My life is a house. And I am the "owner" of the house and each room has a different purpose, like a real house- each a different part in my life. The kitchen in my "house" is where I feed myself, where sustenance is obtained. In spiritual terms, that could be like what I put into my head. What I let my eyes sees, my ears hear. The living room is where favorite memories dwell: holidays with family, long conversations with friends. The bedroom is for intimate moments. Yes, I am talking about that, all the romance stuff, but I'm also talking about emotional times when I'm alone in my room. The bathroom is where I make myself presentable to the world, where the world probably has the most influence on me. Make up, hair, clothes... The closets are cleaned out and organized often, symbolizing how I want to be cleaned up by my faith.
One day... I decide to invite my new friend into my house. And he starts to take over everything. At first, I realize how great that could be. We have some great times together, especially in the kitchen and the living room. We get to know each other and he's just pouring into me and teaching me things that excite me and we're an unstoppable team. He loves to make me happy, and I love to see him smile.
But then I start to get worried because he doesn't just want to hang out in the areas that I deem presentable to visitors. He wants to see the rest of the house too. So I finally get talked into opening up some of the doors. He wants to be in the bathroom when I'm deciding how to look so that we can be honest about why I want to look that way. That's just how it is, I say. He asks me what I'm trying to hide. And I tell him, What's behind closed doors. He takes my hand and says, Can I have a look? Maybe next time, I say.
But next time comes very soon, and before I know it my friend is looking at everything. He's opened every window, looked at every corner. Questioned motivation, questioned my heart. But as he does, he changes who I am. My identity is tied up in his, now. The spring cleaning is going well, and I actually might be enjoying this. But winter comes, and it's too cold for me to leave the windows open. He watches as I close them, and says gently, Can I see your bedroom? No, I say. But... he starts. But I take him into the kitchen instead and keep him busy talking. It goes on like this for weeks. Everything I had gained from being with him I lost by holding him at a distance.
Finally one day, I collapse in my bedroom. Too exhausted to even move. No motivation for anything. I'm not even sure why I'm still breathing. And he walks in. He picks me up and puts me in my bed, while I'm protesting the whole time, No! Don't. Please. You don't understand. You shouldn't see me like this. Too much has happened to me. But he tucks me in and says, I know. Well then why... I start, but he won't let me finish. He starts to sing, and feeling the most peaceful I've felt since I met him, I fall asleep.
But then I meet a new guy, and I'm crazy about him. He’s charming, with a perfect smile and thick hair. We share the same hobbies, and we have the same issues. He gets me. There's something different about it. I can never get enough of him. My old friend keeps hoping we can hang out, but I just want my new guy there; he takes up too much of my relationship time. My new guy starts in my bedroom and before I know it, I've got a heavy conscience and a broken heart. Too much. Too far. Too fast. It was all my fault. Before I even think to call him, my good friend walks in and picks me up. He puts me back in bed. Pets my hair while I cry. I'm sorry, I say. I forgive you, he says back. The next day, I wake up and he's still there. Singing. Smiling. Looking at me like nothing ever happened.
But I fall, and again the cycle repeats. And again. And again. Until finally one day, I'm so sick that I try to open up a window just to see if there's anything better out there. He appears, and helps me loosen the tight windows. When they finally open, I can smell the fresh air. It makes me feel stronger. And I look at Him. And I smile. Then his expression changes. Softly He says, Show me your attic. I cock my head, My attic? He nods. I don't have an attic, I say. And He leads me upstairs, right underneath a door in the ceiling that I never noticed. The string hangs down. Silence. Seconds pass. I can't do it, I say, and I back up. Tell me when you're ready, He says. You won’t have to do this alone.