The Morning After

She sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping wet.  Overtaken with apathy, she grabbed a pillow and collapsed into a ball.  She didn’t want to deal with life that day.  She was tired; she had only gotten 3 hours of sleep.  The previous night had turned out to be quite eventful and unexpected.  Now, she was emotionally distraught and exhausted.  Completely burned out.  But she couldn’t sleep now.  She had to get up.  Go to work.  Go to class.  Take a make-up exam and quiz.  She had to deal with her life.  Face the ramifications, both real and possible, of the previous evening.  A mistake had been made.  Intentionally.  That much was clear.  But what she didn’t know was whether or not she would love her best friend.  She wouldn’t blame him if he completely turned on her and walked away from their friendship.  At some point, the vast majority of her friends had left her.  Abandoned her.  She just assumed that eventually all of them would.

With a final sigh, she sat up, looked at the clock, and decided what she wanted to wear.  Black.  Such a comfort color for her.  And one that hid her.  She wanted to be invisible.  She wanted to run away.  Instead, she stood up and methodically walked over to her dresser, opened the drawers, and pulled out a green tank, a black polo, and jeans.  Comfortable clothes.  Comfort clothes.  She pulled them on without much thought and picked up a comb to brush her hair.  Squirting some gel into her hand, she scrunched her hair and pulled it back.  She didn’t feel like dealing with the gorgeous, tangled mass of curls today.  Pulling her hair back gave her a sense of control when it felt as if the rest of her world was crashing down around her.  And she felt alone; she simply had to deal with anything and everything that happened.  She stared into the mirror, vaguely in disbelief.  She couldn’t believe that she had done what she did last night – even that she had wanted to.  She was ashamed.  Repulsed.  And hungry.

She wandered to the kitchen, pulled some bread down off the fridge, and popped it into the toaster.  While she waited, she poured a glass of milk, decided to buy coffee later rather than make it herself, and sank into deep thought at the table.  She had forgiven him, but she couldn’t forgive herself.  She was messed up.  Her issues ran deep; her actions were only symptoms of that.  How could anyone love her now?  How could God – her Daddy – love her?  She had always run to His arms whenever life was seemingly out of control because He was her Daddy; He loved her.  But how could He now?  She was wretched.  Vile.  The ding of the toaster startled her back to reality.  She got up, buttered her toast, and washed down her breakfast with milk.

Glancing at the clock, she realized that she had time to change her sheets.  After what had happened last night, they smelled.  She pulled them off her bed, got a clean mismatched set out of the linen closet in the bathroom, and threw the dirty sheets on the pile of laundry she was going to wash later.  They would be washed clean, just like she had been in the shower earlier that morning.  God used water, especially rain, as a powerful metaphor in her life.  Just like the spray from the showerhead had run over her body and washed her clean, the grace, love, mercy, and forgiveness of God washed over her and renewed both her spirit and her purity.  Now she only had to forgive herself for messing around with her best friend last night.  But she couldn’t.  She knew he liked someone else, another of her best friends no less.  Even she had a crush on another guy.  She was a miserable wreck.  So unworthy.  So undeserving of anyone’s love.  Of everyone’s love.

As she packed her bag for the day, she picked up her Bible and flipped it open.  Psalm 51.  Psalm 62.  I Corinthians 13.  God loves her.  Unconditionally.  Always.  And He had already forgiven her.  Overwhelmed her with His love.  Cleansed her by His grace.  Wrapped His arms around her and held her when she was too weak to carry on and fight for truth.  Relaxing into the comfort of her Daddy’s embrace, she gathered her bag and her Nalgene and walked out the door ready to face the day – regardless of whatever it brought.  Perhaps she could even forgive herself.