Sitting behind the clothes in the back of a pitch black closet, I could still hear him banging on the door. He screamed my name out in a warning. I wondered if maybe I could climb out the window onto the roof before he broke through, but I was paralyzed by fear. I prayed to a God I didn’t know yet, begging him to protect me, pleading with him for a way out of this.
Moments before, a fight in the living room had escalated quickly as they often did. I laid on the cold hardwood as his fist hit the floor next to me. A fist that was meant for me. In a moment of adrenaline, I kicked him, freeing myself. Running, I turned the corner toward the stairs and saw my boyfriend’s 2-year-old son screaming out in terror. It broke me. Just as quickly as my heart broke, I felt hands grasping at my ankles trying to pull me down the wooden steps until I made it to our bedroom and slammed the door, locking it as quickly as I could.…
Lately, I’ve been pondering my younger years. You know, those awkward high school days, walking the halls just trying to blend in or even sometimes trying to stick out for attention. I’ve been in both camps. Some of you are there now.
I was a broken girl with a major craving for acceptance and the fleeting eyes of boys. A dangerous combination.
While there are hundreds of things I wish I’d known then, there is one which peers down over the others:
Boys are a lousy God.
The affection of boys flees faster than the quickest honey bee. It lands to rest on another wild flower until the sweetness is gone, and off it goes in search of another. Even the steadiest of men fall tremendously short from the steadfast love of the Lord.
We need not look down on them, though, as our feelings shift and waver just as fast.…
I called my boyfriend over and over again until he finally picked up by accident.
At first, I wasn’t sure what I was hearing. Just muffled voices stuffed in his pocket.
Then I heard her voice saying, “Did she hear us?!” followed by a quick disconnect.
My whole body went numb and my heart beat so fast I was instantly nauseous. Breathing became nearly impossible and shock was like a physical barrier to the tears that begged to flow.
He’s cheating on me.
I’d spent that evening working as a model, posing while my photograph was taken. I felt “sexy” and wanted. The culture told me this was who I needed to become in order to be fully desired by men. If I couldn’t stop my boyfriend from looking at porn, I needed to join him by dressing, acting and looking like one of those women. I was a model, surely I was enough for him now.…
In the wee hours of the morning I gazed with tear stained eyes at the ring on my little finger. I was shocked but at the same time had known all along it would play out that way. He had broken up with me so many times I’d lost count. I don’t know why I thought it would be different once marriage was on the table but I wanted to believe it would be. Pain gripped my heart as memories flooded my mind of saying yes to the dress and flipping through bridal magazines. Plans were made and a date was set.
However pathetic, I begged him to change his mind as we spoke over the phone past midnight. After he’d dropped such a bomb on my heart I couldn’t let him hang up. “Please don’t hang up. This hurts so bad. How could you do this to me?!”…