Why wasn't I good enough? Why couldn't I keep you?
We had coffee together late on a Friday evening and we barely broke eye-contact or lost smiles. I very much enjoyed our time. You are exceptionally smart and quite clever. You are very funny, too! You surprised me a couple times and I roared in laughter.
You are more handsome than I remembered... We only met once about two months ago but over the course of our correspondence I have grown to appreciate your non-physical traits. That of course made you more handsome when I saw you next.
I liked the way you looked at me. Sometimes you watched me as I spoke and I liked that. (Am I interesting to you?) Sometimes I got a good joke in and your eyes sparkled as you laughed, almost like you were dazzled. I liked how pretty you made me feel. When you first walked in and saw me you were flustered. You stood as close as possible as we waited in line. You had even brought me a small gift and though you put zero effort into presentation the obvious effort of thinking of me ahead of time was meaningful.
You let me ask you questions about your background and work. You explained to me things about the stock market and about politics that I have never understood. You explained it well and were gracious with me though it was obvious you were surprised I didn't know. I do know that I like listening, and I do know that sometimes I deliberately go to people's wheelhouses so they can wax informative. And if I'm being transparently honest, I was conscious of making my body language show I was listening closely because I wanted you to know how engaged I was. I wanted you to know I could see you. I guess I wanted to flatter you. But I was still genuinely interested in the topics.
The more you showed your intelligence and gentleness, the more handsome and attractive you became.
I shared a small piece of my family background as an example supporting a point I was making about something you had shared... but you carved out the opportunity to extend great sympathy to me. I was struck dumb. You sounded moved and almost wounded as you told me you were sorry and said how hard that must have been for me. For all our playing around, this moment seemed sincere and without an agenda.
We stayed until the coffee shop closed. Then we walked down the small street to the spot where we had each parked our cars. You made fun of my car and I called you out which made you laugh a lot more than I expected. We talked about more serious and more personal things. We stood as close as possible, this time facing one another, not side-by-side. My arms were folded but I was perfectly comfortable. It was late and you had an hour's drive ahead of you but you still weren't making any moves to go.
I started wondering if you would ask me to me to go out again. I wondered how this fun evening would be capped off. I wondered if you'd say you "had a great time". I wondered if you would move to hug me. My fragile heart started daydreaming about how far we could go, today and in the future. I conveniently glossed that you were not a follower of my Lord Jesus Christ. As we stood there talking, somehow the topic of the parting of the Red Sea came up and your alternate explanation of that miracle was ludicrous (and mildly offensive). You really don't get it, eh? You once called the Bible "quasi-fiction". I became excited about continuing the conversation via email because I love evangelism. It lights me up.
But still...my heart wouldn't reconcile your scoffing at God and His Word with my desire to partner with you or at least to fuel your desire to partner with me. The tiny, weak voice which said, "You've been here before--" was stepped on and crushed to fine powder by the snarling, malnourished and deformed, almost inhuman voice which grunted, "NEED."
So, I left my heart with you there. Ever foolishly, I gave you enough of my heart that Friday evening so that when I got home, I was all atwitter as I wrote my own "had a great time" in an email. I was mildly surprised that there wasn't already an email from you there. Then I remembered that you had a long drive, so of course there was no email.
I went to sleep quite pleased with myself that evening. I had made a good impression. I had tricked someone. I had seemed satisfactory and interesting and maybe even attractive. The fine powder sounded like it was murmuring, "Back up. Back up. Back up." But it was crushed powder. The stompy monster held more of my attention. When it crushed the small voice, it also produced some quick-release gratification which numbed me out.
He didn't write when he got home. He didn't write the next morning. He didn't write that afternoon. Am I checking my email properly? Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. OK Saturdays are busy so maybe Sunday. How is it possible that some woman as amazing as me who made an impression like that, who made you feel like that, who gave fairly clear signals of interest...how are you not emailing her? Calling? Texting? Did you forget about me already? Were you pretending to be interested? What was that? She must not be so amazing a woman. The chilling image of my heart sitting on the floor of his car, having rolled off the back seat where he tossed it, was one I kept trying to push away. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. Refresh, refresh. I poked the monster to see if it had any of that quick-release stuff left so I could duck these feelings.
Too many days went by. The heart (which needs to be attached to a life source) was slowly shriveling and being obscured by fallen fast food bags and gym clothes. Some moments I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was too hurt and too mystified. WHY HASN'T HE CALLED?? I thought I had it. I thought I had done it. Played the part and won the prize. WHERE ARE YOU??
Too many days have passed for me to be who I thought I was to him. Not beautiful, not interesting, not worth seeing again, not enough. Not liked. Just not anything. You're not anything. I have forgotten about you. The monster was angry at having been teased. It spewed poison in its rage.
I can't believe it. And I can't believe this hurts so much. How often.
By the time the next Friday rolled around, the monster had tired itself out and the weak voice could be heard again. It said that the One who cradles my heart and died to win it, He may have interfered here. It was as if the Father had gone to the slimy teenage boy's house and told him forcefully, "Stay away from my daughter." It was like that. It was like the Father knew about the greedy, needy, deformed monster, and that His daughter needed outside protection before He could work on subduing and slaying the beast.
Picking the boy up by his collar, the man said with great control and low volume, "Stay away from my daughter," with eyes so fierce that they filled in the "or else" blanks for him. He tracks away from the house and finds the boy's locked car. Tearing the roof off as if it's paper, he pushes the passenger seat out of the way effortlessly, flinging it onto the neighbour's lawn. He finds the discarded organ and picks it up tenderly. Slowly, some colour returns.
