Writing this post to link with Shanda for her first-ever "On Your Heart Tuesday."
Recently, I was talking with excitement about my upcoming, out-of-town visit to the home of loved ones. Until one of the loved ones (the one with whom I was talking) advised that the other loved one in the home (although aware of my plans to visit) was making plans to be elsewhere during the entire course of my visit.
Ouch.
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I was comfortable enough with the loved one to whom I was talking to express that I was not happy (which was an understatement), and I ended the conversation, abruptly.
The same loved one called me back, later, to tell me: the subject had been revisited in the home; the other loved one had seemed surprised that I wanted so badly to see them*; and they had decided to revise their plans to make themself available.
And that was supposed to make me feel better? Really? Because, at the end of the day, my loved one's revised plans don't change the fact: there was a point in time during which they didn't care enough about seeing me to make it their first priority. And now I feel all insecure and weird, like my loved one is making themself available out of guilt (because of my obvious upset), and not a desire to spend time with me.
I cried off and on for hours, thinking about this and the many other times in my life when I've felt completely and utterly rejected.
But--after everyone else in my house retired for the night (which took forever, because Cade was watching some sort of Twilight Zone marathon, and it's summer!, and he always gets up way before I do, and it's almost never just the two of us, so I didn't make him go to bed)--I washed dishes and listened to the Holy Spirit.
I was reminded of times when I've said, to various friends: that's not a convenient time for you to stop by. Or: I really can't come over, or meet you, at that time. Or: sorry, but this other thing came up, and I want/need to change my plans.
I remembered my sophomore year of high school, when I'd planned to go with a dear friend to his junior prom. Until I got myself a boyfriend, who was also a junior. (I still count the friend with whom I didn't go to prom among my best friends. I have no relationship with my ex-boyfriend; I don't even know anything about his life, these days. I think it's fair to say I chose the wrong date.)
I've felt rejected many times in my lifetime. I've probably made others feel rejected, too. Many times.
Sad. Because rejection hurts.
As I washed dishes, tonight, I remembered the prophet Isaiah's "suffering servant," whom I was taught, growing up, to understand to be none other than Jesus, the (at the point of Isaiah's writing) unborn Messiah:
He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:3-6, KJV, emphasis mine).
And I thought: Jesus understands just how I feel. And--sadly, in part--Jesus understands because I reject Him very often. I say to Him: Sorry, Jesus, this isn't a convenient time for me. I don't have time to talk to You right now (even though I've found time to talk to at least ten people, today, of my own free will). I don't have time to read Your Word right now (even though I've found time to read at least ten things on the Internet, today, of my own free will).
I'm not going to pretend like I'm completely over my hurt feelings from earlier. But what I will say is that I'm working on it. Also that I'm going to try to spend some extra time, this week, with Someone whom I've been guilty of rejecting, often...someone who never rejects me.
*pronouns used erroneously and deliberately so as to disguise the gender of the subject whilst avoiding the tedious usage of him/her, his/her, etc.
Ouch.
I was comfortable enough with the loved one to whom I was talking to express that I was not happy (which was an understatement), and I ended the conversation, abruptly.
The same loved one called me back, later, to tell me: the subject had been revisited in the home; the other loved one had seemed surprised that I wanted so badly to see them*; and they had decided to revise their plans to make themself available.
And that was supposed to make me feel better? Really? Because, at the end of the day, my loved one's revised plans don't change the fact: there was a point in time during which they didn't care enough about seeing me to make it their first priority. And now I feel all insecure and weird, like my loved one is making themself available out of guilt (because of my obvious upset), and not a desire to spend time with me.
I cried off and on for hours, thinking about this and the many other times in my life when I've felt completely and utterly rejected.
But--after everyone else in my house retired for the night (which took forever, because Cade was watching some sort of Twilight Zone marathon, and it's summer!, and he always gets up way before I do, and it's almost never just the two of us, so I didn't make him go to bed)--I washed dishes and listened to the Holy Spirit.
I was reminded of times when I've said, to various friends: that's not a convenient time for you to stop by. Or: I really can't come over, or meet you, at that time. Or: sorry, but this other thing came up, and I want/need to change my plans.
I remembered my sophomore year of high school, when I'd planned to go with a dear friend to his junior prom. Until I got myself a boyfriend, who was also a junior. (I still count the friend with whom I didn't go to prom among my best friends. I have no relationship with my ex-boyfriend; I don't even know anything about his life, these days. I think it's fair to say I chose the wrong date.)
I've felt rejected many times in my lifetime. I've probably made others feel rejected, too. Many times.
Sad. Because rejection hurts.
As I washed dishes, tonight, I remembered the prophet Isaiah's "suffering servant," whom I was taught, growing up, to understand to be none other than Jesus, the (at the point of Isaiah's writing) unborn Messiah:
He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:3-6, KJV, emphasis mine).
And I thought: Jesus understands just how I feel. And--sadly, in part--Jesus understands because I reject Him very often. I say to Him: Sorry, Jesus, this isn't a convenient time for me. I don't have time to talk to You right now (even though I've found time to talk to at least ten people, today, of my own free will). I don't have time to read Your Word right now (even though I've found time to read at least ten things on the Internet, today, of my own free will).
I'm not going to pretend like I'm completely over my hurt feelings from earlier. But what I will say is that I'm working on it. Also that I'm going to try to spend some extra time, this week, with Someone whom I've been guilty of rejecting, often...someone who never rejects me.
*pronouns used erroneously and deliberately so as to disguise the gender of the subject whilst avoiding the tedious usage of him/her, his/her, etc.
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