First, there was a boy. That’s really all he was, though he pretended to be a man. He was goofy and I felt unattractive and he was the first boy to ever pay attention to me and make me feel special. I didn’t love him and though I put in a valiant effort trying to convince my adolescent self I did, I knew better even then. Because he made me feel special, I allowed more than I should have and spent a year and a half in a sad relationship where I hated myself and didn’t really care. Strike one.
Then came another fling, though it lasted nine months. After the oppressiveness of the last, he at least allowed me to be free. But he was free with everyone he knew, boys and girls alike, and I spent a lot of time familiarizing myself with the bitter taste of jealousy. Strike two.
Next, my love, I’m sorry to say I lost my head. I was feeling uninspired academically, and along came someone who could challenge me and really make me think. He wasn’t even a Christian, which I always said I was so against, but I was stuck in the cycle of needing attention and looking for it in the wrong places. He was my first shot at a more mature love, and it was a failed attempt, doomed from the beginning. Strike three.
Then I got my first taste, no, a feast really, of heartbreak. I fell deep and hard and understood every love song ever written. I dreamed of marriage and children and a future. Instead, I found out I was unwanted and easy to tire of. Strike four, if there is such a thing.
There were useless dates with bartenders, silly long-distance attempts, strikes five, six, etc. I lost count and gave up. I was tired of myself, tired of asking God why I couldn’t get it right, and most certainly tired of boys parading as men. I was numb and empty and just.plain.done.
And then there was you.
You rushed in when I didn’t want you to, insisting you knew we were meant to be together, you had prayed about it and knew. I laughed at you and told you I needed time just to make you go away. You stayed and said you would wait. I said you didn’t want to be with me, I seemed great but the novelty faded quickly, you assured me it wouldn’t. I pushed you away and you let me, but you never left. I remember so well sitting in my dorm room messaging you (on AIM of course), reading your words as you told me I was it. The One. I remember leaning back in my chair and staring at the screen, wondering about this crazy boy who wouldn’t leave me alone and made ridiculous claims about a God I had lost touch with.
I told my friends you were boring and funny looking and I was far from interested. You surprised me by having a hidden sense of humor that you reserved just for me. You made me laugh again after thinking I never would. Slowly, I told you about my heartbreak and why I could never trust anyone again, and you just smiled, knowing I would someday place every fiber of my being in your hands.
I gave in. I told my family about this crazy boy that I was bringing home for a few days because he just would NOT give up about meeting my family. I met your family, who welcomed me as one of them, even when we were absolutely not dating and just friends and nothing more thankyouverymuch. I kept waiting for you to get tired of me, to say it was nice getting to know me, but you were sick of waiting.
Instead, you began your work on me. You began re-introducing me to the God who would eventually tell us both on a lonely night not long after we made it “official” that He had already given us our future spouse. You showed me that it’s possible to find a man who cared for me enough to keep me pure until our wedding night. You showed me what it feels like to be loved so deeply that jealously became a foreign concept. You challenged me and promised I would never know heartbreak again. And ever so slowly, I began to feel hope.
You rescued me. Do you know that? Have I ever told you? I was so much more lost than I let on, and only you knew how to reach me, and you’ve been doing it ever since. Every day, I learn about a new flaw in myself, and every day, you find a way to patch it up.
I thought God had given up on me. Sure, I knew He was still around looking out for me, but when it came to relationships, I was on my own. It was the one area in my life where I had refused to listen to Him time and time again, and I was finally reaping what I had sowed. I deserved every heartache I felt, and then some. But instead of leaving me to suffer, He gave me you. He didn’t even give me time to understand just how utterly I had failed Him before presenting you to me.
I was so good at being the good girl in every area of my life except that one, and that’s the area that God chose to redeem. When God told me almost four years ago that you were a gift I would have the rest of my life, He wasn’t kidding. And today, on a day celebrated by expensive flowers and fattening chocolate and cheesy cards, I wanted to tell you again why I love you so much (and the whole virtual world, while I'm at it).
You rescued me then, you’re rescuing me now, and I know you’ll keep right on rescuing me with that same persistence that so annoyed me when I first met you. Thank you.
I love you 1,000 times more than these words even begin to convey. Happy Valentine’s Day my love.
Yours,
Kaitlyn
