You want to know something funny? Ironic, really. One of the reasons – probably the reason – B____ doubted from the first my love for him was that it was so untried. He said, from all he had seen of real love, “Love to me is battle-scarred. When everything is dark and the chips are down and you have nothing left, love is the thing whispering, ‘I’m still here. Don’t give up.’”
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I want to laugh with the irony of that statement that has taken so many months to manifest. Yes, beloved, love is battle-scarred and far from being scared of that as I was once, I relish it. I am battle-scarred, and rather than finding my love for him cracking under the pressure and the incredible lack of physical confirmation, I bear the wounds proudly. I have seen what God is capable of, which is how I can see what I am capable of.
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Few loves are as battle-scarred as mine. The pure porcelain of it at its inception has steadily been layered over with steel. Nothing can be harder than what I’ve borne alone, and no purpose could be more worth it.
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Battle-scarred, indeed.
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