People seem to think the definition of love is highly complicated.
I would disagree. My definition of love is quite simple:
I simply don't believe in it.
I know, I know, I'm too young to be so bitter and cynical and without hope.
Nope, not it.
I suppose I should clarify - I don't believe in the oogly googly, true love, marriage, spend your life full of passion for one person kind of love.
I think the Greeks had it right. They split the idea of love into 3 distinct pieces. Somewhere along the way, we decided to mesh them all into one thing, and I think THAT is where we went wrong. Because all "love" is not created equal. At all.
The first type of love is Eros. It is based on physical passion, intense desire, and lust. This I believe in, I just don't believe it can last. We've all felt that feeling. You know, the "I just have to have that". The problem, I think, is that many, many, many people believe that somehow this kind of love is enough to see you through 50 years of marriage, 3 kids, losing jobs, life crisis, and whatever else comes your way. Sorry, but I don't think so. Attraction is good, but it ends. I wouldn't base my life on that if I were you.
The second type of love is Philia. This is friendship, or brotherly, love. It encompasses fondness, appreciation, and loyalty. All good things. All important things. But again, not enough to sustain a lifelong commitment. I mean, I'm fond of Panera's Mozzarella Panini. I really, really appreciate it. And I'm loyal to it - I never get anything else when I go there. But that doesn't mean that I can eat nothing but Mozzarella Paninis for the rest of my life. I enjoy variety.
The third type of love is Agape. It's supposedly the perfect love that includes selflessness and self-sacrifice. It's loving someone without requiring anything of them or expecting them to love you back. This is a fabulous idea. It would be great if someone loved me completely and selflessly and without expecting anything back from me. But really, how many people do you know that could, and would, do that? I don't know any. The closest I've seen anyone come in between parents and children, but even then it could be argued there is definitely given and take, and plenty of failure. As far as a romantic relationship goes, I don't think this would even be plausible. I couldn't do it. I don't know anyone else who could either. People are naturally selfish. So therefore, by extension this wouldn't work. People love people expecting them to eventually return their affection. Otherwise, they give up. Or get committed to a mental institution or prison. Just sayin' - none of those sound like they work out.
So basically, what I'm saying is that I believe 2 people can be sexually attracted to one another, either for one night or for a while. People can care about their friends, be loyal to them, and care about their interests. For a little while, people can even love someone without getting anything in return.
But none of these add up to something I'd be willing to commit my entire life to. None of these convince me that there is a person in this world that I can't live without. None of them make me believe there is someone out there who can complete me and be my soul mate and whatever else the movies spew at us these days.
If you care about someone, great. If you want someone around on a daily basis, okay. If you feel like you can commit to that one person for the rest of your life, good for you. But lots of people make that commitment everyday, and over half of them break it. And even the ones that don't actually get divorced often end up having affairs, living in the spare bedroom, or being miserable for the "kids sake". Again, that doesn't interest me.
For love to really be love, it can't end. And it does, always. So therefore, it's not love.
I'm not saying I wouldn't love to be proven wrong. It would be amazing if I could say that I was wrong and that love, in all its beauty and passion and commitment and strength, really does exist. But I'm not holding my breath. And I'm okay with that. Because I have enough of the other things to keep me content.
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
30 Days of Detail - Day 2 - Your First Love
Well, it's not a secret that I don't believe in love.
No, I'm not bitter. I'm not heartbroken. I'm not cynical.
I'm just realistic.
So, on that happy note, instead I'm going to write about the first boy I thought I loved.
His name was Andrew Phillip Crane. I used to be able to tell you his exact age, birthday, and the number of days older than me he was - but that was a long time ago. He was roughly 3 1/2 years my senior, with brown hair, dark eyes, and glasses. He was ridiculously smart, motivated, and selfless. He was a 4.0 student, a bookworm, and drove an old beat up Pinto. He was very much NOT my type. (It's funny to me that I had a type at 14, but he was most definitely not it). He was passionate and funny and strong and pretty much just amazing.
He was a devout Christian - not in the "I read the Bible and show up at church" way, but in the seriously committed to Christ way.
That's actually where we met... at church.
We were in the same youth group. We'd actually attended the same church for years, but he was part of the "churchy" group and I, well, wasn't, so our paths had never really crossed.
Until one of his best friends played with my heart and left me a) devasted and b) looking like a whore in front of the entire church. (This is a story for another day, trust me)
He was one of the few who didn't jump on the 'let's hate Bri' bandwagon, and was actually concerned for how I felt. We became friends, and over the course of the next few months, including a youth mission trip to Arizona, I was pretty convinced that I was in love.
