The embrace of vulnerability. I 

My romantic relationship feels like a simulation of my relationship with God. Love is vulnerability.

Day one – 27/07/25. 08:44

These first words are stirring up within me as I step into church. I am late, but only because I was looking for the ushering roster on the group chat (to see if I am on duty today) and discovered that my WhatsApp had signed out on my iPad. 

I am on tenterhooks.
I have not written since I was seen.
What makes this so special?
But I cannot risk postponement, I have been silent for too long.
The stirring; it is exciting. It is welcome.
The thing I feel is weighty. I should find good words to express this.

Where do I start?

15:19

When the WhatsApp thing happened, the first thing I did was call him.

The thought flashed through my mind:
‘Is this who I am now? The girl who calls her partner about every little thing.’

He picked at first ring. We talked about things—things always seem to take a different, fuller shape only because it is he I am talking with, not anyone else. We talked about how disoriented the WhatsApp thing made me feel and how much I hated ironing and the various scars it left on my hands and legs because of my clumsiness. 

He had to leave for service, so we said our goodbyes. Not before he said, ‘I really like our conversation this morning. I love you. ❤️’

How could I not be that girl? This man treats my presence like oxygen. I have never had to wonder. 

It feels weird. Sometimes. DM told me at church today: ‘So all this your agbero behaviour was because you were not in a relationship? See how you’re just soft now.’ You would think I wasn’t the author of a book called Staying Soft. 💀

I responded with a wide smile, ‘I have no reason to be a hard guy.’

I said those words before I could think about their substance. Hm. It reminded me of my words in ‘How to make your father unhappy.’ That ‘it takes a strong man to make a woman soft, given and submitted to him.’

Is this who I am now?

18:28

The only places I’ve not been often ashamed are with God, my family, and my closest friends. But it is only with God that I am my truest self. By truest self, I mean that I am with someone whom I cannot hide from because such an enterprise would be pointless. And it is not by choice, because if I could choose, then I would hide. 

We humans like to hide, don’t we?
Never met the dad, Adam, but more than 2,000 years later, his legacy lives on. 

Even before Jesus found me, I could not hide. But with intention now, owing to our relationship, I have to come before Him and tell Him the bad things I have done. I know that He knows, but I also have to tell Him so that I do not lose Him.

My romantic relationship feels like a simulation of my relationship with God. Every day, I am confronted with how terrible a person I am, but I am also confronted by a love that has my name on it. I want to run, but how can I run from the place that sanctifies me?

My romantic relationship feels like a simulation of my relationship with God.

– Maranatha

That’s another thing. Love sanctifies. I am only grasping the fact. Is it not the love of Christ that first believed the best about me when I was dead in my sins? Is it not that love that told me that I could change? That the addictions could stop? And I did change. The addictions stopped, too. God’s love has not stopped sanctifying me. 

But to be loved by God is not like being loved by a human. A flawed human.

I perceive God’s love for me to be effortless. It flows from who He is. I know it is unconditional.

What a difference to be loved by a human, whose true affection is from a colossal effort to neglect the inherent nature of perverseness, by the grace of God. 

We want to hide. Love says to come as you are.
We want to lie and hurt. Love urges us to outdo each other in showing honour.
We want to always be right. Love says not to keep a record of wrongs.

Sigh. How can it not hurt?

God confronts me every day.
After Him, my partner does.
Then my family. Blood and otherwise.
Then my friends…my neighbours.

This hierarchy is ordered based on the frequency with which I am confronted and the extent to which I cannot escape confrontation, from the most to the least (by least, I mean the most avoidable).

How can my flesh survive?
But death hurts. Any kind of death. 

Day two: 30/07/25. 22:35

Love is an admission of vulnerability. It is announcing that your weakness can be found not just inside but also on the outside of you. Know how the bad guys go for Lois Lane when they can’t get to Superman? Thankfully, the average man is not Superman.

Still, it is a PSA. It is telling the world that you need another person. Not in the sense of being incomplete, for what who you would need would be God. But in that sense of desiring another flawed human like you to witness you…to take the front row seat to your life as you do for them. And watch you closely.

Watch you grow.
Watch you fail.
Watch you.

