| The Lord seems to be teaching me to rely solely on Him for comfort and happiness. He took her away from me and left me with His word. I have many friends who are wonderful friends, but it feels as though our enemy below is trying to isolate me. I wonder... I often wonder why it is that I must learn this over time. Can I not learn it without the experience? It has been said that experience is the best teacher, which is a lie. Experience is the most painful teacher. The pursuit of wisdom is the best teacher. I saw her today, and I could not hide from myself, much less God, and perhaps hardly anyone who caught a glimpse of my face, that I truly love her. I can go on with life alone, and without her I think I would rather not try again; but I want to be with her. Does this make me an incomplete person? Must I be to her a friend on a civil level? Can I not love so deeply that when my lover is taken away I really feel it? It is no exaggeration to say that the thought of losing nearly broke my heart. It is no exaggeration to say that when I drew from her the truth of what God wanted for her to do that I felt literally amputated at the heart. It is no exaggeration that when I saw her today among friends I saw her alone and left as a horrible pain nearly brought me to my knees. Can not a man love so deeply? Does that love supercede his love for Christ? Or does it merely show how much more he loves Christ? C. S. Lewis said in The Four Loves that it is not the intensity of emotion that marks the strongest love one has for another. It is to whom this lover returns when all else has failed. At the end of the day, I have so much in my heart--so much grief, so much hope, so much uncertainty, so much apprehension, so much anger, so much love, so much confusion--that my prayers are many times two words: "Oh Father." When I find the clarity to pray, I ask for so many selfish things, namely that one day He would allow her to return to me, that she, when allowed to return, would earnestly want to. I gave her freedom while I am trying to pour the healing salt water over my hurting. The pain intensifies, but soon it lessens as infection is prevented, as scars are prevented. I have no doubt, if she knew God was allowing her to return to me, that I would immediately receive her, of course making absolutely certain that this is what God wants. I never want to feel this way again. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I feel like I am at the gates of hell, and a host of fallen angels are pulling on me. Can a man love so deeply and not betray his love for God? I think of husbands and wives. A man has a bad day at work, and when he comes home, if he has a good wife, she at least attempts to cheer him up, and if he is a good husband, he hears her heart and shows his gratitude. They are therapy, healing balms to one another. I am not married, therefore, I suppose, I cannot have such a thing. I must strengthen the relationship with my first love, with the Lord Jesus Christ. I have curled into the fetal position and felt Him across from me, looking on with sympathy. He knows that I have to go through the fire, but friends, I don't feel like gold. I feel like the dross that is being burned away from Naomi. That's how I feel. I feel the bitter confusion of wondering "could we not still grow in Christ and yet be together?" The answer, as I hear it, is no. A prophetess spoke of this to me, and her key phrase was Not Yet. I feel as though I should hold to that, but at the same time, I am counseled by a few important counselors to act and to feel as though I do not have any certainty of having her back, that I should live as though she is never coming back. Today was the first day of that endeavor. It is still going, and yet the hope in my heart will not die. The love that strives like a great forest of trees nourished over the last two and a half years refuses to wilt. Responsibility and duty to my schooling are trying to drown out my memories of all the beauty between us. Our love was (and is still in me) the longest and most beautiful classical symphony unwritten and hardly imaginable in the audible. I composed a song about her, about how I cannot fit the new mold of friend, about how I look at her, and I remember every kiss and smile and sweet word. There are songs in my heart that cannot and will not accept unto them lyrics. There are no lyrics for this. There are no songs, really. There are only shadows. The same is true and more so with God, but God has not removed Himself from me. He has removed her and Himself remained. I see the Bible lying on the tabletop at home. In my mind's eye I can see the pitched tents and wells in ancient Canaan. The fragrance of myrrh and the sound of mournful songs return as though I remember them from somewhere, but I cannot quite place them. I envision all the world as it was in the times of the Patriarchs, and I realize that it has never been easy. I have so longed for this to be simple. I wondered "Why can it not be simple? Why can't we grow in Christ together? Why can I not have your guarantee, God, that we can be together?" The only guarantee I get, is Christ saying "I will never leave you nor forsake you..." So I wait in quiet despair for these wounds to heal. My heart was not broken so much as it was smashed. There are many fleshy fissures where infection can occur. I look to the Cross, where Christ suffered, died, and rose again, and there alone, with no comfort but Him, do I crawl, as on broken glass, wondering will the morning come, God? Will the morning come? The door is open still, she says. I have hope there. My hope is in the Lord, but even if it is only for this temporal lifetime, I would endure further if I could one day know her fully. So, again, I ask, can a man so deeply love? Does God allow the heart the love that penetrates being? Or must I be cold, civil, closed, walled? Those are my thoughts on all this. |