Apparently, somewhere along the line, he felt the same.
We never dated. We never kissed. Not once.
Not because I didn't want to - because trust me, I did - but because he didn't believe in it. He was one of those "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" guys who believed in the ideas of courtship and dating leading to marriage and a lot of other things. At the time, I didn't understand it at all - I just wanted him to kiss me and love me and be my boyfriend. I was 15 and convinced I was going to marry this boy.
And we talked about it. Yes, although we never dated, we discussed marriage - a lot. His favorite words for it were "the autumn side of forever".
We spent hours on the phone every week, spent large amounts of time together, and even said "I love you". But he still wouldn't date me. He wouldn't date at all.
We would take early morning hikes up to Horsetooth and watch the sunrise together. We had our own special spot up there. We would sit and talk for hours about everything. He was the smartest person that I knew. He was a challenge, and I couldn't seem to find the key to making him mine.
So, I decided to make Andy jealous. I would bring other boys with me to church. I would have numerous boyfriends hanging around, clamoring for my attention, and making me feel special. The idea was to make him realize what he was missing, but it never seemed to work out that way. He would simply tell me he cared about my heart, and hoped that I did too. I never saw anger from him - only sadness for the flippant ways I was acting.
A year passed, and my parents decided to move an hour away... I thought that was it for Andy and I. But we still talked constantly, saw each other whenever possible, and discussed the ideas of forever. He wanted me to be patient, to wait, to grow up a little - but I wouldn't.
I dated other guys. I found one I thought I really liked. And I slept with him.
I told Andy about it the next day. (I put that boy through a lot, but the one thing I never did was lie to him - I guess I thought I at least owed him the truth) He was clearly hurt, but mostly concerned for me. He said he still loved me, and wanted me to be happy. Wow.
It was the relationship with that particular guy that set into motion all the really bad things that happened from there - running away with truckers, going to jail, and ending up locked up for the better part of 2 years.
During those 2 years, Andy wrote to me at LEAST 2 times a week. Letters full of love, compassion, understanding, and hope. Letters about God and love and philosophy and dreams and ideas and wishes. Letters that I was allowed to read, but not respond to. So he wrote me without ever getting a letter in return.
I lived for those letters, and the few brief visits that we got when I was home on visits.
In fact, during one visit, he was leaving for Marine boot camp the next day. He drove all the way up to my house (an hour north) just to say goodbye, and stayed with me all night talking until he had to leave to make the 2 hour drive to Denver to make his flight.
When I was finally released from lockup, I was just shy of 18. He was 21 and in college. And still very much "in love" with me. But things had changed. I had changed. Jail will do that to you.
I will never ever forget the day I met him at a park because I had something I had to tell him.
"I'm pregnant"
He cried. The light in his eyes went out that day. I knew that I had probably just lost him forever. And of course I regretted that, but clearly not enough that I had chosen to wait for him.
We went to Prom together my senior year. I was 3 months pregnant. We had an amazing time, and watched the sunrise the next morning together. That was when he told me he had started dating someone - for the first time ever. Her name was Laura.
Over the next year we drifted apart. We still talked often, but I had a new baby and a new boyfriend, and he was finishing college and starting his career. And yes, he was still dating the same girl (who hated me, by the way).
When I got engaged, I couldn't bring myself to tell him. So instead, I sent a wedding invitation to his family. And he came.
He cornered me at my wedding, looked me in the eyes, and told me that all he ever cared about was my heart, and that he wanted me to be happy. I assured him that I was.
A month passed, and he called me to wish me a Happy Birthday. It was the first time we had spoken since my wedding. We talked for a few minutes, and then he once again asked me if I was sure about my decision and if I was truly happy. And again, I told that I was. He acted very strange as we hung up.
I found out a few days after that later that same afternoon (yes, on my birthday) he took his girlfriend up to Horsetooth Rock, to our spot, and proposed to her.
He refused to talk to me about the pending marriage. We still talked on the phone a couple times a week about anything and everything, but that one subject was completely off limits.
I thought that I would at least receive a wedding invitation, but I found out his fiance had demanded that I not be invited.
On the day before his wedding, he called me. He seemed so conflicted and worried. It was the first time that he talked about his upcoming marriage with me at all. He said he had started down this path and had no choice but to follow through. I told him that if it wasn't what he wanted, that he shouldn't get married. His only response to me was 'We both knew when we started down this path that it would end one of two ways - either you would walk with me to the autumn side of forever, or we would eventually go our own ways'. I told him it didn't have to be like that, that we would always be friends.
