How He Feels About Me.

So I kind of like this one guy still.

One thing though. He’s still totally into someone else. I’ve tried to fight my feelings because I know it’s a futile operation, but still the feeling remains.

Today was complicated. He’s been pulling away from me to “help” me. You know, less texts, phone calls, emails. He’s keeping it all business, but I keep holding on.

God just gave me this revelation though. The way I’m wanting this guy to come to his senses and realize I’m the one he wants is the same way God is desperate for me. He’s desperate for me, but my interests, just like this guy, lie elsewhere though I really love Him. I’m divided.

But how much would I BEAM if this guy turned his heart to me? So how much more would the God of the Universe radiate if I turned my heart toward Him completely?

So I’m asking God to transfer the feelings I have for this guy, this devotion I cherish, to Him.

I’m afraid though. I love that feeling of being infatuated. Or what if I’m so in love with God that I can’t love a man when the time comes? But God is like…God. He’ll expand my ability to love completely and unconditionally when it’s right. I mean, God created desire. He told me to go be fruitful and multiply so He’s definitely for my next relationship. The relationship is part of His plan for my life.

He loves me so much that He says whoever messes with me is messing with the apple of His eye (Zech. 2:8).

So I don’t have to worry about the dude who doesn’t want me. I know how the God of my heart feels about me. And how He feels about me is indescribable.

Be blessed.

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Passion and Principle.


So recently I led a group in my home about relationships, and it was so much fun. It was a co-ed group, evenly split between women and men. When the group was over, I felt like I was really ready to date the “right way.” After all, I now had a blueprint to go by.

One problem. I had the blueprint but no tools to build with.

Over ten years ago, I decided to become celibate—I’d had a pretty dark past, and I just wanted God to heal me. Of course I still had crushes, I still went out here and there. But I never got into anything serious. After this class was over however, I ran into three different men who were interested in me.

And I lost. My. Mind.

I had a set of principles that I was living by before. But the principles had changed all of a sudden.

For ten years, the principle was simply this: Don’t touch. You’re just not ready.

But what was my new principle now that I was ready to do relationships right? I hadn’t bothered to figure that out.

I struggle with a seriously compulsive personality when not kept in check. What do I mean by compulsive? Blurting everything that comes to mind, identifying every emotion and acting on it. I used to call it being passionate, but really, it’s just a lack of self-control.

Before chastity, I had no boundaries. I did whatever made me feel good. Before chastity, I would have found a way to be with all three of those guys who liked me. And because I was who I was, I would have lost them all. I knew what was good for my mind, body and spirit—I was raised with principles. But what I wanted, whatever I was passionate about, always superseded what I knew was best for me.

Can I just tell you—that’s such an exhausting way to live. But He’s making me better.

Two things are helping me get principled. Galatians 5:22/23 talks about the fruit of the Spirit being comprised of many virtues including self-control. God is showing me how ridiculous my lack of control looks, not just as a Christ-follower, but just in general. I mean, really? Who enjoys constantly being around someone who is out of control? It’s fun at first, kind of exciting. But after a while, it’s just annoying. And if the person who’s out of control is you, it’s not like you can get away.

The second thing is realizing that passion for something or someone is like a cup of hot coffee. In the cup, it can be sipped and enjoyed. When it’s spilled all over the place, it can burn you and the people around you. No one enjoys that.

Pretty simple.

It’s like Mr. Miyagi say: “Danielson, never put passion over principle. Even if win, you lose.” So today, right now, just call me Charlie Sheen. Because I’m, duh, winning.

Be blessed.

Old Dog

If I were a dog, I think I’d like to be a labrador. Everyone loves them. They get picked first at the pound. They’re beautiful in a variety of colors. In fact, I think I’d get even more specific. I think I’d like to be a labrador puppy—they’re fluffy and learn tricks fairly quickly. Plus people like the new, the cute, the lovable. The mixed breed, the old dog with the missing leg—well, it can be lovable, but unless someone takes pity on it, it’s getting put down.

As it stands though, I’m a working-class human female, who’s 36 and in debt. I know, with this resumé one might wonder why I’m not yet married. Surprisingly enough, I believe it has little to do with my stellar list of accomplishments. It has more to do with the company I keep.

Inevitably, wherever God places me, I find a way to attach myself to men who are not remotely interested in me. My next door neighbor who lingers at my front porch a little too long. My friend in the visual department who stops by to see me every morning. My gay co-worker who wants to take salsa lessons with me. The list is embarrassingly long and unlikely, so I’ll stop here.

The attraction for him comes out of nowhere. It’s spawned by something he said or did or something someone else said to make me wonder about something he said or did.

The recovery movement has popularized a spot-on definition of insanity: doing the same thing repeatedly but expecting a different result. According to this, I should’ve been locked up ages ago. Through the years, I’ve attached myself to guy friends expecting emotional reciprocation, expecting—I admit it—love. No, I have obviously never been literally put down like a shelter animal, but in the emotional sense, I’ve been picked up, handled and then put back down a lot when something newer and shinier comes along.

Today the pitiful cycle came to a halt.

I’m a forward kind of gal, I like to put all the cards on the table. I don’t like to waste time in relationships. I save that for work.

My guy friend and I were sitting in my garage hanging out, when I finally asked him who he was interested in. My family and friends saw his behavior and kept telling me he MUST like me. It turns out that he’s interested in a mutual friend of ours, and I have to admit, it stung to hear it out loud even though I’d suspected.

And why wouldn’t he? My friend is amazing. She’s also petite and ten years younger than me.

My heart has never learned this axiom: guys aren’t like us. When they’re hanging out, they’re really just hanging out. It means nothing. When a girl is spending countless hours sitting with, talking on the phone to or texting a guy, it has the potential to mean everything. It’s just biology.

So today, after all these years, I did it. I put my foot down. I told him since he was interested in someone else, our relationship had to have better boundaries. I gave him specific examples of how his actions said we were more than friends. When I strung them together for him, he saw my logic. Because we work on several projects together, we came up with some measurables—how many phone calls are appropriate, texts, emails, their content, etc. I won’t bore you with the details.

He left, and I went into my house to shed a few tears. Lo and behold, not twenty minutes later, guess who was texting me? You know it, my friend. Like a crazy woman, I picked up my phone to respond. Halfway through my text, I saw the insanity of it. I erased my half-completed message and put down my phone.

An hour or so later, guess who had emailed me twice? My friend again. Testing the waters, I assume. I’m learning though: to get something different, you have to do something different. And that part of me that I’ve been giving, the heart of me, he doesn’t get to have access to that anymore. He should have never had access to that without a commitment.

He chose the labrador puppy, not the three-legged mutt.

But the joke’s on him.

You’ve heard the old adage, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

Well, today I’m here to tell you that you most certainly can.

Be blessed.