True Forgiveness

Recently I’ve been reminded about one unsolved heart’s matter… and it made me realize that for all along I haven’t completely forgiven a person. I thought I did, but it turns out that I haven’t finished the process…

This morning, I imagined about Him… He’s been through something similar, even harder ones…

I imagine He was looking to people, one by one, who raise their hands… shouted His name in great joy, when He entered Jerusalem by a colt…
I imagine He was looking to people who followed Him, who have been healed by Him, who have been fed by Him in a miraculous night, who have been taught by Him… The faces that expressed gratitude, amazement, and loyalty…
(Not to mention His “faithful” diciples…)

But later on, He saw the same faces, this time full of anger and disgust… They shouted His name, this time in hatred, while He was in Pilate’s court… He saw their faces when they picked Barabbas over Him to be set free, when they cursed Him and demanded Him to be crucified…
(Not to mention the fact that His diciples had left Him all alone because of their own fear).

And… don’t forget about Peter’s denial, in spite of what he had said just before (Luke 22:33). Imagine that moment when Jesus saw Peter straight in the eye (Luke 22:61)…

I just speechless about what was on His mind and His heart at that time… either towards Peter or other people…

He, who is blameless and sinless, can forgive us…
While we, the same sinful people, tend to keep other’s faults and find it hard to forgive them…
It’s kinda ironic, don’t you think?

Forgiving is forgiving. End of sentence.

There’s no “but” or “even though” or “only if”…
Because a true forgiveness arises from a broken heart that has been completely restored by His unconditional love…

He said that to love Him is to obey Him (1John 5:3) and He wants us to forgive others (1 John 2:9, 1John 3:15, Luke 6:37, and Col 3:13)

“For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.”

(John 13:15)

Being Real is a real Problem

(By Gregory Spencer)
Source: Boundless

When I was a boy, I spent many afternoons with my legs straddling a wide white branch of a walnut tree. I fingered the dials and wheels of the plywood instrument panel I knew would one day take my brother and me to Mars.

During dreamy summer days, we might pose any number of profound questions to each other, but our favorite was, "If you had to choose, would you rather go blind or deaf?" The answer could not have been more obvious to me then. I would rather go deaf, sight being too precious to lose. For the sighted, seeing is usually the most defining sense.

How much more so in an image-saturated culture. Unfortunately, in our times, we have come to believe that seeing is all that is necessary for experiencing. This is what I call the Gospel of Sight: What the eye values is the most important truth; the image — our image — is what matters most.

Though I don't dislike the media (I love movies. I watch TV), I take what I have assumed to be G.K. Chesterton's observation to heart: "The thinking person always resists the most dominant thing in his culture because the most dominant thing is always too dominant." I see "the most dominant thing" as the way images have influenced the way we think and behave. In light of our longing for and our need to develop authenticity (a virtue I define as "the courage to love with a rigorous inside-out consistency"), two consequences seem especially important.

The Gospel of Sight teaches us that appearances are all-in-all. We are image-driven, image-obsessed, image-conscious to a fault. The obvious needs to be asserted: We have defined "being attractive" in visual terms. Most commercials tell us that all that matters is being as beautiful and young and thin and fit and ripped as possible. That and being rich.

How can we be deeply authentic if we think that "how we look" is top priority? Of course, caring about our appearance is not unimportant or "beneath us." God made us to notice beauty and appreciate style. We each have our own personal "way of being," our God-given uniqueness, much of which is related to our image. Everything has a kind of style: dresses, cars, sermons, governments. If we wish to communicate well, we must attend to what sounds pleasing to others and to what our body "says." But our culture has grossly overstated the role of the image. As exercise guru Jack LaLanne says: "I can't die. It would ruin my image."

We are outside-in focused, instead of inside-out. Parents have said for years that it's what's on the inside that counts, but their voices get drowned out by the thousands of voices we hear every day to the contrary. We need better skin, brighter teeth, more glowing hair. We hear that everything in our future rests on our attractiveness. A woman admiring herself in an ad for Avia shoes wants it both ways: "She knows true beauty comes from the inside — but she doesn't mind finding it in the mirror."