This is a desire carved into our nature by God.

But vulnerability is such a tender feeling that we often mistake it for weakness. At least I did. And with weakness comes the shame of being weak. So, I did not want to own up to the feelings of being open, being wanted, and wanting another. I did not want to send pain an invite to my heart again because, as they say, ‘to love is to suffer.’ And the worst thing, ‘what if it ends?’ risking implosion. Risking shame, again.

But what is worse than loving than not loving?
What is worse than being than not being?
It is the hope that kills.
But it is also the hope that makes one alive.

I could not have what I didn’t want to own. 
So I risked the shame. By God, I did.

And He taught me. 
That it was ok to smile because his text came in.
It was good to behave like a little girl, prancing around with a spring in my step.
It was ok to fill my devotion with prayers for him, about him, for us.
It was ok to love.
It is.

‘What will people say?’
It is ok to give people something to talk about.

Day three: 01/08/25. 18:25

It is a good thing that I have. This thing that people long for. Sometimes I have to remind myself of this. Life happens, and I tend to forget. I don’t know why.

No, I do know why. But it is not something that I can yet shape with words to foster comprehension. It ties back to the thing about shame, about needing another person. Accepting vulnerability. Embracing it. 

Sometimes, the flesh occurs.

Hm. 

As a relationship grows, demands increase. When the supply falls below demand, the fights happen. 

The fights.

It is fluffy and rosy to hope that this lasts forever when he’s sending me roses, holding my hand, and making my insides hurt from so much mirth. It is not so easy when we are in the middle of a hard conversation, and I do not know how to look him in the eye. When I do not feel like we are on the same side. When we go from lovers to opps. 

Only the faithful are glad about the omniscience of God, not the sinners.

Hurting is for a purpose. We need to hurt to practice forgiveness. Forgiveness humbles us and makes us whole. My failings constantly humble me. How can my heart not break when I see the pain I have caused reflected on the face of another, especially one I claim to love? What exposes our flaws more than other flawed humans? But what better thing to spend life doing than loving? 

If we do it right, it could just be one less flaw in us every day. If we’re doing this forever, then truth is the most sustainable material to build with. Costly material, yes. But the only one that can withstand the storm when it comes (Matthew 7:24-27).

Then there’s the scrutiny, too. Because love is really the building of trust; it is like searching for evidence on that white wall that you can lean your entire weight on it and it will not stain your shirt or give way and trip you.

‘Does he really mean the things he says?’
‘Is he doing this out of love for me?’
‘What if things change?’

There is only so much that I can know. What I can boldly say is that I know enough. I honestly do not believe that I deserve love. I am too weak, too frail, and deep inside me, I want to spare anyone the anguish of coming close. I am broken. Filled with pride, lust, greed, conceit. Hm. I have done things that I have written to others to abstain from.

Yet, I know enough. I know the God who has brought me here. I know that every new estate God gives has a purpose that conforms me more to His image. I can be content with that. I can accept His pruning and not condemn myself when He has shown mercy on my brokenness. It just might be a kind of pride to believe that I am unlovable, that no one can be with me. If God brought me here, surely there is grace for this. I want to honour my Lord in faith.

I thought that I was good until I got into this relationship. But sometimes now, I look into the mirror and don’t recognise myself. 

Many times, I feel like that bucket in the well whose weight is negligible until you pull it, full, out of the water. It is how sin feels when you’re in it. Then you experience light and realise your filth. And the more light you experience, the more filthy you realise you are.

Hm. 

I do not know why I am writing this. But I am happy to. 

Writing sanctifies me. I know there is a way to write without heart, and for the thrill of knowledge alone, catalysing no transformation. I know there’s a way to know how to do all the right things to make a man happy, but deep within, remain stoic. Is that the right word? No, it’s not. More like legalistic. 

I hope that God helps me to put my heart into this, day in, day out. By His grace.

I like it here. I like it a lot.

Funny, Lover Boy calls me a stoic. Maybe I’ll write about that next time. If I write. 

Funny too, I started writing this in church, and now, the concluding dots are connecting in church.

Haha. God be praised.

Mara Baby, 
aka Lover Girl. ❤️

— Maranatha MMXXI.