This morning when I left my house I was greeted by a beautiful warm sun that I have been missing for days. With that, several things began surfacing up in my heart. The first is some ministry I received last weekend that spoke into an area that this person had no idea about, fear of intimacy. And then last night that ministry was the thing I went to sleep praying and thinking on, asking God to heal those wounds. The ministry I received was to repair what the divorce of my parents had left behind in me, but in reality that is not where the root of my wounding came from. I had to think on the first, some-what, real relationship I had that lasted almost my entire high school years. Me and the guy had started out friends for a few years before, and one weekend in the spring, on an unsupervised youth outing, we had our first kiss that left me in a tailspin downward.
The guy was a great guy! When I was out with our friends doing stupid things he attempted to be the voice of reason to me, but I did not listen because of the hurt he had already caused me. I was to him, what I would call, his go-to girl. We only ever spent time together when he had no one else to have. Because our older sisters were best friends we always had a way to see each other. Or we were always at a church function where we could escape without any questions being asked. How I wish questions had been asked.
I am not sure what he was thinking through these years, all I know is that when school was out for a break I was sure to have him come knocking, and I always answered. We would be at church even and find a place to hide where no one else would think of looking and make mistakes. The time that left the deepest wound I think was one Easter break. Things were so different in my heart. I thought he and I were really going to BE this time. He had been dating a little cheerleader and as he told me they had broken up just before spring break. So we started again. I think we spent almost everyday together, and I could not wait till Monday morning, to walk down the hall holding his hand.
Monday morning rolled around, but he did not have my hand in his. Instead he had the cheerleader’s hand, and it seemed like they had never been apart. I cried so much that day! And he never said a word to me about it. I felt like such a fool, again.
I know this may sound like just another high school saga, and my sisters would say it was. But for years it left me feeling like I was never worthy of love. Like I was never going to be “the one” to someone else, and I have carried that for so long. I know, somewhere in me, that it is not true. But I also keep having that fear of rejection rise up again and again. So I choose to through it off again, and remember…
“He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners...to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion--to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair,” (Isaiah 61:1-4 NIV).