Inevitably, this outside-in orientation makes our sense of self dependent on external forces. We need to be noticed, to be praised for our image — and we conspire to get that attention. Over a century ago, Henry Ward Beecher got it right: "Clothes do not make the man, but once he is made, they greatly improve his appearance."

We suffer a perfectionism exacerbated by the manipulation of pixels. Every commercial photo of a face or body is altered, enhanced, made more visually stunning. Yet the more perfect the image, the greater the distance from our imperfect lives. This disparity discourages and corrupts us, especially women. I have watched my three daughters struggle with these issues. It's hard enough to live up to a good friend's beauty; but how does one compare to a digitalized "perfection" that even the supermodel doesn't possess?

And analysis is not enough. Though I know the supermodel's skin is not impeccably unblemished, that her original image might have a pimple or tired eyes, I still say, "Wow, she's beautiful." Perfectionistic words are also associated with the images: "For flawless looks, spotless skin," etc. We cannot measure up so we bury ourselves in the guilt of starvation diets and persistent self-deprecation.

We may be paying a higher price as well. Recently I asked one of my classes why so many of their generation were committing suicide. Their responses surprised me. They said that because so many resources were at their disposal, they had no good reason not to make the world better. And they should be able to make themselves better as well — perfect even — and they couldn't bear the weight.

The resonance in the classroom seemed profound to me. Yes, the world's problems overwhelm them. But the depressing tipping point is that they feel they should be dramatically other than they are. They have no excuse not to live up to the consistent messages that they ought to be perfect.

The Gospel of Sight presents "illusion" as preferable to the authentic. When my family is on vacation, someone often says, "Ooh, look at the scenery! That would make such a good picture." My typical response is, "Yes, but isn't it a good landscape? I mean, isn't it worthy without being a photograph?" It's not that I dislike photographs or images — really. It's just that they have changed the way we experience the world, and we ought to do our best to understand these ways.

The illusion becomes the standard. This last Christmas, my wife and younger daughters and I visited my eldest daughter who, at that time, was living in St. Petersburg, Russia. After getting robbed in the Metro and negotiating the somewhat uninviting city for eight days, I was delighted to spend the next five days in London before returning home to California. I said, "Ah, London is wonderful; it's like Disneyland." Ouch. Shouldn't I have said that Disneyland was like London? For shame! Somehow, the faux-reality of Disneyland has burrowed into my head as the higher standard of excellence.

This "standard of illusion" can be seen in every day life. If the norms for the speed of romance are adopted from film, we may think our own plodding efforts ought to be pumped up. And nature television has become the norm for nature. Real nature just doesn't measure up. It is not populated with enough "cute" or "fierce" beasts, nor do the wild things perform for us as they should.

Perhaps our declining participation in authentic experiences makes being authentic more difficult. We're uncomfortable in the wilderness of genuineness. We tend to be either too blunt or too evasive. At any rate, inexorably, the standard of illusion leads to my next point.

We prefer illusion. As a freshman in college, I had on my wall a newspaper photo of my girlfriend as she was receiving her crown as Homecoming princess. To this day, I am convinced that I broke up with her because she failed to live up to the photograph. You may think me shallow but I had constructed my fantasy and I was sticking with it. When we were together, she didn't look as idyllically beautiful, nor did she treat me as I imagined she should: with that radiant smile, those perfect eyes, that facial expression that let me know I was the center of her life. In person, she was, well, a person, and I preferred my image of her.

