ABlairican Pie
01-12-2002, 09:51 PM
So that morning my heart was alive with joy, my soul filled with relief, my insides were scampering faster than kittens huffing catnip brownies, my heart had found the one who had fed it the HEALING MESSAGE OF THE LOVE OF JESUS! This was indeed the very pinnacle of my Christian experience.
But yet...
Even in the August midday sun, shadows crept across my soul. Fear, doubt, and uncertainty whispered to my heart. As I walked to the supermarket down the block for lunch, I wondered: had I
kept her from going about her business? She said before she left
that she had to go off to do some things--had I detained her from
going about her way? Why did I feel so self-conscious about this?
I felt deeply apprehensive about the last thing she said. I certainly didn't want to hold her up in any way. AND I NOW FELT THAT I HAD. WHY DID I FEEL THAT WAY?? Was it was because that's what we feel when we're in the presence of persons of notoriety? Deeply unworthy, hastily apologetic? This was my saint, my angel, my messenger of God's love--AND I HAD OFFENDED HER!!! To go warbling about how she had touched my life and had shown me the love of Jesus in a way that I had never
known, blah blah, yadda yadda. My deepest sentiments and most heartfelt expressions, poured out to a girl who was too busy to hear them--WHAT SORT OF HEARTLESS, SELFISH PIGDOG
WAS I?
I remember my first months of my interest in her, in the April '83
cover story issue of CCM, she was pictured making her doll wave.
Looking at that picture I was brought into the presence of innocence that was completely foreign to me. It was so touching,
her gentleness, her whimsy, her childlike cheerfulness that was so pure, so holy. Inside my heart wept for such a quality as that had never been mine. All my life I had known nothing but hurt. My life longed for, hungered for, thirsted for love and healing. And it was in that sweet girl named Lisa Whelchel.
But now, on the day that I had met her, I felt that I had lost her
as soon as I had reached her. I could not understand why I felt so afraid. My mind tried to reassure my heart not to worry, but my heart would hear none of it. Through the weekend my doubt had reached wildfire proportions. I was so deeply convinced that
I had screwed up her whole day. After going to the store, after our encounter, I sat on a park bench scarfing on some cookies when she passed by. She spoke briefly to some shirtless tennis-player hunks, then moved on. I said nothing. I had already said enough, me and my big mouth, and I would just have to wait.
But yet...
Even in the August midday sun, shadows crept across my soul. Fear, doubt, and uncertainty whispered to my heart. As I walked to the supermarket down the block for lunch, I wondered: had I
kept her from going about her business? She said before she left
that she had to go off to do some things--had I detained her from
going about her way? Why did I feel so self-conscious about this?
I felt deeply apprehensive about the last thing she said. I certainly didn't want to hold her up in any way. AND I NOW FELT THAT I HAD. WHY DID I FEEL THAT WAY?? Was it was because that's what we feel when we're in the presence of persons of notoriety? Deeply unworthy, hastily apologetic? This was my saint, my angel, my messenger of God's love--AND I HAD OFFENDED HER!!! To go warbling about how she had touched my life and had shown me the love of Jesus in a way that I had never
known, blah blah, yadda yadda. My deepest sentiments and most heartfelt expressions, poured out to a girl who was too busy to hear them--WHAT SORT OF HEARTLESS, SELFISH PIGDOG
WAS I?
I remember my first months of my interest in her, in the April '83
cover story issue of CCM, she was pictured making her doll wave.
Looking at that picture I was brought into the presence of innocence that was completely foreign to me. It was so touching,
her gentleness, her whimsy, her childlike cheerfulness that was so pure, so holy. Inside my heart wept for such a quality as that had never been mine. All my life I had known nothing but hurt. My life longed for, hungered for, thirsted for love and healing. And it was in that sweet girl named Lisa Whelchel.
But now, on the day that I had met her, I felt that I had lost her
as soon as I had reached her. I could not understand why I felt so afraid. My mind tried to reassure my heart not to worry, but my heart would hear none of it. Through the weekend my doubt had reached wildfire proportions. I was so deeply convinced that
I had screwed up her whole day. After going to the store, after our encounter, I sat on a park bench scarfing on some cookies when she passed by. She spoke briefly to some shirtless tennis-player hunks, then moved on. I said nothing. I had already said enough, me and my big mouth, and I would just have to wait.