the jig is up

I like hugs.
And people.
And hand-holding.
And kisses, too.

I know that I have said for the longest time that I am not stimulated by touch, that it is not a way that I receive love, and all of my adult life I really have believed it. I yet hold this position, but with much modification. I think after much introspection that I have come to the right compromising conclusion, and I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this conviction.

Physical affection that is insincere leaves me with a feeling akin to touching wet trash.

My quest for honesty at all costs leaves me with a very small window of tolerance for what I accept. My standards for this type of intimacy can be quite unreasonable, I'll admit. But after much thought I can venture that one reason for my funk a while ago was because I have carried on as though I do not need people. With my lack of a cell phone I tried to ignore the pang in my heart that activated every time I thought of someone to call, and then I remembered my plight. Brushing off those feelings came at the expense of my sanity this semester, or lack thereof. What a humbling experience.

I find that I shy away from physical affection because I always have. It is hard for me to open up that part of my love, to let people in and handle it as they will. I am still under the idea that I do not like frivolous, afterthinking touch...but by completely refusing this form of love I am essentially throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

I may be yearning for the affection that I took for granted up until 10 months ago, gestures that were as sincere last May as they were the day that I was born. It is possible that my high standards are derived from experiencing contact that was a physical manifestation of love so pure that it could only be true. Maybe I'm under the impression that I will never experience this again. Maybe I think I'm right. Maybe I am.

I miss that love, so I take an indignant stance against anything that dimly reflects what I once had. I sit in the corner and sulk, but I think my stubborness is beginning to fall away. With each brush of the hand, with each caress, with each embrace, my defense is melting. I am forced to relent, to collapse, to surrender. I am forced to acknowledge my need for God's grace in the form of His people.