Dear Parsiphony,
I have been thinking about what to share concerning my situation that might in some measure redeem it. I do believe it has permanently damaged me, and shall be my infirmity for many years to come. But it is my belief that all things work together for the good of those who love God, as scripture says in Romans 8:28. Perhaps teaching others prudence in this regard will cheer me slightly. And in this way I can still do kindness to the young man whose heart I am responsible for breaking, by preventing other people from making the same mistake, from breaking more hearts.
My mind has been occupied recently with the question of what my exact mistake was in the aforementioned situation: a question of definitions.
The facts of the situation are thus:
We met, and got along quite well.
I found him quite attractive, with every physical and mental characteristic I could wish for in a member of the opposite sex. If I were able to locate the piece of paper I made when I was younger to be read at the age of eighteen detailing my standards, I am sure he and my standards would have agreed quite well. That is, they would have agreed minus one important detail; he was not a Christian. Indirectly, I let him know that under my principles, dictated by II Corinthians 6:14, a Christian cannot in any way unequally yoke herself to a non-Christian, a statement which includes yoking in the context of a relationship. As I was soon to find out, Christianity, though at the very top of my list, was not my actual chief standard.
Throughout our friendship, he sought to respect my guideline of only accepting a Christian man in a relationship.
Showing less respect to my own ideals than he, and in contradiction to my ideals, I allowed myself to admire him, as many of his traits were quite admirable. I was driven quite out of my mind with my admiration.
Beyond simply admiring him in my mind, I allowed him to understand my particular esteem through my actions, which made him begin to think that it might be acceptable for him to allow himself to esteem me as well.
A few months down the road, in some unseemely thoughtlessness and singleness of purpose, I straightly inquired of him whether he esteemed me after making my regard known. He honestly replied in the affirmative.
My conscience was not forgiving. After a few days, I apologized for how I treated him ever since I first met him, saying that I was wrong to give my heart to him. I am not sure I knew just how accurate that assessment was at the time, and am sure I did not know what or why I was doing.
Somehow in the following days I managed to maintain this stance, though it was loathsome to me.
I have been apologizing ever since, though he does not reply. At first he tried to remain civil, even to be friends; he even told me he forgave me after the initial apology. But a person's patience can only be tested for so long before that person breaks. My company was obviously painful to him, and my feigned indifference even more so with its small inconsistencies. I wanted badly to love and be loved by him before, during, and long after my first apology, and my looks and actions reflected this state of mind even if my lips never again formed the words in his company. Throughout the whole, I must have shamelessly cared more for my own satisfaction than for his, as love dictated that I back off, even stop being near him, because that would be better for him in the long run. But I gave in to wants instead of realities, and selfishness instead of selflessness. Even now it makes me so ashamed. There are no words, and there is nothing to repair the breach--nothing except God's forgiveness which, if someone has taken the habit of considering other things as more important and more real for a few months, is only comforting as a fact after it is sought after again.
So what was my specific mistake in all this? Elisha would know I am sure; he referred to it as "halting between two opinions" (I Kings 18:21).
There is nothing anyone can say to convince me that I was without some blame in this situation, but in hindsight, and for your better edification since my mind has tirelessly examined the subject, there are two options by which, at least in the eyes of the non-Christian world, I could have been without blame.
The first would have been to disregard II Corinthians 6:14, to throw off the theology of the unequal yoke. Though compromised theologically by my church's standards, I could have convinced myself that I had only changed that one point, that I could keep all the other theology while "changing my opinion" on that particular issue. My young man might have become a Christian, we might have been happy together, who knows. An added benefit is that I could have taken this position at any time before my apology, and I would have had him. However, as I would have discovered, though I probably would have been happy for a while before I discovered it, a person cannot just throw away a part of her theology she has accepted since her youth without also injuring the authority in which she considers the rest of her theology. That decision might have had the power to compromise a great deal more of my theology.
The second would have been to protect my heart from the beginning, to consider this young man as a friend, to actively prevent myself from falling in love with him; in two phrases, to stick to my purpose, and to keep my principles from injuring anyone besides myself. A person is blameless for keeping their principles even in the eyes of the rest of the world as long as their principles do not hurt anyone else. And as my experience would tell you, it is Hell on earth to compromise one's principles without a clear reason, and perhaps Hell beyond earth as well. It is now my opinion that it is better to stomp on one's own heart than to even prick another's, unless the reason is just and justifiable, and selfishness is unjustifiable.
I cannot advise anyone to take the former "blameless" option, as it is against my principles, and against good sense in general. But I strongly recommend the latter as far superior to the former. It is life, both for the individual partaking in it and the young man for which it is intended.
My all-too-personal warning is to avoid halting between opinions. That, in the context of the two opinions in question, was my mistake: its definition. Do not halt between opinions. It has been at times more painful than the death of a dear friend.
It is not a situation entirely without redemption, however. My relationship with God is mending.
I am hoping, dear Parsiphony, my sweet and patient friend, that you might be able to unravel these thoughts in a way that is beneficial to yourself. God bless you,
~Dinah Greyhorn
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