Journalist Kiku Adatto says this choice makes a curious kind of sense: "In a media-conscious environment, authenticity means becoming the master of your own artificiality." Why would a fake authenticity become preferable? Charles Williams' cautionary thriller Descent into Hell provides some insight. He tells the story of middle-aged Lawrence Wentworth who has a romantic crush on a much younger woman, Adela. In Williams' supernatural scheme, Wentworth's desire for Adela is so strong that, once Adela rejects him, he "creates" an illusion of Adela who caters to his every desire. Once, during a torrential rain, the real Adela shows up at his door and asks to be let in. Wentworth looks at the phantom Adela in his room and then out at the real one, wet and needy. Williams' says, "He recognized well enough that the real Adela might have given him considerable trouble to lift, but his whole damnation was that he would not choose the trouble to lift the real Adela."

I have been haunted by this line for years. What and who are the "real Adelas" in our lives that we refuse to lift? When do we dwell in our imagined ideal and ignore the plain truth in front of us — or inside of us? In order to live a rigorous inside-out consistency, we have to be willing to face, among other things, tragic realities. If we pretend that we don't have problems or that the world is "just fine," we will be more deeply shaken when tragedy comes our way.

Perhaps this explains some troubled marriages and divorces. Newlyweds can be shocked when they discover the darker sides of their spouse.

At my college, I sometimes hear students say (after the revelation of some terrible event on campus), "I can't believe that could happen at Westmont." I think, "Why? Do you not know that Westmont is inhabited by people?" Many of us prefer the illusion that followers of Jesus lead outwardly better lives, that they always have superior marriages, more fulfilling jobs, less tragedy. We would be better off telling the truth about our humanity, even the difficult, tragic truths. Jesus says that "the truth will set you free" (John 8:32).

As we grow increasingly comfortable with illusion, we may find that we are more concerned with creating ourselves than with knowing ourselves. We alter our outer selves incessantly: our hair color, facial features, body shapes — anything to keep looking young. And we also alter our inner selves. We affirm a version of "the Good Life" that keeps our souls in a gated community, safe from the need to deal with uncomfortable realities. We may also distance ourselves from friends who tell us disagreeable truths, especially truths about ourselves. And since we know how far we are from the image we present, we know others are distant also and so, ironically, we don't trust them.

Living in the age of the image is often thrilling and pleasing. But when its qualities dominate all others — when the Gospel of Sight reigns supreme — authenticity is threatened. The loud and flashy world shouts down this quiet virtue. A sincere effort will be required of us if we hope to be more genuine.

Let It Be With Me Just As You Say

(by Wendy Blight)

“Yes, I see it all now: I am the Lord’s maid, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say.” Luke 1:38 (MSG)

Have you read the Christmas story yet this season? Join me today for a fresh look at this familiar story.

In Luke’s first chapter, he introduces us to a young woman named Mary. We can glean from the gospels that she was an ordinary girl, much like you and me. Scripture tells us she was betrothed to a man named Joseph. Luke does not tell us much about her every day life, but we can beleive one thing...Mary knew and loved God. How do we know this? By the truths taught in her story.

In one moment in time, this ordinary girl who lived an ordinary life came face to face with an extraordinary God. The angel Gabriel greeted Mary with these words: “You will become pregnant and give birth to a Son and call His name Jesus. He will be great, be called ‘Son of the Highest.’”

Mary asked Gabriel how this would happen since she had never slept with a man. He answered that the Holy Spirit would come upon her, hover over her, and place the child within her. He then told her, “…the child you bring forth will be called Holy, Son of God.”

Considering the immediate impact this message would have on Mary’s ordinary life – she’d have to explain to her family and her fiancé that she was pregnant – her response is powerful and such a witness for you and me. She told Gabriel, “Yes, I see it now: I’m the Lord’s maid, ready to serve. Let it be with me just as you say.” How could she have so quickly and easily put aside all that this surprising proclamation would mean and surrender her will to God’s?

How did Mary come to that place? I believe that in her journey up to that point there were many small steps of obedience where she had experienced and witnessed God’s faithfulness. Perhaps places where she said, “Yes, Lord,” even when it was difficult or did not make sense. Choosing to say “yes” on ordinary days prepared her heart to say “yes” on this extraordinary day!

