Did you love her?

Did I? Now that’s something to think about. Was it love that moved me to tears or was it grief? Was it the pursuit of something to make me feel loved when I was at my weakest or an overwhelming desire to fit somewhere, with someone? Was it passion that clouded my vision or just the temptation to believe in each beautiful conversation I imagined without hesitation? Did I love her in a way that honored her as a daughter of royalty (or did I love her at all, a passionless act of gluttony?) Or was it just an ethic of selfishness that pervaded my thoughts and my mind as I didn’t actually love her, I just loved myself while the divine truth gathered dust on a shelf?

Oh, but the desire to serve myself rages within me, a man who can’t catch up with his racing mind, buried underneath mountains of his own insecurity, bruised by the shame he carries underneath a smile. The desire to point and click my way into an idealized intimacy, spilling passivity and broken grace out onto floor like a shattered vase. I am the shell of a man, I am a disgrace.

Feigning hopelessness in a futile attempt to serve the downtrodden, claiming attraction when the attraction simply became an outlet. And I dug up my past and unhinged every single truth for the sake of an image I sought to maintain, an image I fought to retain when the grave reached for me with weathered hands,  retrace, retrain. Repeat, refrain.

So did I love her? Or did I simply love myself? I believe the answer cannot be so simply answered with a resounding “yes” or a solemn “no.” But when I compare the death alive in me, (in with the old, and out with the new) to the life I once knew put to death through the one who fought so hard to rescue me from the death that swallowed me whole (and saving my eternal soul) I knew.

Jesus, I confess the weaknesses that lay hold on me. The sin that so easily entangles me, the regret that so easily empties me. Well, I once was blind, but now I see enough to see the tree protruding from my eyes and understand the prescription is the death of me. Made alive in You, redeemed from the darkness that had me by the throat. 

Did I love her? Not like I thought I did. But one day, It is my solemn prayer that I will find the one for me, and that I will honor her as a daughter of God. That I will love her truly and righteously and seek her good above my own. That romance for me will not be a selfish way to remedy my own insecurities, but that it will look like the love God has for those called His.

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Author: panicpreacherpanic

I am not good.

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