That’s what I’ve been telling myself all week. And it’s absolutely true. Sure, I could play the “blame game,” asking you why you didn’t stop when you felt wrong the whole time. But then again, I felt the same thing, so why didn’t I stop? I’m sure that’s why it wasn’t any fun…I knew it was wrong, so did you, so our time was wasted.
The problem is, though you’ve forgiven me, and I know God has, why can’t I forgive myself? I made a promise, I wear a PURITY ring, not a Promise ring, for a reason: purity is more than not having sex. It’s my thoughts, my attitudes; and then the things that I do. And the first time I’m tempted to break that promise, I do. I jump headfirst into sin right alongside you. That’s why I’m having trouble moving on. The images and feelings from that day keep popping into my head…and then I force them out, but not before that feeling of guilt comes rushing back into my heart.
That’s when I get unhappy again. And on whom do I take out that unhappiness? You guessed it: you. And it’s unfair of me to do so. Do you remember that time that Foshee, Jonathan, you and I were heading to the City? After we sang “99 Bottles of Pop,” we were talking, and Foshee and I discussed my slight tendency toward vindictiveness. It’s less being vindictive than it seems to be the opposite of the “golden rule.” Instead of treating others how I want them to treat me, I treat them how they’ve already treated me. If I feel ignored, I ignore right back. And things like that. Hence my lack of responsiveness this week. But the sad thing is, it’s not like you’re ignoring me on purpose, so I have no grounds on which to stand. But that’s still what my brain tells me to do. And then my heart hurts again.
I’m back to that feeling of being more expectant of not hearing from you than hearing from you. This time there aren’t even any excuses; it’s just a lack of contact. But I’m used to it. The less I expect, the less broken my heart gets. It’s a very cynical way of thinking. One I wish I could leave behind.
But I think the anger comes from something else: fear. With one decision, I became the “w ill you still respect me in the morning?” girl. No, we didn’t actually have sex, but I did things I swore I wouldn’t outside marriage. And the thing that frightens me is that, even though you promised you wouldn’t, I still fear that you will go look for someone who sticks to her convictions. Someone who is stronger in her walk with God. Someone worthy of being the wife of a music minister.
I don’t want to lose you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to every evening, who has your dinner ready and your house clean, and then spend evenings just the two of us, enjoying and loving each other. The person you confide your deepest thoughts in. The person I can run to with my problems and you drop everything because I’m the most important person to you (that’s my bit of selfishness). I want to be the one supporting your endeavors in the church, in whatever else you do. I’ll go to New Mexico with you, we’ll get a hotel, you’ll fish at God-forsaken hours and I’ll get a good book or go shopping. And someday to be the mother of your children, who come running to the door to greet you when you come home each day.
I wish you could see. I wish you would tell me that you agree. I’m so scared that you don’t. That one day you’ll wake up and decide God says no to our future marriage. And then you will go to find that other person. But I believe in my heart of hearts that God prepared us for one another. He knows my faults, and yours, and created us to compliment each other. To follow His path together, and do whatever His will might be.
