I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love (24 page)

I can’t tell you how many times right before I went online to read these awful articles that I felt the nudge of the Holy Spirit urging me not to do it.
Close the window. Turn the computer off. Read My Word instead.
And each time, aware of the prompting, I ignored it and did my own thing. Which was really dumb because every single time I’d log off, I always felt worse, many times sick to my stomach.

While I didn’t lean much on my last relationship for support as my reputation and character were being torn to bits, Jef did help me through some tough times, reminding me the printed words were just lies and par for the course. He encouraged me not to take the attention so seriously. “Just laugh about it,”
he offered. I appreciated the great advice, but it wasn’t easy to follow through. And I quickly spiraled downward into a depression.

At one point, just like last time, I switched on reclusive mode. I stayed at home a lot, taking Ricki to school and her activities, of course, but that was about it. When I get stressed, my OCD kicks in, and I turn into a cleaning and organizing maniac. So while the tabloids blared ungenerous headlines, I went through every drawer in every piece of furniture in every room of my house, throwing out the junk and meticulously organizing everything by color or size. We’re talking pens, Sharpies, batteries, clothing, socks, pots, pans, utensils, you name it. I even took the liberty of collecting all the magazines I had purchased that featured articles about the show or me (don’t judge me, I was a glutton for punishment back then) and organized them chronologically by month and year in plastic bins identified by printed labels.

I also mopped every corner of the house, dusted every baseboard in every room, and vacuumed every inch of carpet, taking painstaking care to spot-clean muddy footprints and spilled juice as well. Bananas, I get it. Maybe I could have transferred that energy into doing something productive for society, but even thinking of going anywhere gave me suffocating anxiety. I will say my obsession indulgence did help keep some of the nervous energy at bay.

Though my house was spotless, my relationship with Jef was deteriorating. We were together for a couple of months. He even moved to Charlotte at one point, in hopes that being geographically close would relieve some of the pressure that was building in our relationship. Not so much. I was trying so
hard to make things work between Jef and me that my emotional well-being took quite a beating. I felt battered. I looked exhausted. I could barely smile. The only person I felt I could talk to was my mom, but I didn’t. I knew what she would say—that I shouldn’t have said yes.

At one point, Jef and I saw a Mormon marriage counselor, hoping someone with experience could help resolve some of our differences. But it didn’t help. And we were only a fight away from breaking up for good. I’ll never forget sitting on my kitchen table after the last argument we had. He stormed out of the house and though I was tempted to chase after him, I remember the Holy Spirit speaking to my heart as clear as day.
Let him go
.

And I did.

I can’t even begin to tell you how devastated I felt saying good-bye to yet another failed relationship, and a televised one at that. It was heartbreaking, embarrassing, and I was utterly broken, too exhausted to pick up the pieces this time around. I isolated myself from others, the world, as much as possible after the breakup. When I wasn’t with Ricki, I spent my time curled up on my bed in a fetal position, crying. It took about a month or two for stories about our wrecked love life to die down and for the paparazzi that had been camped out in this quiet North Carolina town to turn their attention toward another reality TV hot mess.

While I started settling back into life as a regular soccer mom, I was being challenged in my spiritual life. I was ashamed, even regretful, of some of the choices I had made on and off the show. Battling confusion, I wondered about the peace I was so confident I had felt when I opted to be on
The
Bachelorette
. I didn’t make it up. It was real. I know it was. I felt it so strongly in my heart. But how real could it have been given the outcome? Given the failed relationships? Given the media lashings? Had God really led me to do the show as I had truly believed He had? I began to wonder how I could even trust that whenever I prayed, I was talking to God. What if I was talking to myself? Or the devil? Or absolutely nothing?

All my doubts, questioning, and confusion aside, I felt God trying to shake me out of my emotional, but more so spiritual, slump. It wasn’t an audible voice that I heard, but in my heart, and with each passing day I could hear His words echoing in my heart.
You say you’ve given your life to Me, but you keep doing the same foolish things over and over. Choosing the wrong relationships, turning men and even the opinions of others into idols. Enough already. You need to give Me your heart.

I thought I had. I really did. But I was learning, ever so slowly, that there’s a big difference between saying a few prayers and calling yourself a Christian and really committing to the faith life, with words, actions, deeds—you know, the whole nine yards. I read or heard Francis Chan ask, “Has your relationship with God changed the way you live your life?”
^*
The question provoked me, forcing me to really think about what it meant to surrender your heart to God. Was it a one-time deal? Saying a carefully constructed prayer you learn in church? Going to church? What did a faith commitment look like? What did I have to give up? What did I have to do more of? Or less of? How did I know my words, my actions, my thoughts were as sincere as I imagined?

As the questions came with fury, I could feel God working in me, changing me, shifting my perspective, opening wide my spiritual eyes for the first time. I was stretching, growing, and beginning to loosen my grip from what really were, in fact, idols.

I was finally letting God do His job. And He was allowing me to start over.

*
Francis Chan,
Crazy Love
(Colorado Springs: David C. Cook, 2013), 67.

twelve

I
’ll never forget the last time I browsed through the tabloids online. Clicking through a few websites, feeling more depressed the longer I lingered on a particular article or blog, I felt the Holy Spirit prompt me in a forceful yet gentle way.

