All of Me
Ever since I wrote about that sixteen-year-old girl who wrote Christian romance, I’ve been thinking of her. I find myself bringing her up in conversations with people I’m just meeting. She lived in those worlds because she wanted to surround herself with romance.
Perhaps that is why she was so drawn to fiction. In fiction, you can create the story you want to live.
Finally, yesterday morning, I opened the document on my computer from all those years ago. Originally, I wrote it on a desktop computer, located in the breakfast nook, just off the kitchen. I would sneak in time to write when I could, taking my turn on the computer along with the rest of the family.
The files have followed me to my first laptop, and then onto two more. Now, when I open them on my latest Mac, I am prompted to upgrade them.
So, I do.
As I read through, I let my eyes wander, reading passages when they caught my eye. I’m reading about Jami, whose life is transformed following a car accident. She’s interested in a guy named Brandon, but she’s not sure if he’s interested in her. She thinks about it for a little while, and that sixteen-year-old girl that I once was concluded her attempts to pierce the ambiguity just as she did in her own life: Well, that’s all right, she thought, God wants all of me anyway.
I stopped there and wished with all of my might that I could take her in my arms and hold her and tell her that loneliness isn’t a sin, and that wanting to be in a relationship didn’t make her a bad Christian.
When I started this series, I loved the wordplay of Single-Minded Mondays. But if I’ve learned anything at all since then, it’s how very un-single my mind is. I’m easily distracted by work and home and the occasional TV show. I don’t need a husband to pull my attention in a million directions.
God wants all of me, anyway.
You can almost hear the sigh, can’t you? I know she meant well. In fact, I think she was repeating what she heard in youth group and read in the Christian dating books she so greedily devoured.
I kept thinking about this as I sipped my tea. The thing is, I’ve learned a little more about “all of me” since I was her. I’ve learned that all of me is cynical and sarcastic, perfectionistic and hopeful, textured and romantic.
I’ve also learned a little about God, since those days. I’ve learned that God is not a jealous boyfriend, worried that I will meet someone and forget about Him. I’ve learned that God is not intent on a staring contest with me.
If I were to say those words today, hesitant as I might be, with their history, I would mean something like what Sarah Bessey said in her talk at the IF:gathering: “God doesn’t want to use you, God wants to be with you, because He loves you.”
I’m single now, but all of me includes a desire for that to change. Something tells me that God is okay with that.
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