The next day, his wedding day, I decided I needed to just get away from everything and clear my head, so I spent the day in the mountains with my family. When I returned home that evening, I had an e-mail from Andy, written just minutes before he was supposed to get married. It was a goodbye. And a last 'I love you'. He told me that he had committed to what he was about to do, and would do it 100%. But that he would always have a place in his heart for me.
That was the last time I heard from him. That was 7 years ago.
I saw him once, at a store, with his wife. But she recognized me and dragged him away before I could really even say hello. Not that I'm entirely sure he would have spoken to me anyway.
Mutual friends of ours have told me he is an entirely different person now. That he works all the time. That he doesn't smile much. That he really won't even spend time with them at all.
That's not the person I knew at all. I knew a passionate, strong, amazing person. A man full of life. A man with more character than anyone else I've ever known. Ever. A man who made me feel like more than just my body mattered. That my heart mattered.
I've made a LOT of mistakes in my life... I've done a lot that I would love to take back.
But if I could only take back one of them, it would be hurting him the way that I did. I put that boy through absolute hell for 5 years. I gave him front row seats to watch me jump from one unfulfilling relationship to another, and then threw it in his face. I tried to show him what he was missing - when in reality I was the one who was lost and completely missing the point.
But it's not about me. My point isn't that I wish I could have saved us and lived happily ever after. I was never ever worthy of him. Ever. He was a better person than I could ever hope to be.
I just wish that I could take back the pain I caused him. The hundreds of time I broke his heart. The things I did to him that took away that spirit and passion and intensity that he had.
Because I "loved" him so much, and still destroyed him.
If a person can do that to the person they "love", then there is no way that love can really exist.
I just wish I hadn't used him to learn that lesson.
No, I'm not bitter. I'm not heartbroken. I'm not cynical.
I'm just realistic.
So, on that happy note, instead I'm going to write about the first boy I thought I loved.
His name was Andrew Phillip Crane. I used to be able to tell you his exact age, birthday, and the number of days older than me he was - but that was a long time ago. He was roughly 3 1/2 years my senior, with brown hair, dark eyes, and glasses. He was ridiculously smart, motivated, and selfless. He was a 4.0 student, a bookworm, and drove an old beat up Pinto. He was very much NOT my type. (It's funny to me that I had a type at 14, but he was most definitely not it). He was passionate and funny and strong and pretty much just amazing.
He was a devout Christian - not in the "I read the Bible and show up at church" way, but in the seriously committed to Christ way.
That's actually where we met... at church.
We were in the same youth group. We'd actually attended the same church for years, but he was part of the "churchy" group and I, well, wasn't, so our paths had never really crossed.
Until one of his best friends played with my heart and left me a) devasted and b) looking like a whore in front of the entire church. (This is a story for another day, trust me)
He was one of the few who didn't jump on the 'let's hate Bri' bandwagon, and was actually concerned for how I felt. We became friends, and over the course of the next few months, including a youth mission trip to Arizona, I was pretty convinced that I was in love.
Apparently, somewhere along the line, he felt the same.
We never dated. We never kissed. Not once.
Not because I didn't want to - because trust me, I did - but because he didn't believe in it. He was one of those "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" guys who believed in the ideas of courtship and dating leading to marriage and a lot of other things. At the time, I didn't understand it at all - I just wanted him to kiss me and love me and be my boyfriend. I was 15 and convinced I was going to marry this boy.
And we talked about it. Yes, although we never dated, we discussed marriage - a lot. His favorite words for it were "the autumn side of forever".
We spent hours on the phone every week, spent large amounts of time together, and even said "I love you". But he still wouldn't date me. He wouldn't date at all.
We would take early morning hikes up to Horsetooth and watch the sunrise together. We had our own special spot up there. We would sit and talk for hours about everything. He was the smartest person that I knew. He was a challenge, and I couldn't seem to find the key to making him mine.
So, I decided to make Andy jealous. I would bring other boys with me to church. I would have numerous boyfriends hanging around, clamoring for my attention, and making me feel special. The idea was to make him realize what he was missing, but it never seemed to work out that way. He would simply tell me he cared about my heart, and hoped that I did too. I never saw anger from him - only sadness for the flippant ways I was acting.
A year passed, and my parents decided to move an hour away... I thought that was it for Andy and I. But we still talked constantly, saw each other whenever possible, and discussed the ideas of forever. He wanted me to be patient, to wait, to grow up a little - but I wouldn't.
