By: Angel Vinsonhaler
There are people who know him. People that know of my feelings
for him. These people could be counted on my fingers and my toes. They are
special people whom I have looked to many times for advice.
"He loves you more than anything." I have heard many of them say.
I always smile when this is said, but remain silent, joyfully thinking of how true that statement is but also wondering why.
"Why does he care about me?" I've always been too afraid to ask. "I mess up all the time. People usually get mad when you do something wrong, but no, he's so understanding. He forgives me even before I ask for it. So what have I done that was so special to gain his love?" I silently wonder.
Silently, it's usually silent between the two of us. That's the way we like it. It's during those silent moments each day is when I usually hear him the loudest. I can call him during those times and talk to him about anything. It could be the slightest concern, or the greatest praise and he will listen as if nothing else mattered.
I feel like he's almost a stalker sometimes, prowling just around each corner. I can feel him watching, and I know he's close.
Using the words "stalker" and "prowler" makes him sound scary. These words create terror in most, but to me, it's safety. Knowing that he's always there, ready to wrap his arms around me during the tough times and just hold me close makes the sun seam to shine a little brighter.
I just wish I could do more to deserve that security he provides me with. Our relationship is unbalanced, one sided. This problem has erupted due to my own selfishness. Yes, I have no doubt that it is my fault. I could do more to please him. I could listen to his words of advice, could share him with my friends, show him off like others before me have.
During those quiet times, as we lay in my bed side-by-side whispering about our day, I feel it the strongest. The feeling that I'm unworthy breaks me up inside, many times bringing me to tears. I apologize as he wipes my sorrow away and says that everything will be okay. I believe him, although sometimes this process may take awhile or repeat itself a number of times throughout our discussion that is held in those prayer like whispers during the night.
The sobs are sincere, but so is his love as he holds me close. I promise to do better, promise him that I will try harder if he will just give me another chance. And of course, he always does. I take his love for granted. I know he'll always be there. I feel warm again, and the shivering stops, yet he does not let go. His arms remain in their position, holding me through the following restless hours.
I must fall asleep at the end of this ritual because I always wake up refreshed.
"Those sobs were sincere." I vainly struggle to convince both him and myself before climbing on top of the warm blankets of my peaceful bed. "Today is the day." I seem so sure. "Before school or after, during lunch or the short passing periods between my six long classes." I recite the opportune moments as I promise to call to him, acknowledge his presence and introduce him to my friends.
He seams satisfied at the time and I am energized, believing that today would be the day.
The first bell rings and I feel as if I have missed a chance.
I walk the halls, silently, and feel his presence near.
"I'm sorry." I try to apologize quietly.
"It's okay." He says; always so positive.
"Keep your head up." He whispers so only I can hear. "I love you." This raises my confidence and I raise my head toward him.
"I love you too." I am sincere.
As the day passes and I miss all the obvious chances I walk a little quicker, my head hanging a little lower. I am afraid to meet him face to face, scared that he will be disappointed and dare I say, give up?
I walk home, seemingly alone and feel a cool breeze rush through me as though I were paper-thin.
The other students, to poor for a vehicle or residing to close for one to be a necessity, pass rapidly, giggling or complaining amongst themselves.
Eventually everyone has passed by and I am left alone. Although embarrassed at my own failure, and afraid of his reaction, I can't help being curious about where he is. We always walk together.
I call him as curiosity wins the battle within, and he answers immediately.
My voice is soft, shaky, scared. "Are you angry with me?" Maybe not a very good opening line but I had to know.
"Your afraid to be alone." His voice was filled with compassion. "I have felt alone before. Just walking, silently, head low, often in prayer, wishing someone would simply notice me. Hoping someone could see my pain and come to the rescue." He pauses.
"Listen to me now. Are you listening?" His voice is firm but also gentle and loving.
I nod my head, "I'm listening."
"You don't have to share me with anyone. I will always be right by your side, during times of good and bad. You don't have to tell anyone about me and I won't be angry with you. That takes time. And it's scary. I know just how scary it can be. Not everyone is ready for that right away, especially those that fear rejection. You don't know many people, and most think you’re strange as it is. 'Strange' is how you are labeled because you are different. People fear change, fear difference, so they may be weary of you and you may not jump on the opportunity to speak to them."
I take a breath and speak up. "I shouldn't be ashamed of you.” Immediately I rethink those words.
“No, ashamed isn't the right word because I am proud to know you, I really am. I am thankful to have you walking by my side, encouraging me, making me smile, being a reminder to make good choices. I see you standing off in the distance somewhere, watching, and I want to make you proud of me. Though, I'm ashamed to admit that this relationship is one sided. I am selfish. You do so much to make me happy, a joy I don't deserve. And then, looking at you, those holes, scrapes and gashes, knowing that I've done that to you. You endured all of that so I could be safe, secure, and happy. What have I done to deserve that kind of love?"
"You have believed and that is enough for me. You believed in me when many others have turned away. I have offered everyone I have met the same free gift that you were brave enough to accept. You had a child-like faith, trusting what I have said without doubt. That strong faith is something to be proud of.
As for your question. It's simple. I loved you so much that I was willing to do anything to be with you. I knew you couldn't survive on your own and I did not want to see you fail. You are not a failure simply because you are afraid to tell others about me. One day, you will be ready for that and I will stand by your side whispering the right words into your ear and you will not be afraid.
You have accepted my past without doubt. That opened up the door for our relationship to begin. Now, my sister, are you willing to trust my love for you in the same doubtless manner?"
Up until now our conversation had been held as silent as the wind but at this point I raised my head and voiced my response. "Yes! Yes, Lord, and thank you."
I had walked to the bus stop by this time and many people looked up from their newspapers or stopped their conversations to stare at me. I was standing a little away from the others, talking to myself. I was different. This made me smile. I was proud to be different. Proud to have such a good friend constantly by my side.
The bus arrived and everyone scrambled to its shelter knowing it would be safe from the autumn breeze. I realized that I no longer felt cold and hung back to let the others rush for the good seats.
By the time I finally climbed on almost every seat was occupied.
"You can sit by me." The quiet voice came from a young girl, probably a good five years younger than myself, as she removed her book bag from the unoccupied spot beside her.
"Thank you." I said politely, trying to match to the soft tone of the bus humming it's way down the block.
"Can I ask you something?" She looked straight into my eyes.
"Sure." I smiled at her warmly.
"Who were you talking to?" She half pointed to the empty bus stop out the window.
I knew He was just showing off. It shouldn't have been that easy.
I felt peaceful and unafraid as I began to tell of the man who endured many hardships to be able to come back and offer us a free gift, a get out of jail free card, if you will, simply because He loves us all.
"What have I done to deserve that kind of love?" The young girl asked, skeptically.
As I began to share the secret I had just fully grasped myself, I noticed that the conversations had dulled on the bus and even the adults had not been turning pages in their newspapers..............
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