I wish I didn’t hear this story as often as I have, but I do so appreciate the honesty and the uniqueness of each one. And the way our writer pushes back.
Those who are closest to me already know my story, but they don’t know it the way I am about to tell it.
It was cold that night, the night I lost my innocence. On a frigid January night my security and everything I ever knew was stripped away. As the cold settled deep inside, my heart grew hard and I could feel myself getting further and further away until I was out of reach. It stayed cold for a long time after that.
My heart broke into a million pieces on that blue carpeted floor. In the same room my son would later sleep in. Light from the television glowed and I stared through the crack in door. I stared for a long time hoping that someone, anyone would walk up those stairs; but at the same time terrified of that very thing.
When the moment was over, tears fell heavy onto my shirt and into my hair. I wanted to get away, to climb outside of myself and take it all back. But I was frozen with fear, regret… confusion.
He never even tried to pick up the pieces let alone put them back together. He never even wanted to. Oh, but I wanted him to. I wanted him to love me, I mean really love me.
Maybe that’s why I did it again.
I remember vividly the first time I said a swear word. The kids in the neighborhood howled with laughter as I gave into the pressure. They coaxed me to do it again.
I was a rule follower, labeled a “goody-goody”. I didn’t talk back or make waves. I didn’t drink, smoke cigarettes or do drugs. I had a small group of friends with the same values and we were never ever going to have sex before marriage. ——————————————————————-
He came from a broken home, had an alcoholic, abusive and mostly absent father. His extended family wasn’t much better. He was 17 and experienced. I was 15 and naïve. I was going to be his savior. I would show him how to love and be loved.
I didn’t know I was just something else for him to conquer, for him to manipulate and control.
Alleluia! My story doesn’t end with a broken heart and broken promises, no! This is a story of redemption. The blue carpet remains in that room but my heart is no longer there. It has been restored, made whole. Someone came along and picked up every last piece, refined it in the fire and presented it to me as new. Yes! I met Jesus at his feet and he doesn’t call me broken or filthy. He calls me Beautiful One, Holy and Righteous.