Anne Jackson’s second book, Permission to Speak Freely – Essays and Art on Fear, Confession and Grace releases today. Anne decided to share seven essays of which one of them is below. To read the rest of the essays, check out the links at the end.
Anne is also giving away a copy of her book to two commenters, chosenat random, on Friday. So check out the question at the end and leave a comment to be entered to win.
You can pick up a copy of the book here.
Essay #4 – Finding Love (In All the Wrong Places) by Anne Jackson
Most teenagers believe they’re more mature than they really are. Iknow I did. So when this youth pastor in his mid-twenties asked me over to see a movie, I didn’t think twice about it. In fact, I was flattered that an older guy was interested in me, an all-grown-up sixteen-year-old girl.
And he was a youth pastor. Maybe he could help me rediscover my faith.There was a part of me that missed it.
Now, something I never had growing up was a curfew. My parents trustedme enough not to worry about where I was or who I was with. The twounspoken rules I had to live by were “Don’t get put in Juvie” and“Don’t get pregnant.” As long as they never got a call from the police or the hospital, I was pretty much free to do whatever I wanted.
A basic “to a friend’s house to watch a movie” appeased my parents as I walked out the door. Taking my mom’s car to his apartment, I was more worried about driving in the Dallas traffic than I was about watching a movie with him.
I knocked on the door to his apartment, and he let me in. From the beginning, even as naïve as I was, it was obvious what was on his mind. The lights were dimmed, and blankets and pillows were laid out on the floor to make the movie watching more . . . comfortable.
The details of that night aren’t relevant, but it’s safe to say I don’t remember what movie we watched. The one thing I do remember is that as scary as this new experience was, a huge void in my heart had been filled, and for the first time in several months I felt loved and accepted and worthy.
And I felt beautiful.
The youth pastor and I dated for a couple of months, and then he quietly slipped away. I was upset but decided to move on. The wounds on my heart caused by the pain from uprooting had started to open up again. I felt lonely, and I needed to find someone else to make the pain go away.
I went on a few dates with a couple of guys, but my heart still longed for this youth pastor. I’d given him so much of myself; how could it not be?
After the holidays, the youth pastor called me, and we started dating again. He had moved to another part of Dallas and had a roommate now, so we’d meet in a park close to his new house. A few more months went by, and I had fallen back in love, head over heels.
Just before I graduated high school while we were out one afternoon, he told me he was getting married. He had proposed to someone he knew from his past and said he could never see me again.
The youth pastor and this other woman had been dating via a long-distance relationship the entire time he and I had been seeing each other. She didn’t know about me. And from the way I couldn’t catch my breath and started seeing double, I obviously didn’t know about her either.
My heart broke. I was so naive and lonely I actually had believed he loved me.
And he was a pastor. How could he have lied to me?
Oh, right, the logical side of my brain told me. It’s because he is a pastor.
This experience became another piece of evidence that people who say they’re close to God can’t be trusted. And as far as I was concerned, God couldn’t be trusted either.
There was a sharp pain in my chest where my heart once lived. It hurt so badly my mind would scream at my heart and tell it to stop.
“Will you ever stop hurting? I can’t take it anymore.”
I had to do something to medicate this pain. I had to escape it as if life itself depended on it.
And so I ran.
Again.
Have you ever placed your hope in a pastor or spiritual leader to help you find God or faith? What
happened?
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For the first essay, visit Don Miller’s blog here and follow the
chain…
For the next essay, visit the XXXChurch.com blog here.