Life of Rachel

I tried, I begged for him not to choose me, to not love me because I wanted to protect myself from a world of pain. 

He was a hound with the scent of prey; 

He said he knew he had struck gold and he wouldn’t stop. 

He saw me when I didn’t want him to. He saw I was soft and tender and wholehearted and innocent when no one else could. I fawned; lost and uncovered.

I begged for him not to see and know. I asked God himself to cover and to hide me. 

His steadfast pace and piercing gaze and coaxing words began to lower my defenses: He fed me morsels of affection that eased the aching hunger in my belly, he made me his pet and told me he chose me. 

When I gave in, when I finally gave in, he had worn me down to the last of my self preservation and I gave my heart without reservation. It was all of me. My passion, my love, my fight, my hurt. 

 But I was right. I was right. I was right to want to run and hide. A hunter after his prized dear. He was not a safe place. I was just his game. 

How do I take my heart back? 

What do I do to ease this pain? My heart seems to think that nothing can make it go away. I got to a point where I had given my all and then you took my heart with you and lied about where you pinned it up on the wall of your home. My love was a trophy you gloated to your friends about. 

I really am a stranger to this brokenness. I take so long to heal and hide. The pain of an arrow to my chest feels foreign and caused such bleeding and labored breathing: In vain I search for answers to find temporary relief in information. 

I am afraid, Jesus. I am afraid that this tainted and jagged pursuit has undone me and I will not be capable of loving well again. That I would just repeat the same hurtful pattern to someone else. Please keep me. Let me heal rightly.