You and I have those ordinary moments in our lives too ... moments that in and of themselves do not seem significant but when weaved together create a heart of obedience. One day God will ask us to trust Him for something extraordinary. Where will our heart be? Will we be ready to say “yes” to God, even when what He is asking seems impossible?

My prayer for you and for me is that we use this day to prepare our hearts for those moments when our extraordinary God will invite us to join Him on an extraordinary journey. Say “yes” to Him today.

Source: crosswalk

From My Love

(By George Halitzka)

Tonya was a gorgeous brunette with a pixie haircut and penetrating blue eyes. Spunky and sweet with an appetite for German literature, she had brains and personality to spare. Chad was the class clown type with a spontaneous wit and unshakeable confidence. He possessed just a touch of street attitude, and his Asian heritage gave him a unique look that Tonya loved.

Chad and Tonya were high school sweethearts, and their closest friends thought they made a great couple. Even when she shipped off to college and he joined the Army, they stayed together. Finally, Chad mustered the courage to pop the question — and she said "yes"!

Tonya happily started planning a wedding. The groom-to-be headed to his base in Kentucky.

Now, to understand the rest of the story, you should know a few things about Tonya. Her Mom maintained very strict discipline: Tonya was perpetually grounded (even from church). Her Dad was so easy-going that he rarely said "no" to anything. Forgive me for the psychoanalysis, but I don't think Tonya felt loved by either parent.

You also need to know a few things about Chad. His folks probably loved each other once, but by the time he came along, their marriage was a mutually-beneficial cohabitation. Dad was a workaholic who was never home; Mom was there but unaffectionate. Chad learned to be popular to make people notice him.

There were some warning signs before the engagement came crashing down. Chad and Tonya shared a clingy, only-time-for-one-another dependence. They never hung out with other friends, yet Chad admitted later that he still never knew Tonya. Her feelings were an enigma. Chad's jealousy and temper were issues, too — once, he had to be physically restrained when he thought he saw a guy checking Tonya out.

But through the fights that defined their engagement, the couple stuck together. When Tonya was afraid of losing him and Chad's birthday was coming, she wrapped a bow around herself, handed him a card that said "open your present," and laid down on the bed.

It was her last-ditch attempt to make the relationship last ... but it didn't work. Soon afterwards, Chad confessed to cheating on her with a girl he'd met in Kentucky. Tonya finally told him to hit the road.

The Aftermath

Chad almost immediately jumped into another relationship; he met and married Katie in less than a year. They had a son and a daughter together before things fell apart.

Then Katie discovered that Chad was hooked on internet porn. Later, he had a fling with a divorcee 10 years his senior. Chad started to see guys he'd never met dropping Katie off after her nights out. She finally left him with the kids and moved in with a new boyfriend.

As for Tonya, she was devastated by her breakup. She moved on to date other guys — supposedly, good Christian guys. One after another, they broke off the romances and left her alone. So finally, she got mad at God — how could he let her heart get ripped from her chest by one Christian after another? She started seeing an agnostic named David, got pregnant, and married him.

Today, Tonya has given up on God. She e-mailed one of her old girlfriends once: "If God doesn't care about me, at least I've finally found a guy who does." But for how long?1

Kumbayah?

Chad and Tonya's story is true. Maybe you skimmed it and shook your head, wondering how two people could be so stupid. Or maybe you read the words with the uncomfortable feeling that they described your life.

Oh, it may be friends and family who kicked you to the curb instead of your exes. But you still try not to remember the time Dad blamed you for his failing marriage. You'd like to forget the moment somebody backstabbed you for the first time. Then there was the day you and your best friend had the big fight ... and as the dust cleared, you realized you didn't have a best friend anymore.

After that, you were done with people. You decided real relationships were a nice accessory to life, but ultimately not worth the pain.

Yet is there anything that could change your mind? Anything at all that would make you give authentic community one more shot; try again to know and be known?

