Isn’t it interesting? How my lack of you makes me worry if I’m doing right by me? How hard it can be to choose a husband? A husband-to-be? How much it makes me worry that a man will betray me like you did? To trust even the One who made you? Even when He shows me that He’s worth trusting? How do I separate it all? How do I stop my heart from hemorrhaging the memories and the things you did do right, and the times when respecting you and loving you was easy?…When forgiveness was second-nature because you always meant well? When I didn’t question my own readiness for marriage because of you, and knew who would walk me down the aisle?
How do I trust a man to lead me, when every imperfection in him that rears its ugly head reminds me of you? When I need so much proof, so much confirmation that he can follow God and competently lead me? How do I stop blaming you for my arguments with a boyfriend, my financial situation, my lack of school fees, my lack of emotional stability, my mother’s pain, my sadness, my heart that bleeds for my fatherless sisters and brother? How disappointed he must feel.
Probably questioning his ability to be a real man, with stained and distorted beliefs, struggling with unforgiveness, struggling with struggling…interesting how we should have been inter-resting as a family, not this inter-wrestling that has caused an inner-wrestling in my soul, that has made me weary and wary of your actions, your promises and your very eyes. The same ones that I have-“you in a skirt,” they called me. And now you have curtailed my ability to love you unconditionally, because you skirted the situation. You were a coward. But I loved you still. You in a skirt, I cannot deny me in pants.
The man who was my first love, who showed me gentleness and kindnes and what it meant to listen; sitting on our verandah every night while I told him who wronged me, who loved me, who hated me, and it made me love him all the more. He never had to speak because the love in his eyes spoke volumes, amplifying my importance to him as I sat on his lap, or willed him to read me another bible story that same night. He took me to church to find You, holding only two fingers at a time because he was a giant to me. He would give me his lap, his arms, his chest and more. But You were bigger still.
Forgive me, because sometimes I still don’t know how to love you so well, how to let you be what he was to me….giving me his arms, his hands, his lap, his chest, his heart….sometimes I’m not quite sure how to even not need anyone or anything else but You. How does one exist, whose promises never break, who is never selfish, who ALWAYS thinks of me? Who CANNOT fail?…who can make something out of nothing. Who can HEAL. For Real…Who is REAL…