Note from Dee:
This is pretty much straight from my journal—captured feelings and “thought pictures.” I’ve made no effort to clarify or story-fy. It is what it is. If you find something here you relate to, I hope it leads you closer to the ONLY One Who truly satisfies our hearts—Jesus.
Something’s wrong. Is it me?
Can I make it better? Maybe if I’m very good…
“You’re a good girl.” She smiles. She loves me. We have fun.
Uh-oh. Something is wrong again. Her words hurt sometimes. I feel very alone. I need to be good so she won’t be so sad.
A daddy to love me!
I’m so happy! I’ve wished for this a long, long time. Since I was five, I think. That’s when I first knew I didn’t have one. He doesn’t act like it now, but I know he’ll love me. I’ll show him how wonderful I can be. He’ll like me, I’m sure.
But… the way he looks at me.
That’s the word.
There’s something else. He has mad eyes. Does he… hate me?
I’m so confused. What is making him that way?
It must be me.
I try so hard to be the little girl a daddy will want. Will love.
He never hugs me.
He never takes my hand.
He never smiles at me.
I’ve tried everything.
I guess something’s wrong with me.
He’s handsome and athletic. I’m flattered he’s interested. His family is fun, and they really like me. It feels like what I want.
Someone to love.
To be loved.
To belong somewhere.
I work to make it special for us. But something’s wrong. He takes all I offer, but without much comment. He is aloof, smugly amused by my efforts.
I give. He takes.
I give more. He takes more.
Surely he’ll reciprocate?
I chase him for his love. He laughs and taunts me, holding his love at arm’s length, just where I can’t reach it.
Is he rejecting me? I don’t know. I must try harder. Surely he loves me? I don’t know that either.
Is he using me?
I pull away.
He pursues me, charms me back into his arms.
Ahhh, he loves me!
I feel secure.
Then the hurtful game begins again.
Taunting. Teasing. Keeping himself and his love just beyond my grasp.
On and off. On and off.
Over and over and over and over and over.
I am drained dry. Shriveling. Fading. Disappearing. Dying?
It ends, at last.
I grieve and celebrate all at once.
I failed. I tried so hard, and failed.
But I’m alive.
I thought I was dead, but now the joy seeps back into my fragile mind, my broken soul. I was crushed underfoot, but I begin to rise and bloom again.
He comes. Silently.
He whispers with a roar. “I Am Enough.”
His words swirl inside my head. In that split second I am wide-eyed. Knowing Who it is, my tears flow. In surprise. In awe. In submission.
It has begun, although I don’t yet know it.
He is calling me. Wooing me irrevocably to Himself.
The journey is long. Hard sometimes. But He is always there. Most often unseen. Lifting. Guiding. Nudging.
Then finally, giving me courage to uncurl. To open up and let Him touch my bleeding, hurting heart. The heart my wounds taught me to protect.
He comes in. Gently. Carefully. I feel His strength. His protection. His passion and His jealousy for me.
He makes me a new creation.
A new child.
A new daughter.
A new bride.
He has no words of censure. He has no expectations of me, but simply to be His.
His words are full of love—they evoke no guilt or shame or anger or confusion.
He holds me snugly in strong arms.
He takes my small hand in His as we walk together.
He smiles at me with eyes that make my soul dance!
His touch is pleasant. Welcomed. Desired.
I am in love. I am smitten. I have it all, yet long for more. More of Him.
He is the Love I sought, desired, desperately needed, and never found.
He is Mother, Father, Husband.
He is more Love than I knew existed.
I don’t have to be anything.
He is Enough.