The only way to really solve the problem would be to return to a time before the hurt. Personally, I have great memories of childhood — before the bullies of adolescence and backstabbers of adulthood. Being a kid had its drawbacks, but community was simpler then. You could count on a best friend who knew your name to say it ... and mean it. Forgiveness, humility and integrity came a little easier before you learned why people don't do these things.

Unfortunately, I don't have a time machine to offer for a trip to first grade.

Yet maybe there's one more option to find the courage for community — a dangerous one. If you could believe, really believe, that one person loved you without a shadow of betrayal, would that give you courage to seek community one more time? Would knowing you could come home to the arms of a faithful friend change anything?

Yeah, you've heard this pitch before. God loves you right where you're at; Kumbayah and pass the tissues.

But do you believe it? Clearly, Chad and Tonya didn't.

The Orphan

Try to imagine, just for a moment, that you're a kid again. Recess is the best part of your day and a new box of crayons is a rare treat. A cardboard box is enough to take you to Mars and back! But there is one big problem in your life:

When the 3 p.m. bell rings, you don't have a Mommy or Daddy to meet you at the door.

So many of us feel orphaned from relationships in our lives; now suppose you really are an orphan. You live with some people who are nice most of the time and keep food in your tummy, but it's not the same as what the kids at school have at their houses. You know that if you could find a Dad or Mom, everything would be different. You'd love better and live stronger ... because at least one person would always be there to catch you when you fall!

One day, just as you're sitting down to dinner at the group home where you live, you hear some big news. Tomorrow, there's a man coming to adopt one of the children from this house! The room is abuzz with anticipation.

Now, a few of the kids say they don't care; they like things just the way they are. But you're not so jaded yet. You're young enough to believe it could be you, and you go to bed with an incredible dream in your heart: Tomorrow, you might find a Daddy.

The next morning, the man everyone has been talking about arrives. He's tall and imposing; just a little scary — but he has a broad smile that banishes any uncertainty. He talks with all the kids in the house; even gets down to play with the girls' dollies and heads out back for a quick game of pick-up football with the boys.

You stand off to the side, but all the while, you're thinking, "Please, pick me ... please choose me as your very own." Your eyes reach out pleadingly, but you know he couldn't possibly want you. You can't throw the ball like Dakota or read thick books like Brandy. You're not a smart or good or handsome kid — never the one who gets picked for special things.

But suddenly, the man who came to pick a child is standing directly in front of you. You look 'way up into his eyes as he smiles and extends his hand, motioning for you to come along.

You wordlessly point at yourself — "Me?" He can't possibly be choosing you! But he nods and you step away from the group. He takes your tiny hand in his, and as all of the other kids look on with unfulfilled longing, you walk out of the house hand-in-hand. He has chosen you to be his child!

"What's your name, sir?" you ask timidly.

"Hmmm ... I guess I have a few," he says. "But why don't you call me 'Daddy'?"

You are amazed. "Daddy" is the one who the kids at school talk about tucking them into bed every night. He's the one who takes you cool places and pushes you really high on the swing! Your friend Taylor says Dads can fix whatever goes wrong, from a skinned knee to a flat bike tire.

You hardly dare believe you finally have a parent of your own.

The Inheritance

The days pass quickly as you spend time with your new Daddy. You begin to realize that something is different about him; he's no ordinary man. He's much, much bigger than you thought at first.

One day he takes you to the beach, and you reach the sand just as the sun is going down. You watch the colors change and the red ball dip below the horizon. You know by now Daddy is more than just a nice man who cares for you. So you turn to him and ask timidly: "Daddy, is it true ... did you make this sunset?"

He looks down at you and smiles: "I did. Do you like it?" You nod in mute wonder, overwhelmed with the magnificence of your Father's world.

Then he musses your hair and says something even more remarkable. "You know, kid, someday all of this is going to be yours. This beauty, this joy and awe, this fleeting glimpse of eternity — you'll enjoy it every day for a trillion trillion years. One day, you'll join me in ruling a kingdom greater than any the world has ever known."