I dated other guys. I found one I thought I really liked. And I slept with him.
I told Andy about it the next day. (I put that boy through a lot, but the one thing I never did was lie to him - I guess I thought I at least owed him the truth) He was clearly hurt, but mostly concerned for me. He said he still loved me, and wanted me to be happy. Wow.
It was the relationship with that particular guy that set into motion all the really bad things that happened from there - running away with truckers, going to jail, and ending up locked up for the better part of 2 years.
During those 2 years, Andy wrote to me at LEAST 2 times a week. Letters full of love, compassion, understanding, and hope. Letters about God and love and philosophy and dreams and ideas and wishes. Letters that I was allowed to read, but not respond to. So he wrote me without ever getting a letter in return.
I lived for those letters, and the few brief visits that we got when I was home on visits.
In fact, during one visit, he was leaving for Marine boot camp the next day. He drove all the way up to my house (an hour north) just to say goodbye, and stayed with me all night talking until he had to leave to make the 2 hour drive to Denver to make his flight.
When I was finally released from lockup, I was just shy of 18. He was 21 and in college. And still very much "in love" with me. But things had changed. I had changed. Jail will do that to you.
I will never ever forget the day I met him at a park because I had something I had to tell him.
"I'm pregnant"
He cried. The light in his eyes went out that day. I knew that I had probably just lost him forever. And of course I regretted that, but clearly not enough that I had chosen to wait for him.
We went to Prom together my senior year. I was 3 months pregnant. We had an amazing time, and watched the sunrise the next morning together. That was when he told me he had started dating someone - for the first time ever. Her name was Laura.
Over the next year we drifted apart. We still talked often, but I had a new baby and a new boyfriend, and he was finishing college and starting his career. And yes, he was still dating the same girl (who hated me, by the way).
When I got engaged, I couldn't bring myself to tell him. So instead, I sent a wedding invitation to his family. And he came.
He cornered me at my wedding, looked me in the eyes, and told me that all he ever cared about was my heart, and that he wanted me to be happy. I assured him that I was.
A month passed, and he called me to wish me a Happy Birthday. It was the first time we had spoken since my wedding. We talked for a few minutes, and then he once again asked me if I was sure about my decision and if I was truly happy. And again, I told that I was. He acted very strange as we hung up.
I found out a few days after that later that same afternoon (yes, on my birthday) he took his girlfriend up to Horsetooth Rock, to our spot, and proposed to her.
He refused to talk to me about the pending marriage. We still talked on the phone a couple times a week about anything and everything, but that one subject was completely off limits.
I thought that I would at least receive a wedding invitation, but I found out his fiance had demanded that I not be invited.
On the day before his wedding, he called me. He seemed so conflicted and worried. It was the first time that he talked about his upcoming marriage with me at all. He said he had started down this path and had no choice but to follow through. I told him that if it wasn't what he wanted, that he shouldn't get married. His only response to me was 'We both knew when we started down this path that it would end one of two ways - either you would walk with me to the autumn side of forever, or we would eventually go our own ways'. I told him it didn't have to be like that, that we would always be friends.
The next day, his wedding day, I decided I needed to just get away from everything and clear my head, so I spent the day in the mountains with my family. When I returned home that evening, I had an e-mail from Andy, written just minutes before he was supposed to get married. It was a goodbye. And a last 'I love you'. He told me that he had committed to what he was about to do, and would do it 100%. But that he would always have a place in his heart for me.
That was the last time I heard from him. That was 7 years ago.
I saw him once, at a store, with his wife. But she recognized me and dragged him away before I could really even say hello. Not that I'm entirely sure he would have spoken to me anyway.
Mutual friends of ours have told me he is an entirely different person now. That he works all the time. That he doesn't smile much. That he really won't even spend time with them at all.
That's not the person I knew at all. I knew a passionate, strong, amazing person. A man full of life. A man with more character than anyone else I've ever known. Ever. A man who made me feel like more than just my body mattered. That my heart mattered.
I've made a LOT of mistakes in my life... I've done a lot that I would love to take back.
But if I could only take back one of them, it would be hurting him the way that I did. I put that boy through absolute hell for 5 years. I gave him front row seats to watch me jump from one unfulfilling relationship to another, and then threw it in his face. I tried to show him what he was missing - when in reality I was the one who was lost and completely missing the point.
But it's not about me. My point isn't that I wish I could have saved us and lived happily ever after. I was never ever worthy of him. Ever. He was a better person than I could ever hope to be.
