell you the truth.”

Who am I in God’s eyes?

I am not this ugly, stupid, easy, desperate woman that Satan has manufactured.  No!  And yesterday, this and many other truths rang out in my heart in an attempt to drown out the condemning voice. 

The type of man pursuing me does not determine who I am, though this is where my heart has been.  It lies in a place of filth, feeling guilt and responsibility for the men who lust after me.  In the Bible, there was Tamar, a beautiful woman, whose brother was Amnon.  She acted only out of kindness and servitude to her brother, doing nothing to incite his lust.  But, he lusted for her anyway.  The story ends with a broken Tamar, betrayed, misused, and hurt.  And this is exactly how I feel after every stare, every invitation, and every sideways compliment.

And that’s exactly where he would have me, snared in an ongoing cycle of lies.  From hurt to guilt to shame to agreement to helplessness and to hurt.  But that is not who I am.  That’s not who He made me to be. 

Last Thursday, Tony Evans said, “A long time ago we determined that what happens out there is not going to affect what happens in here.”

Every day this journey is pushing me further and further in the right direction, and that direction leads to a mark where I can rest on what great love resides within instead of internalizing what evilness comes from without.

He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son (Colossians 1:13).

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them (Ephesians 2:10).

I chose you (John 15:16).

And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus (Ephesians 2:6).

Day 145

Hope is knowing your tomorrow is going to be better than your yesterday.
Tony Evans, Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship

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The Queen sat atop her hoisted chair, leg thrown over its arm.  She barely looked down at the girl, seemingly bored.  She smoothed her dress linens as if no one else was in the room.

The young girl looked on, not anticipating the coming conversation.

There was a moist smugness in her voice.  The Queen was beautiful.  Stunning, ravishing—the epitome of beauty.  Her textured crown lay adeptly on layers of raven hair.  Her ivory skin was perfectly powdered.  Gorgeous in semblance, but her spirit was darker than the onyx that hung in her diadem.  No light reflected in her empty eyes.

“Remember when you were but a child, and no one wanted you then?” she mused.

The girl shuddered, but nodded.

“Wasn’t it better then, alone?  You didn’t hurt anyone then.  You didn’t have anyone to hurt.  You saw the look in her eyes last night, you know what the others girls think of you.  Wasn’t it easier not having to worry about that?  Now you’re hurting people.”  She trilled her tongue.

Mara’s eyes met the floor.  She was right.  These new friendships in her life, she wasn’t capable of handling them.  She was better off alone, not hurting people.  It seemed like she couldn’t do anything right.

As if reading her thoughts, the Queen laughed, “You can’t be a friend, and you’re a terrible daughter.  You don’t do anything but hurt people.  You’re selfish, and worthless.  Moving 2,000 miles away for your own selfish gain, leaving your parents miserable.  What kind of daughter are you?”

She missed her parents.  Guilt from being so far from them had taken over her heart.  What the Queen said stung her deeply.  And she was right.  Selfish.  She was a selfish, little girl.  She knew they missed her, and she missed them, but it was not enough.  She was too selfish to return to them.

The Queen’s head finally turned toward her, and she shifted so that their eyes met.  Dark emeralds cast an unnerving shadow over her.  They were piercing, examining Mara, and calculating, considering every flaw, every imperfection.  “Tell me,” she hissed, “what’s good about you?”

Mara stuttered.  She wrung her hands, failing miserably trying to look composed.

“Well, I…I’m nice?”

“Nice?” she mocked her.  “What does that mean?  Child, you are lost.  You are a mess.  You’re unattractive, clumsy, dismally unintelligent, self-centered, and self-righteous.”  She paused, casting a debilitating glare towards the frail creature.  “No one could ever love you.”

With every word, Mara’s spirit sunk lower.  She’s right, I’m worthless.  Mara wilted on the marble floor, unable to keep from crying.

