I used to think I had a haven
of a girl who found
the boy, the one who
completed her. I hung
on every word, my heartbeat
steady in expectation: maybe
Someone will love me that way.
Until I saw the break, the ache,
the happy ending on pages isn’t
what I see in the eyes of those around me, in the words spoken out, in ink. My chest, heart yearns
for a place I can speak without pretense: Abba, Father, come
It’s been a week. A week of waiting, fear and honesty and some more fear. When I got into this whole launching book thing, I’d be reading books and learning to stretch my writing.
I didn’t expect to go into my heart, into my past. I didn’t expect Jesus to keep telling me, you need to go back to go forward. Go back into your memories. I’ll be right here. You can be completely honest, mad and sad and laugh because I know you’re nervous. You can tell these people and your friends because they are still going to love you.
And you’re going to see Me. And know me. My faithfulness. So I tell him about the jealousy, about the anger, the bitterness. How I am terrified to trust and the desperation for love. The broken love of someone else, the way I look in their eyes or texts and see myself. The way I hurt people because I’m so hungry for this love because I know nothing else.
Except when I’m by myself writing, listening to music. I feel this gentleness in the ache, a whisper of it’s okay, you’re safe. And I say things like: I’m evil. You’re going to hate me. I can’t stop acting like this. What if You turn away, too? Hurt me? That’s what I deserve. So, come on let me have it. But wait…don’t.
And he goes:
Here’s a flower.
It’s going to be alright. This is a part of relationship. You’ll find joy again.
And my chest aches because I know He’s right.
In His right hand are pleasures evermore.