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Unworthy...Yet Not Unloved
Things never seemed as bad when he was around. He would make me laugh, hold me when the world was too harsh on me, protect me from everyone who’d hurt me. I loved him more than I thought humanly possible. He was everything I needed and more – he finished me in a way no one else could.
So why did he leave me? Why did he make me cry? Why did he turn into someone I would need to hide from? Why did he hurt me? Wasn’t I everything he needed…didn’t I finish him, too? Maybe…no. It couldn’t be. There’s no way. We loved each other more than that. There has to be something else. Unless…was it true? Were they right? I thought they just wanted him…but were they, maybe…looking out for me? Why didn’t I listen to them? Now they’re gone, too. I’ve tried to find them. But they ignore me. He’s disappeared, too. I can’t find him. Now who’ll protect me? Who’s going to make me laugh, to wipe away my tears?
There has to be someone out there. I just have to find him…
No. He isn’t the one. He can’t be. But he promises he is…do I believe him? I’ve been hurt before, I tell him. It’s all right, he whispers. We’ll take it slow. I’m just waiting for you. His words warm me in a way his never did. Could it be…?
Once again, I’m left behind. How do I let myself love them when all they love is…is…my body? How could they take advantage of my love? I admit, they make me feel like I’m loved, that they love me…but afterwards, they just leave me. Is this all love is?
My life turns into a hopeless search for love. The question plagues me mercilessly – the doubts follow me everywhere; down the street, into another’s arms, into yet another bed. Everywhere I go, the doubts are there. And each time I wake to the sun, each time I feel another man’s arms around me, each time I slip away, they grow stronger. This isn’t love. Perhaps there is more than one night. Perhaps there is someone who actually looks at me with something other than ‘that’ look in his eyes – maybe we’d have things in common and sometimes would enjoy a conversation. It didn’t matter. It would never last.
I become so lost in my life, in my fruitless quest for love, or what I think love is, I paid little attention to anything else.
I am empty. Completely and utterly empty. Of everything. I can’t find the urge to even stand up – I stay in bed all day, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t even know someone else was in the room until I see him. Even then, I only see his shadow – and in my half-dead state, thought he is just another man. But when he tucks the covers in around me, when he strokes my hair, I see his hands. They’re different. Strong, yes. Big, working hands…but they’re scarred. Both of them – as if he had nailed himself through in both hands. I look up in his face…and completely forget about everything else. There is everything in his face – I can see the love in his eyes, the love I had been searching for…and the perfection.
This Man could never want me. I’m far from perfect – my mind shoots back through all the things I had done, searching in vain for one thing to make me worthy of His love. There is nothing – only things to put me farther away from Him. I turn away, unable to see what I couldn’t have. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for Him to leave, once He saw who I was.
Instead, He lifts me into His arms. He holds me close to Him, tucks my head under His chin. “I know,” He whispers. His voice sends thousands of chills through me – chills stronger than any I had felt in my search for love. “I know what you’ve done.” At these words, sobs tear out of my throat and I bury my head in His chest. “Then You can’t love me,” I cry. “No one could love me if they knew what I’ve done.” He shakes His head. “You see my hands?” I nod. “My feet have the same scars. Here – “ He guides my hand to His side. I feel the scarred flesh and shuddered, still weeping, unable to understand. “These are what’s left of My death – reminders for Me, and for you, of what I’ve done.” “W-what have You done?” I look up into that perfect face, daring to gaze into those eyes so full of love. “Nothing deserving the death I had, My girl.” My own eyes widen and I drop my gaze, tears welling up once more. “No! I can’t be Your girl. You…You can’t know all that I’ve done.” “But I do, My darling. I was with you from the first time your heart was broken. I was with you when you wept, when you tried to find love in all the wrong places. I walked with you when you tried to figure out why you felt so empty. I watched you stare in the mirror, trying to find some reason to love yourself.” Now He is weeping, too – tears fall onto my hair and arms, onto my face when I look up at Him. “You didn’t call Me,” He whispers, pulling me close to Him. “I was right there all along…but you didn’t look for Me. I was there – love was waiting for you every time you woke up in the morning, every time you turned the corner. I was waiting…”
We both weep – I for my stupidity and worthlessness, He for my hurt and aching heart. “What does that change?” I ask, finally. “I can never love You the way You deserve to be loved. I don’t deserve even a moment of Your love – how could I have what I don’t deserve?” He smiles and wipes away my tears with His scarred hand. “My love makes you worthy, My darling,” He whispers. “I did everything for you.” He stands and takes my hand. “Come, My girl. Come and see what I have for you.”
So I left my life of shame and fruitless searching and followed Him, the Man with the scarred hands and eyes of love; the Prince Who put His kingdom aside because of His love for a peasant girl; the Lover Who had finally caught His wayward bride.