What better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day than by talking about fake love?
Seriously, Noel? #waytobeadebbydowner
Honestly, though, it was totally inspired by my experience serving at my church’s Teen Service, this past Sunday. Not only was their topic titled “Fake Love” (I’m so original, obvi), but the message motivated me to dig out my old journals… filled to the brim with hopes, wishes, dreams, tears, sorrow, and agony all centered around the love that I craved.
The fake love, that is.
Nothing terrifies me more than falling down the rabbit hole of my youthful memories, and contemplating how my daughter might end up exactly like me.
My stomach literally lurches at the thought.
While I’m doing my best to keep her so filled up with my love, my husband’s love, and Jesus’ love, so she doesn’t feel the need to fill up elsewhere, I realize optimism is one of my more endearing qualities.
Anyways, I stumbled across a poem I wrote at the height of my teenaged tortured existence, and I thought I would share it. Share it for any teenage girls who come across my blog, for any moms who still haven’t learned their value, for any woman, any where…
This poem is meant as a warning. It was written with my own tears. I can joke about it now, but when I read these words, my heart cries out for all the young women who are where I was… who feel what I’ve felt… who don’t know that they don’t need to settle…
Who don’t realize that this isn’t love…
Typing that out… hurt.
Seeing those words… hurts.
Sharing those feelings of utter lack of self-respect… hurts.
This poem, while certainly not going to win any awards, is the culmination of my teenage years. It is my heart, broken and bleeding across the page of my high school journal. It is my desperation, my search to fill the void in me with anyone, anything. It is my emotional hostage situation, a bargain to numb everything I didn’t want to feel and to feel anything I couldn’t numb. It was my cry for mercy, my plea for love, my battle cry and white flag of surrender.
That boy that it was written for? That’s not what’s important here. That’s not what I remember.
It was never about the boy.
It never really is.
It’s about what’s missing in the girl.
Psalm 63: 1-5 “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water. I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.” (my own emphasis)
Why couldn’t I have known that? Why couldn’t I have filled up on that- on God’s love?
The poem I wrote is the result of fake love. Psalm 63 is a powerful reminder of who’s love we should seek, first and foremost.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
When in doubt, hold up your current love to that which is described through God’s amazing words.
I truly hope this Valentine’s Day fills you with all the warm fuzzies you can handle… and I pray that those fuzzies come to you through the knowledge that despite how you are treated by anyone on this planet… you are beyond loved and adored by our Father in Heaven. He calls you His. He thinks you’re incredible. There is nothing more precious, more important to Him than you.
It’s a lot like that heart shaped box of chocolate delights every woman secretly longs for today (everyday?): Some you avoid because the filling is really just a solid waste of time (I’m looking at you, coconut), and some are the raspberry creams of the bunch. They all look delicious on the outside, because chocolate, but do yourself a solid and skip the empty calories that won’t fill you up. #choosewisely (By the way, we’re talking about fake vs. true love, here, not the actual candies. The actual eating of the candies I wholeheartedly support. Amen.)
Can you relate to this poem in any way? If not, can you just take a quick second and pray that my daughter never can, either? Thanks, doll!