“I know the desires of your heart,” the Queen cooed.  “To be loved.  You want friends, a family, a husband, an eternal love…but what makes you think you deserve any of it?  Pure?  Never.  You’ve stained yourself.  Given yourself to a million.  They’ve walked over you your entire life.  And what’s worse, you don’t even have a high paying career to make up for what you lack.  Who would put up with you?  Who could want you?  Who could ever love you?  You have nothing and you are nothing.  Poor, hideous creature.  But you did do this to yourself…”  Her voice was like patronizing silk.

The Queen arose from her mantel, stepping gracefully down upon the girl.  She bent, kneeling so as to be face to face.  One of her hands cupped Mara’s face while the other’s fingers traced along her chin.  Mara was terrified.

“You’re not much to look at either,” he eyes intently examining Mara’s face.  A doctor giving a diagnosis.  Incurable.  Unfixable.  Unhealable.  “Your skin is terrible, your teeth are crooked, you’re obscenely overweight.  Really, who would want you as their wife?”

Mara pulled her face from the Queen’s hands.

“Don’t you pull away!  Look at me,” she seethed.  “You truly are worthless in every, single way.”

Mara was curled up, trying to block out the reality of everything she wasn’t.  But she knew it was true.  It was all true.  She wasn’t smart.  She wasn’t beautiful.  She wasn’t even loving.  She had hurt her friends and family in her selfishness.  What she thought was an act of protection, shielding them from her terrible life, was only disguised self-centeredness.  She was desperate, lowly, ugly, and completely worthless.  The Queen was right in every way.  She always was.

Mara began to weep.  I’m worthless.  The room felt deathly cold, and the darkness seeped in through her pores.

The Queen hovered, circling like a triumphant predator.  Her angry whispers filled the heavy air.

Ugly.

Stupid.

Incapable.

Worthless.

Unlovable.

Ugly.

Ugly.

Mara, you’re ugly.

You’ll never be anything to anyone.

After the last piercing blow, the Queen quieted and Mara sobbed.  Her body wracked with seizures.  The pain was all too great.  The limbo of darkness had pulled her into an inescapable realm of hurt.  Time escaped her as her tears continued to fall.  And soon, Mara couldn’t tell if minutes or hours had passed when she realized the Queen had not said a thing in a long while.  But she refused to open her eyes.

Why wasn’t she saying anything?  As the seconds, as the hours, or days ticked away, Mara waited, prepared for another swarming of vicious truths.  It was an awkward dualism.  Even though she wanted the pain to end, she wished the Queen would keep talking, just to know she wasn’t alone.

It was then she heard her.  Not her voice, but her footsteps.  One step turned into two, and so on, and eventually they grew lighter and lighter until they were gone.  Why had she left?  Don’t leave me, you’re all I have, Mara thought.  I can handle being worthless, but not alone.

After an eternity, she opened her swollen eyes.  Her vision fell upon the throne.  What had once been a majestic pillar of dark worship, its gold had aged indelibly.  The velvet was worn and ripped.  The entire atmosphere of the room had shifted.

It was then that Mara felt a hand on her shoulder.  Body weak and soul weaker, she trembled.  A man helped her to her feet.  A sturdy arm wrapped around her, a hand placed heavily on her heart.

No words were spoken, but she saw light.  She felt warmth.  And she felt love.

His face was indistinguishable, blurred by the glare of sun.  But where had the sun come from?

“Lies,” he whispered gently.  “All lies.”

They limped toward the palace doors.  A shamble compared to what they once were, now rusted and eaten away.

“I will tell you who you are.”

His chin pressed against her head in love, and they walked together.  He was strong, but tender.  The mix soothed her and offered a feeling of safety she had never before experienced.

Wherever they were headed, it was going to be a long, arduous road.  But she knew the further they walked, the more then Queen’s hold would weaken.  As long as He was with her, redemption lay in sight, and the palace and the condemnation it held would eventually crumble altogether.

Day 130

Jamie, how do you see yourself?

