You drove me home yesterday, after the end of five days straight of 12-hour catering shifts. I could barely walk, looked like hell and probably smelled worse, but you were kind to me. (You smelled GREAT, by the way.) You engaged me in conversation, even though you confessed your English wasn’t that great. You were even kinder when I attempted Spanish and told you I loved you instead of what my name was.
I didn’t hide my attraction to you in the slightest. You see, Daniel, after getting my heart broken enough times, I’ve realized it is much more resilient than I ever dreamed it could be. Last night it fluttered, flirted, flip-flopped and fumbled for words, especially when you smiled at me and spoke honestly and openly about life. I appreciated your directness.
I was happy your GPS system malfunctioned, causing our time together to be extended. (Hence me tossing my hair and declaring, “I’m in NO hurry to get anywhere!”) I’m not sure if you noticed how I draped myself over the armrest, just to be that much closer to you. Yes, Daniel. I confess I have no shame. (You also have amazing arms.)
When you pulled up to the green awning in front of my apartment building, I didn’t want to get out of the vehicle. I don’t care that you’re making extra money driving people around. It’s hard to live in this city. Hell, I work catering jobs to pay the bills so I, too, can keep living my dream.
I’m so glad I met you, Daniel. Perhaps selfishly. But I’m just so damn tired of grieving the loss of my last relationship. It’s time to move on. There is no set time frame on grief, but at some point you realize you’re the only one crying. And life keeps moving on.
Daniel, thank you for taking my hand as I struggled to get out of the vehicle. And thank you for asking for my phone number. Did you notice how quickly I gave it to you? I hope you use it. If not, that’s okay, too. I have no expectations. Just hope. And a renewed spring in my step.
Life keeps moving on, indeed.
I know what you’re feeling, the loneliness, the desire to have a good, strong man’s arms around you, the need to laugh with someone, the longing to have someone who thinks you’re special and funny and smart and beautiful and important, but I think you missed the mark.
This post actually made me sad, and I’m concerned that you’re giving Christian women (and others) a poor example. I’m also concerned about where you might be headed and the next heartbreak you might encounter.
You admitted to being “shameless.” Maybe you meant it in a good way (Is there a good way to be shameless with a man?) but very little about restraint or chastity or protecting you or Daniel from his own desires or about finding resilience in the Trinity.
You’re right, after a time you do need to move on, and I am glad you’re meeting someone special. Just, please be careful of the message you give your readers who may be vulnerable and find themselves in similar situations. You are a leader in Christian divorce. This article was more of the typical divorce “recovery” piece than a Christian divorce recovery piece. People look up to you, and even if you meant nothing harmless, others aren’t taking it that way.
I wish you the best and am praying for you and Daniel today.
“Is there a good way to be shameless with a man?” By no means. Every interaction with a man should involve shame. Selah.
Oh goodness, Chelsea! Why in the world would you think that?