The Third Time was the Charm

 

He only hit her the one time. It was a slap to the face, but that’s hitting right?  She was barely 19 years old, they’d been living together almost a year, and it was during an argument.  She loved him. Her definition of love anyway. He was her first adult boyfriend. She was much too inexperienced to understand that the ghosts of childhood and girlfriends past drip onto current relationships. She was still an emotional child herself.

After the first year, she would explain to him.  She would tell him that she was his, but not for taking or possessing.  In the depths of the despairing argument she would assert, “I give myself to you.”  She offered her love and attention and all the gifts she was aware of…to him.  He didn’t know and respect that subtle difference.  To deeply love another person is to respect them so much that you delight in what they are offering themselves.  Back then, she could only imagine another person could offer themselves in such a way to her; And, without expectation or ruthlessly taking beyond what she offered to give.

That ended. She grew. She found her prince charming.  This second chance to love proved worthy.  Outward respect, offer to make all dreams come true, obvious perfection. Marriage, children, building a life.  These were active goals that took love, understanding, and so much communication and working together.  She deeply and vulnerably loved him.  Her determination to be all he wanted and needed, and his gifts to her warranted that. Yet, he emotionally hit her with the sort of soul breaking dust storm that gets continually buried through years of sedimentary strata. 

After decades, she would sit in the dark caverns of nighttime conversation. She was the problem. She was too sensitive. She was creating drama out of normalcy. She was going to offer and try and do all the things to improve.  She was alone in this quest. There wasn’t even a conversation about taking and possessing…it was simply he owned her like an esteemed and expensive sportscar. Her quality and maintenance were emotionally expensive. She wasn’t a viable daily driver.  He’d find someone else for that.

She learned so many lessons. Middle age showed that above all self-love provides shelter. Her God was there, succoring any wounds into multilayered lessons of peace. She got comfortable enough in this love, to consider staying in this safe place. But her heart found and reached out, until she crashed into her rock.

All that matters is her definition of love, that she learned all along the path to now. This man was a gift, he offers her truth, and the quiet moments are raw and real. While she washes over the man, she loves with smooth waves meant to soften roughness and round the edges. He’s unable to allow that.  He does not know the self-love she speaks of. While she acknowledges the beauty of his gifts, he cannot see his own, or unfortunately…hers.  The third time is his tragedy.  She loves and weeps for his losses. She cannot teach that she is the offering. She cannot barrel through the high wall of defense to show her motives are pure.  He can’t find a way to trust her love and has taken more than he can give.  After time, this becomes an expectation and finally an excuse to put up a fearful heavy defense. Soon, all explodes in destruction. She has to save…herself alone.

But for her, the third time is the charm. She’s not settling or seeking. She has safely placed herself, in God’s care. He does not exploit, expect, or efface her genuine offering of her vulnerable self and she can trust in Him.