‘Alright, out with it toots’. Gian taps the table over breakfast.
‘It’s a no,’ I respond, bursting into a hundred tears over my eggs.
There’s an element of silence, an element of relief for him, an element of concern for my eggs.
‘I don’t know why’ I continue, ‘It was so close to a yes, but I’m scared of losing you, but that’s not a good enough reason to keep you. I want to dynamite burn for you. And although my soul is so in love with you. My brain just can’t compute with it all’.
‘Ok’. He faintly smiles. ‘I told you to just be obedient to the Lord. And you’ve done that’.
WHY DID HE HAVE TO GO AND BE SO NICE?
It’s so much easier when you reject a man and he becomes the personification of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, because at least you know you’ve missed a bullet. This time however I felt like I missed out on playing with a litter of puppies – forever.
He seemed relaxed, still in himself. Almost HAPPY about the notion, which made me question if he was ever that keen in the first place, but I had to crawl away with my tail between the legs and accept the choices I made. It wasn’t fair on his heart any longer.
The next couple of days found Gian really cheery, going on camping trips, finding new life in creativity, music, his worship sets were off the scale, and even though we were still in communicado – I went into hiding, a typical trait I do when I’m a)writing a book b) not wanting to show the puffy eyes.
He calls as per usual from a cliff somewhere, not to throw himself off it to show some sign that he was slightly miserable me not being his, but no, he Facetimed me to show me how beautiful the coast was and how alive he felt today. Little toke.
I took the Queen Mother’s advice and kept busy, with another trip planned to New York. This time for me to give one on one counseling sessions, handing out fresh reminders to keep girls’ eyes focused on God, not a future husband at 21.
I fly and stay with a few different people, all of which are hungry for God, gorgeous, rich, my age, taller than me and looks so gorgeous they could make a rendition of the Teletubbbies turn into a Cool Water commercial. These were my usual kind of guys, the tall, dark, handsomes. We hung out, despite the fact these guys were all in other relationships, it certainly eased the lie I was believing that I was too old for men in my church in California. Gian was 26 and I was just wondering at 34 if I had missed the boat for wedding bells, an acceptance I was slowly bringing into the equation, something by February, I was actually becoming ok with.
The calling of a body clock cannot over power the calling of the right person. Not now, not then, not ever. I’d rather be single, than race a Rolex.
But one evening in Manhattan, I find myself being distracted. I connected to these men as best I could, but during the season of figuring out Mr Steadfast, friendly banter needed to go deeper. You can banter with anyone if you’re a talker. But seek to connect spiritually, emotionally, relationally? That’s different.
In the East Village, my girls began to suggest options or potential people for me, ‘What about… or …?’ I’d smile politely, even entertaining the word ‘maybe’ again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Gian. The reinactments. The stories we had created. The penetrating ear drum laugh that proceeded over my giddy hours. I missed Louis Prima. I missed his opinion on everything from film, to art, to words, to music, to God, to comedy, to wine, to food, to people, to leaders, to growth, to wealth, to status, to my driving, even though his opinion used to drive me mad. I missed his asphyxiating hugs that made me question if he’d broken my sternum. He’d broken quite few of my things just from not realising his own strength. I missed Gian. I missed his family. I missed all the alpha male dominance they bought to my life. I missed his honesty. I missed that more than anything. I missed how thoughtful he could be over the smallest of sentences. I missed how much ownership he took. I missed his ability to know when the time was right to say something, and when it was best to hold back. I missed his emotional availability without being intoxicated with codependency. I missed his ability to rip off an exquisite tune when I passed the guitar and ordered him to: ‘play, monkey boy, play’.
I was given an apartment one day to focus on writing in NYC. It was picture perfect for a classy socialite so I was humbled to have been given it through the kindess of a friend to ‘retreat to’. The beauty of my girls is that they know when I need to connect spiritually, when I need to gain comfort outside of shopping on Broadway. This was the best place to begin to ask questions that kept hounding me:
‘Why did I say no to Gian? Why couldn’t I say yes? He matches all I seek in Mr Steadfast, but what holds me back?’
It was here in the silence that the whisper spoke louder than usual:
You said no, because you were scared. You said no because Gian is a very popular man. You’re scared because he challenges you. You’re scared because he sees you better than most. This wasn’t about the height or the age, I enjoyed seeing that in you two. Your ‘no’ was all based on fear. Fear of what others would think. Fear of it not working out, fear of having to see him with a broken heart on camera as he played in worship streamed live across the world, fear of him not covering you afterwards, fear of him being like recent experiences: men who ranked their hearts above yours and didn’t seek to protect you or tell the truth in the community. But let me ask you a question:
Do you really want to base decisions of your relationships, ones that could bring light, colour, a sense of reality into the world, because of fear? If so, that isn’t the fireball I designed.