He turns to the boy (whose leg is now wet) and states, "This is mine," as if explaining why he had the right to total a car. The boy trips over himself scrambling back into the house.
The monster puts its tail between its legs and whimpers. The small, weak voice is too kind to say, "I told you so."
You let me ask you questions about your background and work. You explained to me things about the stock market and about politics that I have never understood. You explained it well and were gracious with me though it was obvious you were surprised I didn't know. I do know that I like listening, and I do know that sometimes I deliberately go to people's wheelhouses so they can wax informative. And if I'm being transparently honest, I was conscious of making my body language show I was listening closely because I wanted you to know how engaged I was. I wanted you to know I could see you. I guess I wanted to flatter you. But I was still genuinely interested in the topics.
The more you showed your intelligence and gentleness, the more handsome and attractive you became.
I shared a small piece of my family background as an example supporting a point I was making about something you had shared... but you carved out the opportunity to extend great sympathy to me. I was struck dumb. You sounded moved and almost wounded as you told me you were sorry and said how hard that must have been for me. For all our playing around, this moment seemed sincere and without an agenda.
We stayed until the coffee shop closed. Then we walked down the small street to the spot where we had each parked our cars. You made fun of my car and I called you out which made you laugh a lot more than I expected. We talked about more serious and more personal things. We stood as close as possible, this time facing one another, not side-by-side. My arms were folded but I was perfectly comfortable. It was late and you had an hour's drive ahead of you but you still weren't making any moves to go.
I started wondering if you would ask me to me to go out again. I wondered how this fun evening would be capped off. I wondered if you'd say you "had a great time". I wondered if you would move to hug me. My fragile heart started daydreaming about how far we could go, today and in the future. I conveniently glossed that you were not a follower of my Lord Jesus Christ. As we stood there talking, somehow the topic of the parting of the Red Sea came up and your alternate explanation of that miracle was ludicrous (and mildly offensive). You really don't get it, eh? You once called the Bible "quasi-fiction". I became excited about continuing the conversation via email because I love evangelism. It lights me up.
But still...my heart wouldn't reconcile your scoffing at God and His Word with my desire to partner with you or at least to fuel your desire to partner with me. The tiny, weak voice which said, "You've been here before--" was stepped on and crushed to fine powder by the snarling, malnourished and deformed, almost inhuman voice which grunted, "NEED."
So, I left my heart with you there. Ever foolishly, I gave you enough of my heart that Friday evening so that when I got home, I was all atwitter as I wrote my own "had a great time" in an email. I was mildly surprised that there wasn't already an email from you there. Then I remembered that you had a long drive, so of course there was no email.
I went to sleep quite pleased with myself that evening. I had made a good impression. I had tricked someone. I had seemed satisfactory and interesting and maybe even attractive. The fine powder sounded like it was murmuring, "Back up. Back up. Back up." But it was crushed powder. The stompy monster held more of my attention. When it crushed the small voice, it also produced some quick-release gratification which numbed me out.
He didn't write when he got home. He didn't write the next morning. He didn't write that afternoon. Am I checking my email properly? Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. OK Saturdays are busy so maybe Sunday. How is it possible that some woman as amazing as me who made an impression like that, who made you feel like that, who gave fairly clear signals of interest...how are you not emailing her? Calling? Texting? Did you forget about me already? Were you pretending to be interested? What was that? She must not be so amazing a woman. The chilling image of my heart sitting on the floor of his car, having rolled off the back seat where he tossed it, was one I kept trying to push away. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. Refresh, refresh. I poked the monster to see if it had any of that quick-release stuff left so I could duck these feelings.
Too many days went by. The heart (which needs to be attached to a life source) was slowly shriveling and being obscured by fallen fast food bags and gym clothes. Some moments I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was too hurt and too mystified. WHY HASN'T HE CALLED?? I thought I had it. I thought I had done it. Played the part and won the prize. WHERE ARE YOU??
Too many days have passed for me to be who I thought I was to him. Not beautiful, not interesting, not worth seeing again, not enough. Not liked. Just not anything. You're not anything. I have forgotten about you. The monster was angry at having been teased. It spewed poison in its rage.
I can't believe it. And I can't believe this hurts so much. How often.
By the time the next Friday rolled around, the monster had tired itself out and the weak voice could be heard again. It said that the One who cradles my heart and died to win it, He may have interfered here. It was as if the Father had gone to the slimy teenage boy's house and told him forcefully, "Stay away from my daughter." It was like that. It was like the Father knew about the greedy, needy, deformed monster, and that His daughter needed outside protection before He could work on subduing and slaying the beast.
Picking the boy up by his collar, the man said with great control and low volume, "Stay away from my daughter," with eyes so fierce that they filled in the "or else" blanks for him. He tracks away from the house and finds the boy's locked car. Tearing the roof off as if it's paper, he pushes the passenger seat out of the way effortlessly, flinging it onto the neighbour's lawn. He finds the discarded organ and picks it up tenderly. Slowly, some colour returns.
He turns to the boy (whose leg is now wet) and states, "This is mine," as if explaining why he had the right to total a car. The boy trips over himself scrambling back into the house.
The monster puts its tail between its legs and whimpers. The small, weak voice is too kind to say, "I told you so."
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