He Left Me For God. Him, Too.

He Left Me For God. Him, Too.

There is not a better way to say this…

I dated two men. Two totally different men. They both left me for God.

It was their “calling” and who am I to question the call from the Most High One?

However, I did. I was younger, much younger. Let’s just say that my 20s taught me a lot about what not to do in my 30s. My 30s are teaching me what to look forward to in my 40s. I do not wish to remain stagnant in the grip of lost love. I must move. I shall move. But, they left me for God.

And, God is pleased.

He had bigger plans for them, plans that I was hindering them from fulfilling. I was a distraction. A D I S T R A C T I O N…

The day I found out my first major love was leaving me for God, I was not in the “right frame of mind.” I had to shake the words out of my head as soon as they entered. I watched them fall to the ground. He picked them up, dusted them off, and placed them in my cupped hands. He wanted me to be sure I understood what was happening. “I am studying to be a minister. My lifestyle is changing. I have to let you go. You cannot come with me. Not this time.”

I knew I would not be accompanying him because, at that time, I was not worthy of being his assistant. I was still far too busy wandering about in life, acting less like a preacher’s child and more like my own being.

We tossed about his reasons for a day, two, maybe three? He left shortly after the last words fell from my lips. “I knew you would leave me for someone else. I never thought it would be God.”

And, we ended. As luck would have it, two years later, another man would be singing the same tune. Not only was he leaving me for God, he was flying off to do so, to Ohio.

Ohio, that’s where God needed him.

The night is not like one I had experienced before with us. We are resting, watching t.v., then suddenly, he says, “let’s go for a drive.” He is Ghanian. His accent lingers in the air longer than the actual words. The way he says this leaves a sting in the belly of my soul. “Let’s go for a drive.” It sounds so final.

We venture off to a spot on campus where a massive fountain shoots into the air. We get out of his car, walk over to the fountain, and sit on the concrete steps.

He takes my hands and rubs them gently. Then, he kisses one.

I knew what was coming. I had grown used to the signals of the breakup.

“I am moving to Ohio. I have been called to do God’s work. I will be ordained soon.”

I did not know he was studying to do what he wanted to do and in the midst of us loving each other, why could I not pick up on this? It wasn’t in his stroke, wasn’t alive in the sex-filled air of last night’s entanglement. Where was the time for him to do God’s work?

The savior does not dwell between my legs. This I know to be true.

He mumbles something else, what I cannot hear because after “soon,” I drift off into space. The moon greets me. I stay awhile, get acquainted…

I gather my necessities, leave his apartment, and go home to the cold, dark, lonely space of my mine. And, I cry.

I let my pain soak the sheets. I forgot how cleansing a cry could be. But, that night… I was reminded.

He left me for God. Him, Too.

Then, God came for me.