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For passels of days, I can feel exactly the same. Not happier than yesterday. Not more sad than I will be tomorrow. I just am. Itís like healing stopped by for a visit but moved along before finishing its work in me. And it scares me to think I am as healed as Iím going to get. It scares me to think that I might carry around with me the same burdens for the rest of my life.
For instance, last night. I looked in the mirror and didnít like what I saw. And it occurred to me that there is no one who cares what I look like. Now, donít email me. I know Iím not supposed to care about my appearance and that God looks at the heart, et cetera, et cetera. I get all that. But Iím a girl. And I care. But Iím the only one who will, who does. Maybe thatís why, subconsciously, Iíve let myself go a bit. Because who cares really? I used to care too much, and now, perhaps, I donít care enough. This all falls under the umbrella of my Texas-sized insecurity.
Which led me to this morningís vintage revelation. I have never truly been pursued by a man. Which means I have never truly been known by a man. Which means I have never truly been loved by a man. Dang.
(Remind again me why I write stuff like this, why I say stuff like this out loud. Ö I write stuff like this because I know Iím not the only woman who has ever felt this way. And I know Iím not the only woman who feels this way right now. One of you reading this feels this same exact way, Iím just sure of it. And I donít want you to feel alone.)
So what do we do with this?
Well, I start by acknowledging that it is my truth today. Itís a longing, itís a deficit, and realistically, it just may remain unfulfilled for the long haul, married or not. So, itís my actuality, itís my reality, and itís probably not going anywhere for a while, or, truly, ever.
Then, on days when Iím not a total train wreck, I take it to Jesus instead of 10 million other substitutionary devices that fill for a second and then drain me right back out again. This morning, I did take it to Jesus.
Hereís what I said to him ... What a cavernous wound that I canít seem to get over. When will I learn to come to you; I mean really come to you? I am asking you, again, Jesus Christ, to fill my emptiness, to heal me and make me whole, again and again, to teach me to fully rely on you alone. I want to know you as my husband, my best friend, my one true love. Please do this in my heart and life. Please fix me and fill me.
I have asked him for this before. I will ask him for all this again. Maybe next week or so. Maybe in five minutes. Probably for the rest of my life.
So do I think heís not answering me? Or do I think I just keep banging my head against a wall? Or, maybe itís not either of these necessarily.
He already promises that heís in me, that I have everything I need, that I am precious to him, that he pursued me before I knew him, that heís especially close to those of us who are heart-broken, that he is my peace, my joy, that my Maker is my husband. So, heís answered once and for all, and he does answer again and again.
And I know all of these things and I believe all of these things and I have experienced all of these things. But Iím human, Iím frail, Iím just a little girl (as a friend refers to herself during her vulnerable moments, even though sheís in her 50s). And I forget. I forget every single day what Iíve learned the day before.
And, letís face it Ö this is a pretty big and painful thing to sit with and carry, a heavy thing to know about yourself. How does one get to be 41 without being loved? So, yes, itís going to hurt and sting and make me walk slower on the days when it hits me again as if for the first time.
Iím not going to run from it. Thereís no point in running Ö itíll be here when I come back anyway. This is just part of my story. Itís what makes me love my friends better and deeper. Itís what makes me pray for my children harder. Itís what makes me splay myself open to each one of you, my unknown audience. And itís the thing that compels me again and again back to Jesus, who knows and sees and understands and heals, and when Iím open, fills me.
Elisabeth Corcoran is the author of He Is Just That Into You: Stories of a Faithful God who Pursues, Engages, and Has No Fear of Commitment (WinePress), In Search of Calm: Renewal for a Motherís Heart (Xulon), and Calm in My Chaos: Encouragement for a Momís Weary Soul (Kregel). All of her books can be purchased on Amazon or through her website at www.elisabethcorcoran.com.
Page Source (url): http://www.crosswalk.com/faith/women/unpursued.html
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