I just wish that I could take back the pain I caused him. The hundreds of time I broke his heart. The things I did to him that took away that spirit and passion and intensity that he had.
Because I "loved" him so much, and still destroyed him.
If a person can do that to the person they "love", then there is no way that love can really exist.
I just wish I hadn't used him to learn that lesson.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
After A While...
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of an adult
Not the grief of a child
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling apart in mid-flight
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers
After a while you learn
That you really can endure
That you really are strong
And that you really do have worth
And you learn... and you learn...
With every goodbye you learn
In case you were wondering where I got the name of my blog - this is where.
You learn, and you grow, and you figure it out along the way. And life goes on. Always.
Even when you think you can't. Even when you don't want to. Even when you don't care.
It still goes on...
I spent a LOT of time waiting for the flowers. And it was such a waste of time and energy.
I started taking little steps towards planting my own garden and decorating my own soul about 2 years ago. I was in the midst of a crazy, abusive, broken relationship and was a disaster. But somehow, in the middle of all that, I got brave enough to do something for ME. I bought a motorcycle. At a huge price. Not monetarily, but emotionally and sometimes physically. And I have NEVER regretted it. Because it was the first step to finding me.
Despite the small steps here and there, it's still only been in the last 6 months that I have really began to decorate my own soul. Find what makes me happy. Discover my passions and abilities.
It's my guitar. It's my music. It's my motorcycle. It's skydiving. And dancing. And scary movies. And chocolate covered gummy bears. And cooking amazing new dishes. And concerts. And photography. And football. And tons of other things that I'm not even sure about yet.
It's decorating MY soul. And then surrounding myself with people who love and appreciate it.
After a while... you learn...
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of an adult
Not the grief of a child
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling apart in mid-flight
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers
After a while you learn
That you really can endure
That you really are strong
And that you really do have worth
And you learn... and you learn...
With every goodbye you learn
In case you were wondering where I got the name of my blog - this is where.
You learn, and you grow, and you figure it out along the way. And life goes on. Always.
Even when you think you can't. Even when you don't want to. Even when you don't care.
It still goes on...
I spent a LOT of time waiting for the flowers. And it was such a waste of time and energy.
I started taking little steps towards planting my own garden and decorating my own soul about 2 years ago. I was in the midst of a crazy, abusive, broken relationship and was a disaster. But somehow, in the middle of all that, I got brave enough to do something for ME. I bought a motorcycle. At a huge price. Not monetarily, but emotionally and sometimes physically. And I have NEVER regretted it. Because it was the first step to finding me.
Despite the small steps here and there, it's still only been in the last 6 months that I have really began to decorate my own soul. Find what makes me happy. Discover my passions and abilities.
It's my guitar. It's my music. It's my motorcycle. It's skydiving. And dancing. And scary movies. And chocolate covered gummy bears. And cooking amazing new dishes. And concerts. And photography. And football. And tons of other things that I'm not even sure about yet.
It's decorating MY soul. And then surrounding myself with people who love and appreciate it.
After a while... you learn...
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Endings Are Sad...
I've been fighting writing this one... I've known I needed to since way before I started a blog. In order to embark on a new beginning, there must first be an end. But the goodbye is the difficult part. Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad...
I have had many endings in my life. I've ended relationships, ended school, ended a marriage, ended a life in Colorado... My most painful ending thus far in my life has been the end of the first and only true love that I've ever known.
6 months ago, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. I was engaged to the man I wanted to spend my life with. For the first time, I had wholly and completely given my heart away. For years I believed that I was incapable of loving someone with everything that I am. Jon showed me that it is possible, and wonderful, and scary, and worth it every minute.
5 months ago, my life fell apart. I honestly believed it was over. The day that Jon left, I felt my entire existence go with him. I never thought that I would love someone enough that I would go with them. Not just a piece of me, but ME. Every dream, every hope, every part of what I thought made me the person that I am.
I begged Jon to come back. I begged God to make him. I cried myself to sleep every single night for months. I tried to get him back. Then I tried to replace him with drugs, alcohol, sex, and other men. And then, slowly...very slowly... I started to let go. I stopped saying "please" to God, and started saying "thank you".