You look up at your Daddy and take his big hand in yours, so proud of everything he's made, and strangely humbled that one day you'll share in his heaven.

When you get home, you unpack your book bag and show Daddy your papers from school. He tells you he wants you to try harder in math, and you feel a little ashamed. But you understand — sometimes, Daddies have to discipline their kids to help them get better.

Yet he doesn't end with a rebuke. He takes one of your coloring worksheets from the stack of homework and hangs it up with a fridge magnet, telling you he's very proud of that one.

You're puzzled — the lines were really tiny on that paper and you couldn't quite stay inside them with your crayons; the teacher gave you a frowny-face. "Daddy, why do you like this one?" you ask timidly.

"Because on that picture, I know you tried your hardest," he says.

Nothing Can Separate

Later that night as your Daddy tucks you into bed, there's one thing bothering you. You know that even when you do your best, you can't be good all the time. Some of the kids in your group home talked about their Daddies hitting them, or calling them bad words that hurt more than the hitting. And because of their stories, you can't shake off a hidden fear that one day, your new Daddy will stop loving you and send you back to the home, deciding you aren't worth the trouble anymore.

So just before he turns out the light, you screw up all your courage and ask a question: "Daddy ... what makes you stop loving your kids?"

"Me?" he says. "Absolutely nothing."

"But what about when I do something really bad?"

"Nothing can separate you from my love," he replies.

"What if I can't figure things out in math and get an F?"

"Nothing can separate you from my love."

"What if I get hit by a car and die?"

"Nothing can separate you from my love."

"What about when I come home and it doesn't look like you're here, and I wonder if you went away?"

"Nothing can separate you from my love."

Your Daddy can tell you've run out of questions for now, so he gives you a kiss on the forehead and a big hug. But before he leaves the room, he sits down on the edge of the bed and looks you in the eyes.

"I love you, kiddo," he says. "I love you in good times and bad. I love seeing you seek after me; helping you and comforting you. I loved you before the world began, and I'll love you all the way through eternity."

Then he starts to leave the room, but before he goes, you have to say — not just because it's habit, but because it's the deep truth in your heart — "I love you, Daddy."

And he responds, "I love you too, my chosen one."

True Story

Just like Tonya and Chad's sad tale, just like your own narrative of broken relationships, this happy story is true. If you follow Jesus, you can call God "Daddy" because He's adopted you. It has nothing to do with the circumstances of your birth or how "spiritual" you are. According to Romans 8, God chose you to be his child and by faith you followed Him.

I'd like to finish Chad and Tonya's stories with a "happily ever after." The truth is, I don't know where they are today. It's my belief that they're still adopted by Jesus, but last I heard, that truth hadn't sunk in. And so they continue living only the losses and labeling of community.

Yet hope isn't gone, because the wonder of adoption by grace is standing in mute testimony to love. And so someday, Chad and Tonya may see the Source of Agape in a whole new way, and gain the courage to try one more time for something better as they contemplate God's unfailing love.

They've spent a long time not believing it — not really. Maybe you have, too. But if you ever allow it to seize your life, that won't be the end of your story. Instead, it's a new beginning — the beginning of a fresh start to community, and a much, much deeper relationship with the Friend that never leaves or forsakes you. In fact, you can call this Friend "Daddy" if you want, because nothing can separate you from his love.

That's what God is whispering to your heart. Do you believe it?

Source: Boundless

Back to Just Friends

(by Candice Watters)

I am writing in response to one of the inbox questions from the Boundless Show podcast.

I also am in a situation where I am trying to "get over" a guy. We dated for a few months a year ago. He was very intentional — he called my dad, whom he had never met, and asked for permission to court me. However, he abruptly broke up with me, with little explanation, a few months later.

I immediately cut off all communication with him (e-mail, Facebook, phone) because I recognized that this would make things more difficult for both of us. We are in the same circle of friends, however, attend the same church, the same young adults group and it is impossible to completely avoid him.

