And I wonder why they haunt me. Vulnerability hurts. I give away pieces of myself, and I don’t get them back. They go away with it- the people- whether they know it or not. I never forget them. It would be different if they stole my heart, but they didn’t: I gave it freely, on purpose, aware that it would hurt, though with no idea of how much.
So I lay awake thinking, and praying, and writing of them. I wonder if they ever do the same, or if they have forgotten. Did my contribution make a difference for him; is it still at work now, a year later? Is it still significant to that person after five months? Do they remember and treasure those moments of vulnerability? Him, and her, and him…others. I can never forget. It hurts, yes, they have taken something, but I dare say they have given something too. I think the pain is worth it. Do you? No pain no gain.
If you refuse to give away your soul, to gain your soul by losing it you are left like Peter Pan: forever restless staring in at the window. Longing for something you have refused to allow yourself. He was somewhat whole, yet in so many ways he was not. I don’t want that to be me. So I keep giving more, and more. Honestly sometimes I don’t know what will be left at the end but I trust the Father that it will be good. That He will rejuvenate me so that I have more to give.