I see myself as ugly, stupid, and unworthy of love.  I have little to my name, and not much, if anything of which to be proud.

Why do you think those things?

The perception I have of myself was developed very young.  I went to elementary school, and it was a struggle to make friends.  I didn’t have many, and instead spent my days just trying to avoid being picked on.  The worst of this bullying was received during junior high.  I would ride the bus to and from school.  Unlike being on campus, however, there was nowhere to hide.  These kids saw me every morning and every afternoon.  They called me fat.  They called me ugly.  They spit in my hair.  They threatened me every day.  I remember one day on campus my locker had been broken into during PE.  I came in to find my belongings all over the stretch of lockers, and my shoes in the toilet.  The teachers did nothing.  There was nothing they could do.  And I felt so alone.  So hated.  So miserable.  And I was doing nothing to provoke them!  I wouldn’t even fight back.  And still they hated me.  I felt like I must be doing something wrong for them to treat me like that.  There must be something ugly about me that I couldn’t see that made me deserve all that.  And I began hating myself.  Life became an act of survival.

I look at the men you’ve dated…and I’m not impressed.

You figure when you’re not worth much that you don’t deserve much and that you can’t get much.  From my perspective, I was dating people I didn’t think I deserved—thinking they were even too good for me.  Or, at least, I thought someone was better than no one.  I let myself go through so much, because I never thought I was deserving of love to begin with and thought any man who would lessen his standards to care about me—even in the slightest—was a godsend.  In high school, I met my first boyfriend.  He and his friends humiliated me on a day to day basis.  High school had been my opportunity to begin anew, and instead he trashed my reputation.  The first man to “love” me  ended up hating me.  It was an entirely new hurt.  And I felt even more unlovable, which would translate into every relationship from then on.

How do you feel about marriage and being married?

I love the idea of marriage.  Loving someone through the difficult times is what love means to me.  Anyone can walk away.  Love stays.  But, if you mean as far as what is in store for my future, I don’t believe I’m meant to be married.  Even after all the work through which I’ve gone, I don’t believe it is something I will ever have, because deep down I still don’t believe I’ll ever feel ‘good enough’ to deserve something as beautiful as that love.  And, plus, after being hurt so many times by so many people, the idea of being tied down to one person, honestly, terrifies me.  What if he loves me in the beginning and finds out I’m not worth loving and starts to treat me terribly?  It could happen.  And with my track record, it surely will.

I keep hearing you say you’re not worth anything…how does that line up with God’s love for you?

I feel useless.  I feel like I don’t have anything to offer the world.  And I know it doesn’t line up with who God is…how I see myself.  Because what I’m saying in that is all He did for me was worthless.  But it’s hard to combat two decades of abuse with the thought that someone—especially the all-powerful being who created everything—loves me—you know, could truly love me and see me as worthwhile.

Do you think you’ll feel differently about yourself at the end of the challenge and even beyond the challenge?

God is amazing.  He makes the impossible possible.  And I have grown so much within just a few months.  It’s almost amazing—in a not conceited way—to see how He’s changing me, how I react different to someone than I would have months ago, a year ago.  I think anything is possible, and I hope He really leads me to a place of humility and knowing my true value in Him.  And I don’t believe I’ll have gone through a year of growth and not be different.  I initially began this challenge wanting to prepare myself for a better marriage.  And along the way it morphed into just wanting to be a better, healthier, more loving Christian woman.  I think this challenge is changing my life forever.

Day 47

Venting, real life versus real-time, the taste of Christmas, the season of giving mixed in with some j-o-y, all rolled up into some bullets.

I is the ninth letter of the alphabet.  And sometimes the most disappointing thing to hear out of someone's mouth.  I did this, I said this, I think this.  One thing that hurts my feelings in conversations is when I can tell the other person is waiting on me to finish my sentence so they can say something—and sometimes not even waiting, but interrupting.  Care more about knowing someone than being known.  Listen more than you speak.  It makes the person opposite you feel valued.  Speak more and listen less, well, that value will decrease and you won’t have to wonder why they never ask you to hang out anymore.  I have to pursue this in every conversation.  I try to practice pausing my need to share—which, anyway, is usually met later on in the conversation when the other person feels comfortable enough to ask me something.  I have to die to myself on a regular basis.

