A little lonely tonight . . .
Yeah, it’s just one of those
nights. Not sure why exactly. But one of those times where
I’m rather acutely aware of my homesickness . . . feeling somewhat
empty and disconnected from what’s real and important.
I didn’t have a bad day
either. It was pretty awesome. Slept well, got up, had an
awesome service at church, experienced some really good praise and
worship, had a great lunch with the EPIC crew, all that jazz.
Afterwards, I took a friend
home and then went back to Audrey’s to watch “Garden State” with her,
Amanda, and Joe. The flick was aight . . . not particularly in
agreement with all the hype surrounding it, but it had its moments.
Then afterwards, we’re
standing outside talking, and I honestly wish I could have stayed there
longer. The thought of going home filled me with terror. I
wish I could have had a real connection at that moment, a real
conversation, a real chance to know and be known. But at the same
time, I was freezing my ass off, had to get some work done, and knew
that seeking more convo wouldn’t take away the feeling inside. I
can’t be dependent on people. At the same time, I’m so not
foolish enough to think that I’m independent of people either.
Perhaps I made a mistake. Perhaps I should have stayed awhile and
vented some of my heart. Or perhaps it was one of those times
where I needed to vent to the Lord. I certainly did that on the
way home. It was definitely good time with God, but I can
honestly say that I’d seriously appreciate some good people bonding
This is one of those nights
where I feel very much like I’m always giving and giving, and I really
do wish that someone would have pursued me. Just this once, ya
know? But it didn’t happen. I’ll survive though. It’s
not the end of the world like it once seemed.
God’s done such amazing things
for me. I cannot deny it. I was listening to a guy give his
testimony in church today, and he was talking about how his dad was so
proud of him after turning his life over to Christ and leaving behind a
past filled with drugs and alcohol. I couldn’t help but tear up,
because in that moment, I could see why his father was so proud of him,
and it dawned on me what my dad meant when he would tell me “I’m so
proud of you, Darren.” My heart was filled with such overwhelming
love for my dad, because he loves me like that, and continues to be
proud of me, even though he’s seen the very worst of me.
I just got off the phone with
my pops, explaining to him about church today, and for the first time
in my life, I told my dad I loved him, and I truly, truly meant it . .
. and it didn’t feel weird. I know, I know. That’s really
strange. Because I had a pretty good upbringing, and one would
think that I always loved my parents. It’s true . . . I have
always loved them, but I’ve never actually felt
love for them. Or if I did feel it, it felt weird, or
disengenuous. I really don’t know how to capture in words what
I’m trying to say here . . . all I know is that my heart was incapable
of feeling genuine love for my dad, but tonight, it made sense to my
heart. He loves me, he’s proud of me, and in response, I’m filled
with love for him.
This is the kind of
relationship I should have always had, but it’s taken me 25 years to
actually get to this point. And it’s all because of Jesus.
The bigger point is not lost on me . . . this experience I’ve had with
my dad tonight very much mirrors the kind of relationship I should have
with my Heavenly Father – the One who loves me, and is so very proud of
me . . . and so I love Him genuinely in return. What an amazing
gift it is to have the capacity to love. Maybe some of you out
there take this gift for granted, because your heart naturally
overflows with love for your friends and family, but I never
experienced such a thing in a really natural way up until this
year. So I’m greatful.
So yeah, it’s a lonely
night. And it hurts. But I guess my girl Whitney summed it
up best: “It’s not right, but it’s OK. I’m gonna make it
anyway.” See, crack addicts really are worth something sometimes
A little lonely tonight . . .