Write about your first crush.

My first crush was a 23 year old woman who lovebombed and discarded me for the next 20-odd years. I still think about her from time to time, and it’s never pleasant. I would rather not spend this morning diving into that wreck. I feel like I did all of that when it happened. If you’re interested, you can search for “When We Were Young” and “The Cost of Shame” to learn how the dirty and the divine intermingled. There were genuine moments, but it was always a game. I know, because I always felt the energy in the room when I had “competition.” I would try to adjust my behavior because I thought it was something I was doing wrong that made her want competition for me in the first place. I’d known her longer than any of the people in her current life, twice as long as her spouse. Doing the wrong thing was too easy, so when I started doing my own thing and she couldn’t control me, she resented the hell out of that, too.

I absolutely vomited up all my emotions about that relationship about 10 years ago, and I feel like I have gotten closure over it- including the ways she set Supergrover and me up for failure like a parting shot that would make her name endure forever. I failed Supergrover because she failed me. Full stop. Supergrover got caught in old crossfire, and now that I’ve separated her out, the memory of it is too painful to be vulnerable all the time for either of us. The thing that I have over her in offering her understanding of me is letting her read all the thoughts I have when I’m not with her. She wouldn’t be able to do that if I wasn’t a writer- a benefit of who I am, not who I am trying to be for her.

I don’t need her to lay out her feelings publicly. I need her to lay out her feelings to me. Because to me, it redeems a whole lot of bullshit in my life, that this thing I learned from an emotional abuser was something that could be overcome with time and space. That has proven to be true, but not in terms of her communication of it. She wants to continue writing to me, she wants to continue supporting me. And yet any time we try to continue writing to each other and supporting each other, we hit an old land mine from either one of our pasts and it blows our future to hell.

Then, eventually, we start over and the cycle begins anew. I have learned to accept that, because I’m a writer. There’s no way that she can’t be in touch with me while I’m writing about her. It’s just tricky because of the emotions that come up in me when she writes. When she’s only responding to my blog, it makes me feel like she just wants to be a fan that’s glorified. When she responds to what I say in private, she reinforces that we are not putting on a show, that this is a real friendship that I am writing about and not trying to paint her from memory.

When she isn’t the Supergrover from Wish.com. Jim Henson made her for me personally. It was a gift he didn’t knew he gave me.

In terms of boundaries, it is cute to me that now she’s just lovable furry old Grover struggling with the implications of “near” and “far.” On its most basic level, of course. Everything I’ve ever known on its most fundamental level has come from a Muppet.

In terms of Sesame Street, my news junkie nature makes me feel like Kermit, because he’s empathetic and yet also reports live on Sesame Street news. In terms of being a preacher’s kid, I think of myself as Scooter, the one behind the scenes helping things work. As a preacher’s kid, you take on all the jobs at the last minute that no one else wanted and the show must go on.

I cannot stress this enough, and I believe it. Worship is not about perfection. It’s that we showed up.

But there’s still that energy that runs before a performance in hoping that everything goes as well as it can. That people are still receiving the grace and thoughtful prayers we mean for them despite our human imperfections. When I do a pastoral prayer (the one before a preacher gives an actual homily/sermon), I speak to this. “Speak through me, or move me out of the way and speak your truth in spite of me.” In short, if I don’t make the connections that I need to make to get them closer to the divine, that doesn’t mean the divine won’t move them in ways I won’t see until people greet me after the service………………….

Which ranges in feedback (I swear it) from “your skirt was too short” to “my God, you were on fire. I was crying because you made a connection I didn’t.” What I do not say is that I see all of it in real time as I am talking (even if you try to hide in the transcepts, choir and peanut gallery…….), and need no external validation. It’s just so nice to hear it out loud. That I did indeed make the difference I thought I did. That they weren’t crying because the regular preacher wasn’t up there. 😉

My favorite thing is going to sing with the choir after I’ve finished preaching. As worship leader, I always stay up front until the sermon is over, and then move between the choir and the pulpit for singing and leading rather than being on the front row all by myself. Singing with the choir after I preach is how I know I did well, because I don’t need to hear anything out loud but the vibrations of their emotions when they’re singing. If everything is joyful, they’re telling me “thank you.”

And I can hear it through their smiles while they’re singing in a minor key. I don’t intentionally design the service this way. The entrance is supposed to be glorious, whether it comes with a brass quintet or not. The hymn in response to the sermon is supposed to be repeating what I said in musical form, because people will remember the take home point of my sermon if I present it to them as a tune next.

Then, the hymn at the end is when everyone goes wild, filling up with energy until we meet again. I like it best when it’s a jazz arrangement of “Joyful, Joyful” or “I’ll Fly Away.”

In both of those things, I learned to accept them from my first crush. One of the few genuine moments I’ll carry with me throughout my preaching life, because she taught me how to integrate music into worship when my mother decided raising a gay child was harder than she thought it was going to be.

It does not escape my attention that when she became a preacher’s wife, she really, really became the friend I needed if she’d actually acted like it. I needed a preacher’s wife type until I had my own partner- someone to direct me and be a sounding board. It’s why I think her partner is my archetype, the older version of me. I have no idea what we would have accomplished together, but I can for damn sure guarantee that it would have been fun.

But that would have been dependent on me staying blind, and not realizing that the relationship was making me smaller every day as I tiptoed around her land mines, actively trying not to piss her off.

It’s one reason I won’t tolerate it from Supergrover, but I will tolerate her as emotional support that acts like it. She knows how to do it because she’s done it so long. There just need to be changes so we don’t step all over each other’s pasts trying to find a road into the future.

But because my first crush gave me so much emotional bandwidth to be able to wait it out, it’s no skin off my nose just to relax and see if it happens. I already have everything I need, and there’s no need to feel unhappy overall when I’m only unhappy in one area of my life. I miss her, and I cannot miss her because missing her only feeds the problem of giving her what she does not want, which is to be written about.

The difference between my first crush and my last is that the last is worth it. The first was just doing prep in the back of the kitchen.