Two years ago at this time, I was head-over-heels in love.
The story of my now ex-boyfriend is a long one, with many mountains and valleys, most of which I'm still trying to make sense, so I won't go into all the details just yet.
What's important to note is that, at that time, I believed (as did he) that God had spoken to each of us about the significance of the other. Also, I had a closer spiritual connection with him than I ever had with anyone - and vice versa.
The time we spent together was filled with some of the happiest, most spiritually challenging, fulfilling, exciting, and creative moments I had ever known in all of my almost-30 years. We spent the spring of 2012 making church homes between mine and his, sharing our thoughts, our theologies, and our prayers, and learning more about God and His love than we knew possible together.
And then, things went downhill fast.
Suddenly, it was as if the last eight months were a dream conjured up in my mind. He pushed me away, shoved me aside like a kid in a middle school hallway. I can only assume it was fear - fear about our connection, fear about the future, fear about changes in his life that had nothing to do with me but about which I bore the brunt of his reaction anyway. Fear is the ugliest motivator I know.
He moved away in a flash, and it was as if nothing had ever happened between us. He forgot me - or perhaps he didn't care to think about me anymore. Reeling from being thrown aside like yesterday's garbage, I tried to at least stay friends - calling, emailing, even driving three hours across the state to visit. In those moments, it seemed like he remembered, like he was grateful for me and could still almost see me as the girl he'd once tearfully described as having the greatest impact on his faith of anyone in his life.
But as soon as we hung up the phone or I pulled out of his driveway, the silence returned. And then, even worse, he replaced me with another girl around this time last year.
When he needed me, he'd call - like when he needed prayer about finding a new job, or staying in the town he'd run away to, where he was now feeling spiritually bereft. "I need you to pray for me," he'd say. "You're the strongest person of faith I know."
But then, again, once he decided on the job and the town - silence.
Like I said, I'm still working through it.
Our sudden breakup was a year and a half ago now. For all intents and purposes, I've moved on. I'm dating a sweet, affectionate young man who sees my value and makes a point to tell me so. He calls me his little bunny and often reaches for my hand in public. In the past year I moved to a new house, got a new job, got a new start. When we drove past my ex's church on the way to our New Year's Eve dinner with my parents, it didn't sting the way it used to.
And yet sometimes, like on Sunday mornings, the silence still surrounds me. Mocking.
My friends don't understand why I care. They have colorful names for my ex, or they just don't feel the need to talk about him at all. The way he treated me - and some of them, in the process - left a bitter taste in their mouths.
The problem is that when someone you love, esteem, admire, and cherish - with whom you [thought you] learned about God's very nature - casts you aside and treats you like you're worthless, it's very easy to think that God is doing the same.
I would have stepped in front of a bus before I'd say that God didn't speak to me - to both of us - telling us to be together. There was a time, I believe, he would have wholeheartedly agreed.
Now, all I hear is you're nothing. You're worthless. You don't matter. I've replaced you.
Since he left, I've been further from God than I ever knew I could be. I've wept, I've raged, I've begged, I've become righteously indignant and unceremoniously angry. I've pleaded with God for reasons, for answers. I've taken responsibility, I've taken blame, and then I've crumbled when none of that gave me the answers I need.
I still can't make sense of it. I still don't know why any of it happened. I still don't understand how he could go from viewing me as vital to insignificant.
I'm afraid I never will.
It's not just him, though. It's not just a breakup or the loss of him, however important he was to me at one time. What's worse is that for months, I've felt like God has been silent, too.
It's as if God has made that same judgment about me. Not picking up the phone. This is God, leave a message. Not answering emails. Your spiritual inbox is empty. Forgetting me once I pull out of the driveway. Who are you, again?
You're nothing. You're worthless. You don't matter. I've replaced you.
The silence is deafening.
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