“Not one date. Two years of on and off seeing each other but not once did I get picked up, car door opened for me, a nice conversation over dinner, and dessert to top the night off. Instead it was late nights in your car and kisses on the lips that had stories to tell but you never even tried to get to know them. But you “loved” me, right? That’s what you said after the night you cussed me out and drove off. What a funny way to show that you love someone. I think that we all so badly want to be loved that we settle for the “goodnight, I love you” texts even if it isn’t love at all. I know I did.”
“t’s Good Friday. The day that I’m reminded that I will never be alone because Jesus was crucified and died out of love for me on the cross.
Tonight I led worship as a pastor and I’ve never felt more alone looking out at everyone because I could not help but wonder when this emptiness will go away and love will overtake me.
Sometimes the people who proclaim God’s love every day are the ones who desperately need to be loved. II wish this truth would be announced more often.”
“I find myself wanting to share dirty laundry about my marriage. Not because I want to hurt him, but because I want people to understand there is the possibility of forgiveness and the possibility of continuing on after an affair. It hasn’t been an easy road getting here or continuing on. Some days I don’t think about it at all, and other days it still consumes me. I want to scream from the rooftops that I love him, but there is a shameful side that knows many won’t understand. I cannot believe all we have overcome since his mistake. I love him. Even more now than before.”
“I thought I was the only one in the world who struggled with the scar you talked about. I thought I was the only girl who was constantly fighting against the addiction. But, I read your email and it was as if I found another me. Someone who would understand. Someone who would know the shame that comes from it and the fact you can’t admit it, because girls don’t struggle with those kinds of dirty things. Someone who knows the constant giving in and the promise you’ll never do it again after the deed is done, only to do it over and over again. But, also someone who knows the grace God gives. The forgiveness that He pours out each and every time we commit it. How God loves us just the way we are, but that He also loves us to much to leave us there. I pray that you will be healed of your addiction, that God will battle against it and you’ll never struggle again. Because, I pray that for myself too. And I pray that for every one of us girls that feels alone with our scars and struggles that aren’t the “nice” sins you can bring up in youth groups and church to confess. I pray that we will be set free, that we will rise above and cling to God through it all. But, most of all I pray that we will never start taking God’s grace, forgiveness, and love for granted. Rather, each time we will cling to the promise that He clothes us in a robe of righteousness and casts our sins to the depths of the sea. And maybe, another time we will hear our stories being spoken, but instead of stories of scars and shame, they will be stories of God’s glory and redeeming power.”
“You drink a little too much and try a little too hard and go home to your cold bed at 2:47 am and think “that was fine” and then before you know it, your entire life turns into a long line of “fine”.”
“I’m sitting here eating left-over birthday cake out of the box. It was really good four days ago, not bad two days ago. But now it’s just stale. And I keep standing over the box eating it with a 5-day-old fork because I don’t know what else to do. I just want to eat stale cake. Maybe because it reminds me of the 2nd. That was the last day you held me. The last day you said, “what kind do you want?” when deciding which carton of ice cream would come along for the ride. The last day you took two spoons out of the drawer and said “let’s go”. The last time you opened my door and sat me in your passenger seat and took me to see the city. The last day you asked if I wanted to go back or “just come home”. The last day I felt at home. The last day you kissed me. And maybe the first day you loved me.
We drove to see the city. But when we got there, the fog had come in. Not even a silhouette stood beyond the I-75 street lights. We knew it was beautiful, we had seen it before. But we were too late. Too late to enjoy what we knew was there…like it wasn’t ever there to begin with. Seemed fitting really…I knew it was beautiful-but you were too late. And now I’m still looking for the city in us and it’s just gone.
I haven’t wanted to write about this. I probably shouldn’t be. You were the first one after him that I had written about. And maybe I’m just superstitious, but I was hoping with everything in me that my writing of you would make you real-permanent.
I wanted to be a memoir writer. Instead I’ve got eight chapters of mediocre fiction here with no resolution. And nobody wants a shitty book like that.”
“I slapped you in the face the night before, because I was drunk and you had been mean to me.
You were my constant friend for years. I’d seen you through so much and you returned the favor. Relationships, death, jobs, travel. We’d meet every couple of months and just catch up. Never spoken, always assumed, you were my person.
The next day we met because you wanted to clear the air, “I’ve always liked you, if things were different I would want to date you.”
I looked at you as we walked, the words tasting bitter as I said them “I think we’d make a terrible couple.”
every year, resolutions are made. people want to be a better person, or go to the gym everyday, or lose weight. the gym will be full of new years resolutioners for a week or two until they give up and life gets in the way. I think for the sixth year in a row my resolution is the same.
in 2015, I wanted love. not just any kind of love but I wanted the “do crazy things, over the moon” kind of love. well there’s 3 days left of 2015 and i haven’t found that love yet. I can’t help but wonder if God forgot about me. If God forgot that I want a happy ending too. I wonder If my plan for love ended in a cul-de-sac in my hometown years ago the last time i felt that way. It’s never a good feeling to think that God forgot about you, that the plan he has doesn’t exist, or that you just don’t get a happy ending.
Christmas was a time for engagements. I think i saw at least 10 engagements on Facebook in the last month. After the first couple, it’s almost a numbing feeling. You want to be happy, but the happiness is outweighed by sadness and concern, concern that your 24 year old friends have their lives together enough to be ready to spend it with someone else and you’re sitting in bed, binge watching TV and drinking a bottle of wine.
I just want to know if my love story exists. I want Nicholas Sparks to take a stab at writing me a happily ever after, hopefully not where my true love dies in a tragic accident (as so many of his stories end).
Despite it all, in 2016, I’m still hoping for love. The can’t sleep, can’t eat, over the moon kind of love. Love that people gush about and want to scream from the top of the mountains about. I just want to experience love in the truest sense, the sense that I don’t have to apologize or hide who I am. I’m going to keep hoping that God’s desk is messy, and my love story ends up at the top this year and he starts writing my story again.“
“He has been my only. The author of so many of my firsts. The magician behind the curtain manipulating my future, my emotions, my every day. We’ve never shared a midnight New Year’s kiss. This year, when I am home alone holding our daughter and kissing her perfect cheeks for the last time in 2015, my promise will be to her. To her unborn sibling. To reclaim myself and show my babies how dreams change shape but never fade.”
Hi. I’m still in 2015 but I’m looking forward to seeing you. You’re gonna be great but you’ll probably disappoint me a few times. That’s okay because 2015 made me brave and strong. I can’t wait to see what 2016 does to me.
