P.S I Still Kind of Love You


By Carolyn Shields

Beauty & Pain

They go hand in hand as if they are sisters.  

If we reflect on the most beautiful moments of our lives, we are often blind to the manifested pain that accompanied those moments because beauty eclipses pain in retrospect.  

Take your birth for example. It was a tragically beautiful moment, and you were ushered in through whimpers, muted screams, and sweat and blood. But for that moment, time stood still for your mother.

But it's hard to remember that beauty is born from pain right now, isn't it? When your heart feels so exposed and raw. Because he returned it to you, unwrapped, and yet, you still kind of love him. Because he was a good guy.

And that's ok. 

But you must understand that right now, this isn't God's plan for you. A relationship takes two people, and if one is discerning that this isn't God's will, then we have no choice but to discern this too. And yes, it sucks. But it will be ok. Because we know that at the Crucifixion, our Lord was slaughtered before a global audience. This was history's darkest moment, but the beauty born of that pain became the antidote of any and all suffering. 

Beauty will come out of your pain, too.

Letting go is hard, but sometimes holding on is harder.

And I'm not particularly fond of that phrase, because what are you letting go of? Him? Your memories? Those dreams? Maybe a little, but if I've learned anything at all this year, it's that anything can happen within a few months, days, or hours. A world within you can be discovered. A world within you can be changed in minutes, by a phone call, by a loss...by a gain.

So what I want to say is you should still love him. Love the hell out of him from a distance, but more than anything, stop asking why


God is bigger than any question we could ever ask, and 'why' can probably cover the surface of our seas. Besides, we already have the answer:

Because you are precious in my eyes and honored, and because I love you.

Isaiah 43:4

Letting go doesn't necessarily mean forgetting. Letting go doesn't mean losing. Don't let him go, but simply, as in all things, move on. Why? Because we have no choice but to. Your soul is a ship, and we have multiple anchors. If this memory of your time together or of him is keeping you from carrying on, you have two options: to cut off this anchor and let the deep swallow it, or reel it in and carry it with you as you sail on to your destination. Don't stay anchored.

Blind Man Leading sings in their song Lighthouse, "We're souls trapped within the vessels we sink in/ But I can't risk the danger of your arms." And in this case, the memory of his arms. Cut the anchor, or carry it. It's your choice, but if it's God's will, you will find another port where you can safely harbor your heart. One in which, one day, you will dock permanently.

Jacques Philippe writes in Interior Freedom that in these type of situations, if we should "say yes to a reality we initially saw as negative, because...something positive may come from it. This hints at hope." In short, even though the objective reality of this situation truly sucks and we feel like we are powerless, if we consent to this, if we choose this, then the attitude of our hearts will totally change. Nothing is ever truly ours. Switchfoot said our skin and bones are just rentals. But give God this--this pain--and in a sense, choose it because if we do, it becomes a gift that changes the mindset of our hearts.

Beauty is born from pain. It's ok if you still love him. You are supposed to. But open up your sails, and let the wind take you on.


Frequencies so low
Heart on a string
A string that only plays solos
Rain made of echoes
Tidal wave rushing on and on
Under the water you scream so loud but the silence surrounds you
But I hear it loud and you fall in the deep and I'll always find you
If my red eyes don't see you anymore
And I can't hear you through the white noise
Just send your heartbeat out there to the blue ocean floor
Where they find us no more
On that blue ocean floor

JT: Blue Ocean Floor 

(A song I might have listened to several thousand times during my breakup)