Every human on the earth longs to be remembered. In the small mundane day-to-day tasks, or the big projects of life—we don’t ever want to feel forgotten. We like to be acknowledged for the things that we do, and noticed for the sacrifices we make. We like to be seen when we do something right, and still loved through our mistakes. We want to be remembered when we aren’t around, and protected even when we are. It is a basic human desire—for others to think of us. So we aren’t forgotten.
One thing I have learned: some days we will be forgotten. And no matter how hard we long to be remembered—sometimes we are not enough.
I knew all along it would come, and eventually it did.
There she was, standing on the stand raising her hand promising to tell the truth—the only witness. The only person who saw the gun fire. The only one who actually knew exactly what happened that night.
I could not take my eyes off of her. I had to hear it all for myself; I forced my mind to listen to every word in hopes of finding answers, or at least finding a way to stop needing them.
Why. How. When? A murder, an affair: the two things that had taken over my thoughts and had filled my soul with doubts for which I constantly was seeking answers to.
As the first words came out of her mouth my heart yearned for her to look toward me and say how sorry she was for all I had gone through. I kept waiting and waiting—like a pathetic jr. high girl waiting for someone to ask her to dance. I just knew she had to have been thinking of all the pain the kids and I had suffered because of that night. She just had to understand my need—for any of the three of them to offer me some sort of an apology . . .
Every few questions I leaned closer, hoping to catch the words I somehow was waiting to hear.
Soon, the two of them glanced longingly toward each other and whispered, ‘I love you’s. My heart began to pound out of my chest. A hatred I have never felt before sprouted an anger full of resentment. How dare they pretend that everything was ok between them. How dare they make a mock of the fact that I would never have that chance. How dare they pretend that they could over look the bad decisions they each had made—when Emmett was killed because of his.
A black hole engulfed me as I let my hatred kindle in my heart. Ultimately it was because of them that Emmett was not there to look across the room from me and tell me the ‘I am sorry’s I still longed for. Did no one think of me? No one remembered that I had a voice—that I was even alive. That night . . . did they honestly think they were the only three people in the world? Did not one of them remember I was sitting at home—with no answers—trying to figure out how to be enough?
My mind reeled with every question, and every doubt it had stored inside.
Each word she spoke drilled and drilled into me a truth I had feared: You were not enough. You were not enough for that gun. You were not enough for her. You were not enough for Emmett. You were not even enough for anyone to walk away. You are worthless—and no one is thinking of you. Not then, not now . . . maybe never.
My heart yearned for someone to think of me. Even for that moment, for someone to remember the pain I had suffered, or the burdens I had come to bear.
I looked around the room—no one was watching me. For all the times I had wished everyone would stop staring my way . . . for the first time I wished someone could see me. Anyone. I wished someone would come take the stand with proof that anyone knew—or cared—who I was.
I wished Kandi would look out into the crowd and tell me she knew it had been hard for me. I wished Rob would stand up and say how sorry he was that as he was reminding Emmett to go home to his family . . . he himself should have thought of us before reaching into his hoody pocket for his gun.
I felt so alone I wanted to crawl into a hole. I felt so small I could almost feel my self-esteem melting into the floor.
The hard thing about waiting for someone else to complete your healing, is the feeling of brokenness that comes when they fail to meet your silent expectations.
On the drive toward home that afternoon I felt deflated. Not because of the facts I heard for the thousandth time—but because of the words I did not hear. After some time of driving silent in my anger I flipped on my phone and let my music play.
Soon the play list turned over and a familiar song came on. It was a song I had taught my little sister Ali’s young woman class at our church a few years back. Tears began to fall as I felt each word sink into my heart.
Do you wonder if he knows who you are?
Do you wonder if he knows the secret pleadings of your heart
He has numbered every sand of the sea
And he longs for you to know that he believes in you.
Can you feel the quiet power from above
Can you feel his strength surround you when your own is not enough
He has blessed you with his spirit from on high
And he longs for you to know what lives inside of you
Oh, be true
Daughter of a king
The father’s royalty
Heir to his divinity
He’s calling your name
To come and take your place before his throne
He has always known
What he created you to be
A daughter of a king
You hold the promises of all eternity
Rise to claim the noble birth right you were sent here to recieve
He has loved you since you lived with him before
Let him lead you to the gifts he has in store for you
Oh, be true
Daughters of a king our father’s royalty
Heirs to his divinity
He’s calling our names
To come and take our place before his throne
He has always known
What he created us to be…..
Daughter of a king.
In that moment I knew the lies I had been fighting all day were just that. I was surrounded by the love of One much greater than the three I had been waiting for. I remembered the truth of the promise that was made to me long before I even came to this earth—I was enough for Him. In that very moment my heart was overwhelmed with the love of God and I could almost no longer remember the hate that had entrapped me all day long.
Truth will always win—for it is in truth that we find someone who WILL think of us. We find the true healing we seek, when we are able to reach to the One who will always remember us.
Just like I had many times before I walked into my house—not surrounded by the hate I had for those who had forgotten me—but filled with the love of the One who had remembered.
We are always going to be reminded that we are not enough; we are easy to forget when something seemingly greater comes along. But I promise you this: Someone is thinking of you. He not only thinks of you when you feel alone—He remembers you when you really are forgotten.
Questions to Ponder:
- How does understanding who you are and your worth to God help you overcome feelings of abandonment or worthlessness?