fiction (vii): the life and loves of a homeschooled girl

My prayers that night after the dance were off kilter. I tried to pray, but trying to talk to God was like trudging through mud. I couldn’t think of anything to say. And what I did say felt lifeless.

Even though it was late, I opened the Bible and shined my reading light on the words. In my daily reading I was in the book of Mark. As I read about Jesus feeding the five thousand, my mind strayed to lines of young people dancing under a starry sky.

I became frustrated.

“Lord God—”

I hesitated. I sounded so . . . fake.

“Lord, why can’t I pray?”

I closed my Bible, put it on the side table, and turned off the light.

I snuggled under the covers. Immediately, as if on auto play, came thoughts of Michael. Two minutes in, something jerked me back to the present.

Fantasizing about Michael had become so automatic. A nightly ritual. It’s how I fell asleep.

Wait. Was I lusting after Michael?

The thought horrified me.

Surely not! I didn’t lust after guys. I guarded my heart. I hadn’t even ever mentioned Michael to Luanne in casual conversation, and Jen didn’t know about my secret feelings either.

But then I thought about the California Waltz and how our arms had brushed as we counted the beats. I thought of his hand on my waist.

Stop!

He was standing before me, holding out his hand, the dark of the night creating a 5 o’clock shadow on his already strikingly handsome face.

Stop!

But I couldn’t. Thinking of him was my normal. And now I could replay something that had really happened.

I fought my imagination. I fought my memory.

Tears pricked behind my eyes because holding back thoughts of Michael felt like holding back a tsunami. I didn’t want to stop.

Didn’t I know Proverbs 4:24 by heart? I lectured myself. What if Michael doesn’t marry you, Trisha? Don’t you realize that maybe Michael will marry someone else and that he doesn’t belong to you? My throat constricted. No, he couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine him with someone else. He was mine. Wasn’t he, Lord? No, You hadn’t promised him to me, but surely, surely You would give me this good gift. Please, Lord. Give me this good gift.

For the next week, every morning and evening I prayed my repentance. And dreamed. And prayed harder. And dreamed still. And felt guilty. And found myself thinking of him even as I prayed that I would stop thinking of him.

It’s not easy to change the direction of a heart that has been focused on one thing for years.

The dance, that lovely, romantic night, morphed into a horrible shackle.

“Dear God,” I’d say on my knees before my bed. “Help me stop imagining life with Michael. Help me stop obsessing. Help me surrender him to You.”

Because wouldn’t it be better if I let God work everything out instead of clinging to my dreams of life with Michael so very hard?

But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

In my prayers, I reasoned with God. Wasn’t it okay to like a guy? Isn’t that how You designed me?

Was I lusting? What did that even mean?

I began reevaluating my prior definitions of purity and lust.

Was imagining talking with Michael lusting?

Was imagining how my hand felt in his lusting?

Was lying awake conjuring up imaginary images of him looking at me with love in his eyes lusting?

I didn’t know.

Dear God, I didn’t know!

What had once been a lovely infatuation had turned into something painful and ugly and heart-wrenching. A battle to break a habit I, frankly, did not want to break.