I've still been saying to God, "Here I am, still ready for Your whisper and still listening for the Holy Spirit to reveal what's next."
The answers I've been seeking led me to a place I did not expect to go. My emotions, while being sick, have wanted a Mom to take care of me. To sit with me, to rub my back, to sing to me and to bring me soup. I have early memories of my mom doing all those things. I have emotions of feeling loved by her.
As I grew more independent those special moments faded. As the alcoholism in our home grew more violent, my needs were never more considered. I wanted to be the child who felt loved and was taken care of properly. Not abandoned or neglected or abused or abused because I protected my sisters and Mom from him.
No, I wanted what my friends seemed to have.
When I look at how my sisters and my friends take care of their children, I wish with all my heart that I could have had that love, protection and care. But that wasn't the case.
To be a child who received what she needed means those who were in charge of my well being had to be the adults they should have been. And in my home, eventually, no such person existed.
I am naturally drawn to women (my close friends) who are great moms. I admire the way they care for their children, especially when their children are struggling or in denial about the truth. Some of them have said, "Amy, I wish I would have been your mom." I feel instantly guilty and embarrassed. It catches me off guard so I ask, "Why?"
"I would have protected you," is the most common response. There have been other responses but that's the one that sticks in my head. They are very sincere and I know it's a tender moment between us. Tender feelings make me want to runaway. I'm afraid, at this stage in my life, to have women console my pain.
My mom is still here. Our relationship has healed a lot. Since I've been on my own so much, I don't think I can let those words ("I would have protected you") from others, even though I do not doubt their sincerity, enter into my heart. I love and treasure my Mom. We've forgiven each other. We have a beautiful friendship and she's my hero. It's not perfect but we've come a long way.
Yes, I long to be loved deeply but that kind of love comes from God and I still struggle with receiving His love.
I do not open up past friendships where wounds from others have been closed and remain a scar.
I don't know if it's God's will to heal this hurt on earth and I'm more afraid of making a mistake than I am of hearing Him say, "This friend's for you, too." I don't know what to do with that because I don't want to make a mistake.
I hold my friendship with my mom and sisters closely. I ease into new friendships cautiously. I have two handfuls of friends whom I hold loosely yet trust them explicitly. I ask questions to those who want to be my friend out of curiosity. I allow women I feel safe with to touch my face (where my Dad would strike me), to touch my head (where my Dad would shove or slam me), to give me a hug or be near to me (where my Dad would beat me) and to hold my hands and draw me close (where my Dad would stare into my eyes challenging me to fight him).
The longing to be loved will always be a chasm. I doubt I will fully believe God loves me until Jesus takes me home and God takes my chin, tilts up my head (because I'll be looking down), looks into my eyes and says so.
In the meantime, I be the gentle soul God kept safe inside me.
I talk my walk and share my walk with friends I've grown to love and trust.
Healthy friends and a healthy me who depends on far less than they ever give.
It's really that simple.
Growing up feeling unloved can leave a chasm in your soul. God is the only one who can fill it completely so in the meantime, breathe in the love your friends give you. Sometimes, they help you sustain life.