I am learning gratitude. I am learning to be thankful for every moment I had with Jon. I'm learning to appreciate that he taught me how to love someone so fully and completely. Until I met Jon, I was so broken. He helped me to heal. He helped me to see that who I was isn't who I always have to be. He saw a better person than I was. And even when I proved him wrong by showing him the worst possible version of myself, he still believed. I'm thankful everyday that I was privelaged to love a man who loved me so much. I'm grateful for the time I spent in his arms, because for the first time in my life, I felt contentment, and grace, and true love. I thank God that when I saw my reflection in Jon's eyes, for the first time in my entire life, I saw a woman that was enough. A woman that was whole, and happy, and beautiful. I truly believe that God allowed Jon to come into my life to show me his own love for me. And he allowed him to leave my life as well. Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad...
So now the challenge has become not only to say goodbye, but to allow God to wrap me in HIS arms, and give me the peace and comfort and wholeness that I found when I was in Jon's. I made Jon my savior. I made him my everything. And I understand now that no human can meet those expectations. I can only imagine how exhausting it must have been for him, because in my eyes he was my jesus.
I have to remind myself daily that God's perfect plan for me is not the same as my heart's desire. My heavenly Father longs to give me the desires of my heart, but I must learn to trust him and allow him to mold those desires into his will. I can give him my tears, and my hurts, and my broken heart. I know that he, in his own perfect timing, will take the pain. Because I've run from it for too long. And no matter how fast I run, pain can always run faster.
This ending still hurts. I still miss him, every single day. But I'm so thankful that my heart has been opened to love and I've had the opportunity to experience it. I'm also thankful for a Father that is bigger than my hurts. I've learned how to love. I've also learned to be loved, without condition and pretense. And now, I simply have to complete the goodbye. Until I let him go, I will never be free... fortunately I have a patient Father who is gently nudging, and slowly helping me to losen my grasp.
Beginnings are hard...Endings are usually sad... but it's the middle that counts the most.
I have had many endings in my life. I've ended relationships, ended school, ended a marriage, ended a life in Colorado... My most painful ending thus far in my life has been the end of the first and only true love that I've ever known.
6 months ago, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. I was engaged to the man I wanted to spend my life with. For the first time, I had wholly and completely given my heart away. For years I believed that I was incapable of loving someone with everything that I am. Jon showed me that it is possible, and wonderful, and scary, and worth it every minute.
5 months ago, my life fell apart. I honestly believed it was over. The day that Jon left, I felt my entire existence go with him. I never thought that I would love someone enough that I would go with them. Not just a piece of me, but ME. Every dream, every hope, every part of what I thought made me the person that I am.
I begged Jon to come back. I begged God to make him. I cried myself to sleep every single night for months. I tried to get him back. Then I tried to replace him with drugs, alcohol, sex, and other men. And then, slowly...very slowly... I started to let go. I stopped saying "please" to God, and started saying "thank you".
I am learning gratitude. I am learning to be thankful for every moment I had with Jon. I'm learning to appreciate that he taught me how to love someone so fully and completely. Until I met Jon, I was so broken. He helped me to heal. He helped me to see that who I was isn't who I always have to be. He saw a better person than I was. And even when I proved him wrong by showing him the worst possible version of myself, he still believed. I'm thankful everyday that I was privelaged to love a man who loved me so much. I'm grateful for the time I spent in his arms, because for the first time in my life, I felt contentment, and grace, and true love. I thank God that when I saw my reflection in Jon's eyes, for the first time in my entire life, I saw a woman that was enough. A woman that was whole, and happy, and beautiful. I truly believe that God allowed Jon to come into my life to show me his own love for me. And he allowed him to leave my life as well. Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad...
So now the challenge has become not only to say goodbye, but to allow God to wrap me in HIS arms, and give me the peace and comfort and wholeness that I found when I was in Jon's. I made Jon my savior. I made him my everything. And I understand now that no human can meet those expectations. I can only imagine how exhausting it must have been for him, because in my eyes he was my jesus.
I have to remind myself daily that God's perfect plan for me is not the same as my heart's desire. My heavenly Father longs to give me the desires of my heart, but I must learn to trust him and allow him to mold those desires into his will. I can give him my tears, and my hurts, and my broken heart. I know that he, in his own perfect timing, will take the pain. Because I've run from it for too long. And no matter how fast I run, pain can always run faster.
This ending still hurts. I still miss him, every single day. But I'm so thankful that my heart has been opened to love and I've had the opportunity to experience it. I'm also thankful for a Father that is bigger than my hurts. I've learned how to love. I've also learned to be loved, without condition and pretense. And now, I simply have to complete the goodbye. Until I let him go, I will never be free... fortunately I have a patient Father who is gently nudging, and slowly helping me to losen my grasp.
Beginnings are hard...Endings are usually sad... but it's the middle that counts the most.
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