The Best Mistake I’ve Made All Week

 

I cut ties with him Sunday.

I know what you’re thinking. Him? Not Him the Father, Him the Son, or Him the Holy Ghost, but a real, tangible, unrelated him? On this blog? Why, yes.

He’s a bookish guy, a cute one, with a beautifully structured face and a tongue slick with city-boy vernacular. He’s the type who keeps me up at night, working my mind into the wee hours of the morning, pressing me for one more idea, one more dream, one more story. He’s the type my parents didn’t warn me about.

He wasn’t important enough to be screenshotted and sent to my sister or to be dropped nonchalantly into conversation with my father. I didn’t think enough of him to share a slice of my schedule for lunch, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see possibility.

My pride gagged a little when I admitted that I might soon miss him. I would miss his constant attention and his incessant thirst for mine. I would miss his tendency to ask what I was writing instead of what I was wearing. I would miss how I actually enjoyed hearing his thoughts.

But I cut him off Sunday. He’d raised what I’d perceived as the second red flag, and though it was a misunderstanding due to my general defensiveness and mistrust for mankind, I’d say that cutting him off was the best mistake I’ve made all year.

For the first time in the history of ever I was absolutely unwilling to risk any part of my sanity or  myself for the sake of anyone else, no matter how much I liked them. For the first time in the history of ever, that unwillingness didn’t stem from pride or fear of looking foolish, but from love for my gotdang self. I should throw me a party. Because I get it now.

This is what God has been trying to tell me through the parade of mean girls and f*ckboys he’s allowed to stomp through my life: Child, you are worthy. Child, you are wonderful. Child, you had to be broken in order to build so that you could truly know your worth, from foundation to finish. We built this temple and not everyone is worthy to worship here.

Be careful who you allow to drag their feet across your marble. Know every nail, every jamb, and every casing of every threshold of your temple, and know who you will allow to pass through. Honor the mess you’ve made into a masterpiece and be painstakingly selective about who you allow to bask in your light.