App’d at the hip.  If we sit down together and you cannot put your iPhone down, you are sending me a very clear signal that you have better things to do.  I’m not talking about an occasional text to check in on your child or an appointment tomorrow, but if you’re sitting there playing Angry Birds or Words with Friends while I’m trying to open up to you, I’m not going to waste my breath.  Either spend time with me or don’t.  I could be elsewhere with someone else, not staring at the top of your head while you're busy interacting with someone—something—else.

Cinnamon-stuck.  I am stuck on cinnamon this season.  I mean, I love it year round, but it definitely feels more like Christmas with a candle, a cookie, or coffee to taste, smell, and enjoy.  I love cinnamon.

Gratitude to latitude.  I’ve been praying to God to be able to bless someone this season.  I was blessed a few days ago when I received $100, a very special gift from someone.  I prayed about what to do with it.  Pay off bills, buy groceries, buy gas, buy clothes…all of that seemed like…things I could do any time.  And so today I made a couple deposits into a couple different accounts of people who have spent the last year watching over me, protecting me, and making sure I had something to eat when it appeared that I didn’t.  They may not ask from where the gifts came, but I know they’ll appreciate it.  It means more knowing that they have something than me doing something less with that money.

Self-fulfilling prophecy.  I ain’t going to lie.  The last few days have been rough.  The next few weeks will be rough, too.  So rough that I’ve started giving up on love.  I’ve resigned to the idea that I’ll be 50, maybe 60 or 70, and never married.  That seems to be my scorecard so far.  And when talking with Sara about this tonight, she told me about the danger behind a self-fulfilling prophecy.  I wonder though if as a relationship-addict that I’m meant to feel this way for a time—to remove the primary desire for a husband, to take full advantage of being single.  And by full advantage I mean becoming someone who has their life centered around Christ—so much so that He is the only road to joy.  Right now if I were to date I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would fall back into being dependent on a guy for happiness, and happiness happens, but joy abides.  Need to rework some things before I can love to the best of my ability.

Tres away.  Day 47 into my challenge.  It's been difficult—so difficult.  But I'm growing.  Every day I get a little closer to who God wants me to be.  One day I'll be ready to love and be loved by someone.  Three days until my 50th day anniversary, and three days until Christmas.  On the path to being saved in more ways than one.  I get to celebrate my small victory, and I get to celebrate His larger-than-life victory.  And this will be my second Christmas at Fellowship—so much has happened in a year.  And I am so different from even a year ago.  I can't wait to see who I am in another year.

Assumption.  You read my blog and assume you know me, wrong.  Ask me, then you'll know exactly who I am and where my heart is.  Assuming does not breed life, but good conversation does.

Day 46

I clutched the key in my hand, like doing so would somehow bring him back.

And I cried.  For what seemed like hours, curled up in the fetal position on my bed, I cried.  The tears burned down my cheeks and I could hear the angry beating of my pulse through my temples.

What should have happened two months ago happened tonight.  And all too late I realized avoiding it only made this inevitable pain worse.

I looked into his light brown eyes tonight, and, for a second, he cradled me.  My head met that warm space in his chest.  So familiar, and yet so unforgiving.

To love someone so much, to not have it be right…hurts.

It hurts.  Present tense.  Where I thought I was doing okay and had moved on, really I just hadn’t allowed myself to feel the pain.  This searing, almost electrical pain.

I miss him.  I miss all we were and all that was…even though I know what he said is true.  It wasn’t right.

As he handed me my key, I felt my heart completely surrender to the pain.  I held the small piece of metal delicately then, as if it were instead made of glass.  As if breaking it would reflect the last piece of my already broken heart.

