I remember desiring to be loved since I was a little girl. I made up stories when I was only 7 years old. It was never the story of the prince rescuing the princess, instead it was a story about a prince and princess falling in love and living happily ever after. No rescue involved. Just love. As I aged I tried to make that story come true by falling in love 98,737 times. You would think this odd fascination with “being in love with love” would have made the “real deal” less amazing. But no, my story wasn’t cheapened by the 98,737 times I “fell in love” before that. (In reality, it was, but I didn’t want to believe that….)
In love with love. That was me. And my love story had a twist I didn’t know about. I saw the red flags, but I ignored them. I wanted the “happily ever after” so bad that I was willing to ignore reality just to have the fantasy. I was so angry with George, so hurt, by his fantasy world, but I didn’t realize that my pain was so much deeper because I had lived in a fantasy world for so many years as well. A world where love was always lovely and my prince charming would love me almost perfectly, only messing up in ways that were okay by my fantasies standards.
I wanted to be loved. Isn’t that what we all desire for so long? We loved to be loved. And when we’re hurt, we spin out of control, we lose ourselves, we get lost in insecurity and anger, bitterness and depression, anxiety and fear. Our fantasy flickers like a flame in a light breeze, and then whoosh, it dies out when we catch him looking at her. Darkness is the only thing we know.
Because we want to be loved. We spend our lives trying to attain love from others. When they fail us, we look in other places. We date people, test them out, then marry one who seems to love us best. When our spouse fails us, we look for love from our children, when they fail us, we look to our friends, when they fail us, and we have nothing, we sink into a darkness so rich you can’t even see yourself.
My fantasy world crashed. And I had to face reality. I had to figure out if I loved Love enough to love others when they didn’t love me. Or if I only loved Love when it benefited me, made me feel good, or in some other way satisfied me. I was faced with a choice.
Ashley, do you love God more than you love being loved? If so, your life should display the fruits of the Spirit, which you have memorized and yet don’t live out … love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
Well, at least I was faithful, I thought.
But no, I wasn’t. I thought I was faithful to my husband because I never lusted over other men. I never cheated. I didn’t do what he did. But I was unfaithful to my husband because I loved myself more than I loved him. I loved my own fantasy world. It may not have been porn, but it was a fantasy nonetheless. A fantasy he couldn’t live up to if he tried. Just like my husband looked to porn stars to fill a desire that can only be satisfied by God, I looked to my husband to fill a desire only satisfied by God.
I was unfaithful to God by loving the world, loving earthly love and admiration, and loving my husband more than I loved Him. And through that, I was unfaithful to George because I loved my own idea of love, my own desire to be loved, more than I loved him.
I wasn’t willing to love him when he hurt me. I locked him out of the house, gave him back my rings, wanted to see him tortured, literally. My thoughts were cruel and my desires were not birthed from a heart that truly loved Love.
A heart acquires nothing more than what it wants. If a heart desires fantasies and earthly passions, it will receive what it wants and grow weary when it’s never satisfied. If, however, a heart desires truth and love, God and things that are pure and holy, it will receive what it wants and grow joyful even amidst trials, it will be satisfied and find rest, and through that Love it will be able to love others who injure it.
I lived much of my life as the first heart. The heart that loved to be loved, but didn’t love to give love when it hurt. I was self-centered and filled with a pride that believed I deserved something better, yet I was blind to my own unfaithfulness. I spent my life chasing after that fantasy, desiring something unattainable, only to end up miserable and dead.
But I have good news. My romance story has been resurrected. And it’s so much better than the fantasy I desired since my early childhood dreams of happily ever after. It’s so much better, friends. I can’t even describe to you how much better it is.
No longer is it based on conditions, fantasies, and expectations. It’s based on pure love. This kind of love is birthed from my love for God and my desire to please Him. Through my love for Him, my King, I have the strength to love those who hurt and slander me. Through this love … this true love … I am able to love my husband regardless of his faithfulness or kindness to me. Because this kind of love doesn’t care whether it’s loved or not. It has only one desire … to love God and its neighbor. To love.
And if it receives love in return … it knows that it doesn’t deserve it. Humbly, it accepts the love granted to it, but the real burning desire is to set the world aflame with the love of Christ and to never give thought to how much love can be attained for itself.
I would like to go back to that little girl Ashley and say something to her. “Dear Ashley, don’t spend your life dreaming of being loved. Spend your life giving love, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much you suffer, because it’s there that you will show the world God’s glory and set the world ablaze with His consuming fire, His all consuming and perfect Love. There is no satisfaction outside of Him. So stop seeking it in men and fantasies of love. He is your Love. Rest in Him.”
