The mismatch

What can I say about a woman of whom I've said too much already? A little bit more. Comparing our lives — the quality of which derived from our internal world — it's easy to see she is far and above this humble author. Cindy is decidedly too good for me.

She is, seemingly without trying, what a Christian woman should be. To my eyes, it is effortless; she simply embodies many virtues. When I think of what a mother, wife, or what a woman should be, she always comes to mind. Thanks to her, I now know how a woman should be. Thanks to her, I now know how a woman should love. Thanks to her, I now know how to love, period. She has always been — and will always be — my measure of what is good and right and beautiful in a woman. 

Photographs of us taken three years ago show the mismatch. I wore my Sturgis t-shirt, and she wore a TeamMates shirt. I wore more than that, though. (ha, yes, I was fully clothed) I wore the scars of a difficult life. She weathered her difficulties and wore them as jewels around her neck, making her infinitely more beautiful inside and out. Her weaknesses are more beautiful than any of my strengths. Her difficulties made her blossom, while mine made me dull and ugly. When life threw us overboard, I gasped for air and flailed about while she rescued drowning souls. While she carries herself in a classy and put-together way, I am out of shape and messy, eternally out of breath. She smiles and my heart tries to break through my ribs. I smile and people wonder what is wrong with me. Is he in pain?

Walking beside her, I will always beam. My hard exterior will crack around my mouth, no doubt. And I will feel an unearthly calm. Of course, I'm prone to fantasizing about that girl. Perhaps I should speak of her in the past tense, but as far as my heart is concerned, she is with me always — and always will be.

 
Yes, she's made of extraordinary parts. But she feels like home. She may not belong to me, but I belong to her. I keep her in my thoughts like the marking of time. I often wonder what she's thinking or to what her attention has turned. I hope those things make her happy, for she deserves all the happiness in the world. She is a rare creature, and not all those who see her truly see her. Not all those who know her know her true value. 

If our lives were a competition, she won hands down ages ago. She has out-classed me. She has out-loved me. She has outlived me. She has bested me in every single category. It's not embarrassing anymore. Even a casual observer can see we are not even close. She was right about so many things, and I was as dumb as a box of rocks. Her words still echo in my tired, little brain. While some may think it embarrassing to admit all of this, it's fine. If she could only see herself as I see her. There is no other like her. 

While she has moved on, I have stayed on the same channel, hoping beyond all hope there will be another broadcast. But the channel went off-air; all I hear is static. Her ability to let go is contrasted by my tenacity in holding on. Yet another way she's done better than me. She was right all along, and I was oh so wrong. I had a thousand reasons to keep her in my life, and she had less than zero to keep me. 

What maniacal madness, what grand illusion, what treachery of heart, what flight of fancy, dimness of mind allowed me to think for even a moment I could hold the hand of such a lovely creature? There is something terribly wrong with me, as much as there are things right about her. But she was kind to me. Her rejections were most often simply silence when I deserved harsh critiques, course language, gut-wrenchingly honest replies detailing my many shortcomings, my tenuous grasp on reality, digs at my manhood, and a final kick in the teeth. No, she slayed me softly, almost imperceptibly. Even her rejection was kind. Even when she breaks your heart, you smile because you know something special just happened. Such is the woman I love. Even in the distastefulness of letting go, she excels.

Though it's easy to see why a woman wouldn't want to be with this writer, it's hard to imagine anyone passing on that girl. I shake my head at my intense luck of falling in love with her. Even now, I am drawn to her, though she went her own way years ago after a brief dalliance with this humble author. Though she is gone, my heart cries for her return. Though she is beyond me in many ways, I long to raise myself to her. Though we are essentially and eternally mismatched, I imagine walking by her side someday. The world doesn't see the heart of man; it sees what it wants to see. If those earthly eyes could see what God sees, they would see a valiant and steadfast love that knows no bounds, a love that will live on long after my spirit leaves this earthly plane, a love that is as strong as death. 

I cannot offer a fairytale ending, but I walk away grateful — and changed — just the same. I am a simple man who fell in love one last time. I'm glad my last time was with her. 

Still, I'm leavin' here a better man
For knowin' you this way
Things I couldn't do before now I think I can
And I'm leavin' here a better man

Thank you for reading, and God bless.  

A note about this blog. A few weeks ago I received a tremendous blow. It is too discouraging to talk about. I would cry, but I have run out of tears. And I think I've brought the readers of this blog down too much, so I won't elaborate. However, it does impact my maintenance of this space. I will write when I am able, but this situation combined with the fact that this blog has run its course leads me to say this is probably a goodbye (or the beginning of goodbyes). I have a handful of remaining posts I've been reluctant to let go of (they are all my babies, after all), but after that, only God knows if this blog will continue. This certainly isn't how I envisioned ending my blog.

This is hard for me. I put a tremendous amount of time and effort into this blog, so it's difficult and discouraging to come to this conclusion in this manner. I hoped to make it to the end of the year (or, better yet, to Jan. 28, which would make it three years writing here), but it now seems impossible and a bit pointless. Of course, I will write if something big or magical happens (though I'm sure no one will read it). Anyway, enough of my whining. Big boy pants.

Take care, everyone. Keep hoping and praying for the best.