My tears continued to fall after his departure, my thoughts swirling.  And I cried even harder, realizing what it was to have loved someone who loved me.  My pain didn’t come from him betraying me or hurting me like other breakups.  It simply came from having to accept the truth.  Two good people with two good hearts who weren’t meant to be.

And so, I’ll remember when we were meant to be, if only for a season—when God brought us together.  I’ll remember loving him, and what it felt like to have his love.  The summer nights where his lips met mine, the slow dances in his arms, conversations about life on the small balcony of my apartment, the warm night together in the starlit ocean, and standing in the rain, letting it soak us and feeling more joy—more freedom—in that one singular moment than I had ever felt.

I thank God for letting me experience that love and for the respect he showed me tonight.  I pray that God pulls me through this pain.  I pray that He changes my heart.  I pray selfishly that this pain won’t last longer than it needs to.  I pray for both of us that God may make us both stronger and bring us closer to Him in ways we never expected from the ending of this chapter.  I pray for him to keep growing, and to one day find love with someone who brings out the best in him, who can push him towards Christ, and who loves him so deeply.  I pray that the issues that tore us apart will not be forgotten, so we may grow from them, and that the good parts—the parts worth remembering—are used to push us to fight for love in our future romances.  A part of my heart will always belong to him.

Day 30

He was married.  And he was touching me.

In my mind, I knew all the reasons why he shouldn’t have followed me home that day, all the reasons we should’ve stopped.

But we didn’t.

My need to be wanted overwhelmed the sanctity of marriage.  My desperateness justified my actions.

“So, what are we going to do about us?” he asked as he kissed me.

“What do you mean?  We’re going to stop,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re married…and how will I ever find a husband like this?”

He laughed.  I laughed, too.  Such a sick hypocrite, but I didn't expect what he would say next.

“You’re going to be doing this even when you have a husband.”

His words cut a wound so deep they’ve stayed with me until this moment.  I had never felt lower.  That was the worst thing he, or anyone, could have said to me.  In those few words, he summed up my life.

I was a failure before marriage and I was doomed to be a failure in my marriage.  Not only was I a screw-up, but I was worthless.  I was worthless to him, and I would be worthless to every man, including the one with whom I would one day spend my life.  I accepted those lies, and bought into the beliefs that I was unworthy of love, and so I settled for a cheap imitation.  My entire life I’ve settled for cheap imitations, giving myself to men hoping to feel a semblance of love.  I let—or maybe I made myself believe it would never get any better—that I was such a terrible person that I didn’t deserve better.

Today marks Day 30 of my journey, and I never fathomed how much I could grow in 30 days.  But God is amazing.  He makes the impossible possible.

Last week was the worst week since I began this One Year Challenge.  And on Thursday, I hit rock bottom.  I felt low, lonely, vulnerable, and lost.  I was just trying to make it through my work day so I could go home and cry.

In the middle of my day, I saw someone I knew, and we made small talk like friends.  My amiableness disappeared when he asked me if he could “see” me since I wasn’t seeing anyone.  His wedding band was dull in the ugly fluorescent light surrounding us, but it burned my eyes.  I politely declined, and we said goodbye.  But he was waiting for me outside, bribing me to spend time with him.  Lunch?

“No.”

He asked for a hug.

“No.”

Then he offered to just give me money for lunch.

“No.”

I was angrier with each invitation, each request.  My disdain grew, and he finally drove away.  And I sat in my car, furious.

How could he possibly think I would do that?  How could he cheat on his wife?  Doesn’t he know his money is no good?  He can’t buy me!  How could he see me as being so low to proposition me?!  Does he think I’m a whore?!

…

That pause was God.

Jamie, is that self-worth?

I heard a gentle laugh.  And strangely, I laughed, too.

Sometimes God has to take us through the fire to shape us, mold us, grow us.

But it’s only Him and His love that can get us through it.