I started seeing a guy last fall. I only kept it going because I’ve loved his brain from the first time I spoke with him. I didn’t expect anything to come from it. In fact, I felt a little weird about it because I was so not attracted to anything else about him. I didn’t find any part of him repulsive. I just wasn’t drawn to anything about him aside from the intellectual conversation.
I got the flu and couldn’t get out of bed for 4 days followed by horrible sinus/ear pain, coughing and just feeling yucky. As soon as that was over, I got shingles and had to stay home for a week.
And he kept coming around. And he’d ask how I was feeling. And he’d listen and not say a whole lot. But after I started feeling better, I realized that during that whole 6 week period, he was there and he was willing to help and he cared about how I felt and if I was getting enough sleep and food and medicine. And that’s just amazing, as far as I’m concerned.
But he’s so not my type…. I go for the goofy guys. They always make me feel good, and that’s just great. My friend isn’t goofy. He’s serious, he plans things in advance and if he has any spontaneity in him, I haven’t found it yet. He is basically the opposite of everything I ever thought I wanted in a guy.
But…. I began to realize about 6 weeks ago that while he’s the opposite of what I thought I wanted, he’s exactly what I need. He’s steady. I’m prone to just do stuff and think about it later. I start things and then get halfway through and realize that ooops. I have everything I need for that recipe, except for the brown sugar. He’s not like that at all. He is so sensitive about other people’s needs — physical, emotional, spiritual, pretty much everything — and with the trauma I’ve experienced, I need someone like that. I realized that given the proper circumstances, I could fall in love with him.
Ten days ago, a switch flipped in my brain. I don’t know how or why. It was I am open to the idea of ‘us’ and I can see it happening one day.
And then it was I’m in love. I’m crazy in love.
And then, Tuesday.
I am horrible in the kitchen. I know nothing about cooking. I watched my mom cook when I was little, but I never helped, and I never learned because my mom and I clashed a lot and the stuff required by the state was enough for both of us.
But I’ve found that when you have someone to cook for and someone (else) to give you pointers on how to cook, cooking is fun. On Tuesday, I cooked up a beef roast in true country style (and it was tasty too!) and he came over and shared it with me.
After the food was put away and the dishes done, we sat down to chat.
And he told me that he’s thinking of packing up his life and going on a mission with YWAM for 9+ months.
Inside, my heart was crying NOOOOO! DON’T GO!!!!
But from somewhere — I don’t know where — the thing that came out of my mouth was, I trust you.
And I do. I know that he doesn’t just willy-nilly do stuff, like I do.
And then it was And I trust God.
And, I do. God wrote a story about each of us before anybody else ever thought of us. He knows every last detail on every last page of that book, and He delights in seeing us flourish and seeing us happy and seeing us living out that story.
I trust that God’s story is a good one, and I trust that it’s the best one. And I trust my friend to find out what’s written in that book before he turns the page, because that’s the kind of guy he is.
And there’s grace. If the story isn’t the story I want, there’s grace. There’s peace and comfort. He will sustain through disappointment and pain. I believe that with everything that I am.
I asked my friend what he needed to hear from me about this. He said, “You already said it.”
After he was gone, I was angry.
I wasn’t angry because he was contemplating leaving me for a year to have adventures in Darkest Peru (or wherever he ended up). I was sad about that. But not angry.
I wasn’t angry because God was — again! — dangling a diamond in front of my face and snatching it away as soon as I began to be caught up in sparkling dreams and rainbow possibilities. I was frustrated and sad, but not angry.
I was angry because again, as I have hundreds of times in the past, I left my heart out of the equation. It makes me angry because I can’t convince myself that I matter enough to bring it up, but something deep inside is choking and drowning and suffocating and being reduced to a pathetic little pile of ashes because my heart has been forgotten.
Being in love is horrible when you feel like you have to figure out a way to un-fall-in-love.