I was in love—not with a person, but with the idea of him.
Every morning, at precisely 8:03 AM, his message would arrive. By then, I had already begun my day, yet somehow found myself waiting. His charm lay in the continuity—no predictable “Good morning” or a lazy “Heyyy.” He simply resumed our conversation as if the night had never existed, as if sleep were just a brief intermission in our never-ending dialogue.
Throughout the day, we exchanged details of our lives, from the trivial to the profound. That’s how I learned about his strained relationship with his roommate and his almost obsessive need for order. He could wax poetic about computers for hours—a topic I neither understood nor particularly cared for—but I stored every fact he shared carefully, as if these fragments of his world somehow made me more a part of it. We laughed over our mutual inability to swim. He peeled back layers of his soul, speaking of the loneliness of being the only adopted son in a family of five.
And so, gradually, imperceptibly, he became the highlight of my day. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter, and even the croaking frogs outside my window began to sound like a symphony. He occupied my thoughts with an unshakable persistence, weaving himself into the fabric of my daily existence.
But then, God spoke.
“Let him go.”
I wrestled… I reasoned and tried negotiating. Surely, there had to be a a way to keep both—God and my newfound source of joy. But divine whispers have a way of turning into storms when ignored. And in the end, it wasn’t a burning bush or a thunderous voice that forced my surrender—sadly, it was a whooping Ksh 3,000 disappearing into thin air. Yes, alinifanyia ile kitu. A hard lesson paid for in literal currency. (To this day Lord, bado inauma💔).
In hindsight, I see the mercy of God in it. He was not merely shielding me from heartbreak or financial loss—He was reclaiming my heart. The Israelites may have bowed before idols of gold and stone, but mine had been fashioned from flesh and bone. They built altars; I surrendered my thoughts. They sacrificed calves and goats; I sacrificed time and devotion. Their worship was misdirected; my adoration was misplaced.
Letting go was neither immediate nor painless. God, in His kindness, did not erase my emotions overnight. Instead, He walked me through them. And as I staggered through the ache, my prayer shifted.
“Lord, my heart is wounded, yet in this pain, I see Your grace. I asked for healing, but first, I must thank You for opening my eyes. Teach me to love You more than I ever loved him—more than I will ever love anyone. May my heart quicken in Your presence more than it did at the sight of his messages. Be my first love, Lord. Take Your rightful place, far above anything and anyone else. As the psalmist declared:
‘As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, my God.’ (Psalm 42:1)
Let this be the song of my heart, now and forever. Amen.”
~Anonymous~