The challenge is aggravated by the fact that I don't really know why he broke up with me, and I still have feelings for him. I've shared my feelings only with a few close female accountability partners, who have prayed with me through this time. I have not been playing games or putting out feelers in any way.

I feel now like I am ready to start being friends with him again, but I don't know how. It has been almost a year. I have avoided him, to a large extent, so to move back toward platonic friendship feels a little awkward. How do I begin opening up communication again? And how do I put aside all remaining feelings for him so that I can just be friends? Because, honestly, he still isn't seeing anyone else and I can't completely crush the hope in my heart that he is still interested in me, after all this time. I feel like I am trying to balance on a fence, but fall off every time I attempt to take a step forward.

I would appreciate some wisdom for my situation.

REPLY

I'm glad you wrote and know from my own experience how hard it is to backtrack to "just friends" with a former boyfriend. It's made even trickier when the two of you occupy the same social circles and Christian community. Let me start by commending your decision to stop e-mailing, Facebooking and phoning him following the break up. Everything you've done till now to stop acting like his girlfriend is wise.

As hard as it is, it's best that you not relate to him the same way you did when you were dating. If he followed the wisdom Scott Croft and others have given on Boundless about biblical dating (here and here), that change should be minimal and the possibility that you could return to a platonic friendship will be greatly enhanced. If, however, you spent those months of dating acting married, then how you relate now should be dramatically different than it was then. It will also make it harder to return to being just friends.

You've said you still harbor hope that he's still interested in dating you again. That adds to the difficulty of relating platonically. Despite your hope, if he hasn't given you reason to think you'll get back together, the worst thing you could do — both for your own heart as well as any future relationship that might be restored with him or developed with another young man — is to give him access to your affections. Any level of intimacy without stated intentions on his part will certainly give you false hope. So the question remains — how do you go back to being friends? I'm not sure you can. I think a few other questions must be answered first.

So a couple of questions:

How physically and emotionally intimate were you when you were dating? How you answer this question will have a lot to do with whether you're likely to be able to relate to him as just a friend. The more intimate you were, the less likely normal, uncomplicated friendship is. If, however, you avoided the temptation to act married, friendship is possible.

Has he expressed interest in restoring your friendship? This is key to how he will interpret any efforts you make to change the way you've been relating since the breakup. You said you've been avoiding him up till now, so to start befriending him again if he hasn't asked you to may cause him to think you're trying to renew your romantic relationship.

Has he done anything to indicate an ongoing interest? Asking for a renewed friendship might mean nothing more than that he wants a platonic relationship. But it could be a subtle indication that he misses you and wants you back as more than a friend.

I do think the fact that he ended the relationship so abruptly — after starting it off so intentionally with a phone call to your dad — is a bad sign. That and the fact that he has allowed your friendship to lapse to the extent that you've been avoiding him for the past year.

Ideally your dad would have called him a year ago when he exited without much explanation. It would have been appropriate then for him to ask the young man some questions on your behalf. I'm afraid now it's too late for that conversation. But you could still ask your dad (and mom) to hold you accountable when it comes to how you move forward.

If it were me, I'd say a year is plenty of time for this guy to miss you, decide he made a mistake and ask you to give him another chance at dating. Absent such a change of heart, I think it may be best to move on. It may be time to stop hoping for something that's not likely to happen and open your eyes, and your heart, to other eligible Christian men in your life. It may be time to stop allowing yourself to be kept "off the market" by a man who hasn't given you a reason to. What opportunities might you be missing by pining for him?

Finally, a word about how you proceed with him when you are together (at church, small group, etc.): Just be kind. Treat him like you treat all the other men in your life, with respect as a brother in Christ. That's far less awkward and painful than avoidance or ignoring and much more sustainable.

May God heal the places in your heart that are wounded and give you the grace and desire to move into the plans He has for you.

Source: Boundless