Open your Bible.

This time, I listened.

I closed my computer and grabbed my Bible off a nearby counter. I didn’t know if I was supposed to look for something specific or what. Staring at the leather-bound book, I didn’t know where to start. So I flipped over to the concordance and looked up the word
judgment
. I was so tormented by the negative print about me and my relationship with Jef, I wanted to know what the Bible had to say about judging others. I don’t remember what exactly I read, but that simple act of obedience, that detour from what had turned into a terrible habit of reading discouraging trash daily, changed my life. And through that one simple act of obedience, I finally said yes. But this time, to God.

I started reading the Bible regularly that day. Not books about the Bible, not devotions quoting Bible passages, not
blogs about the Bible—but the actual Word of God. I pored over Scripture, soaking in stories of flawed people who God still used even though they had missed the mark, many of them more than once. And for the first time in my life, I felt I was getting to know the heart of God. I was beginning to see more clearly who He was and what His character was like. Never before had I felt so close to God. I began to realize that the lack of relationship wasn’t because He wasn’t willing or able or wanting to draw closer to me; the issue was mine. I didn’t draw near. I didn’t take a step toward Him. I didn’t pay attention to Him, His voice, His nudges.

But things were different now. In making a commitment to wholeheartedly follow God, I began to discover who I was in Christ, gaining a newfound confidence in His grace, His mercy, His love.

The more time I spent with God, praying and reading His Word, I realized there were a lot of things I had to ask forgiveness for. I had made some poor choices that had painful results. From a purity standpoint, I wish I hadn’t given away my sexuality. I wish I would have waited until I got married and given that gift to my husband, no matter how long that took. With all my relationships, having sex before marriage had seemed so easy to justify.

I’m young.

I’m in love.

God knows my heart.

He knows I’m not a bad person.

I mean, it’s not like I’m doing drugs or committing murder.

But there were so many repercussions to not respecting that part of my being and not honoring God in my choices. Having
sex before marriage created unhealthy emotional attachments. It put me at risk for diseases. It dishonored God. And though Ricki is one of the best things that has ever happened to me, being a single mother so young is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.

Regardless of my mistakes, I rested in faith, knowing that through God’s grace, because Jesus had willfully chosen to give up His life for me on the cross, and no matter how undeserving I felt—and I did—I was forgiven. I was loved. And I was redeemed. Wow! Just writing these words fires me up and amazes me at how God has so powerfully changed my life.

The more I fell in love with Jesus, the more I changed. The more I grew. I didn’t want to be known as that girl from that dating show; I wanted to be known for being a woman who reflects Christ’s love, who freely gives His grace to others, whose faith is marked by actions and words.

As I was being transformed bit by bit, I still struggled at times with anxiety, fearful of what I would hear in the media about my breakup with Jef or other tales and gossip. I found the more I dug into the Bible, the more relief I felt from reading the words of God. The ancient text of Esther was one biblical story that really moved me to believe that God is bigger than any problem or emotion I face. This sacred narrative introduces us to Esther, a beautiful and young Hebrew woman. Without a say in the matter, she was chosen to be the queen of a Persian king. Smitten by her, the king was also ignorant of her ethnicity.

Through her cousin Mordecai, Esther learned of a plot drummed up by the king’s prime minister to have the Jews massacred. Mordecai pleaded with Esther to beg the king for mercy. Understandably, this young woman was not quite gung
ho about approaching the king unsummoned, something that would likely get her killed. But Esther’s cousin was persistent and told her God was with her, that He’d always been. And then Mordecai challenged Esther by reminding her of the obvious—that she was a Jewish woman who found herself as a queen in the royal palace. “You’re here for such a time as this,” Mordecai pointed out.

For such a time as this. Could it be that Esther was in such a position to help save her people from death? Really?

I won’t retell every detail of the story (I encourage you to read the text on your own), but Esther did talk to the king, with knees shaking and palms sweating, I imagine. And the king did grant her favor and extinguish the murderous plot, also promoting Mordecai in the process. Reading this story brought me a hope I never had. I couldn’t get the words
for such a time as this
out of my head, especially because looking back at what I considered failed experiences at being on the reality shows, I wondered if there was an underlying reason why they even happened.

I was also moved by what I read in Jeremiah 29:11: “ ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’ ” (
NIV
). I wondered if God could use my experiences to help grow His kingdom somehow, maybe even redeem my mistakes and misguided steps to help a young girl switch directions in her own life, to avoid some of the things I went through. But that wasn’t for me to decide or figure out. All I needed to do was stay in the moment, live my life, continue to be a good mom, and most important, love and be obedient to my Savior.

In January 2013, I was in Los Angeles when I got a text from Tyler. He asked if I would tweet about an upcoming Justice Conference, a gathering of leaders, visionaries, and students from different faiths to talk about and promote social justice issues. I agreed on one condition.

You have to take me to dinner.

Tyler accepted my proposal, saying something like he must be a glutton for punishment.

We had our first date a week or so later, on the day of the worst winter storm of the year. A few inches of snow accumulated before freezing rain fell over our city, blanketing the ground in dangerous sheets of ice. While this may be the norm for the northern part of the country, North Carolina doesn’t experience many severe winter storms, and so our area was ill prepared (understatement). Schools were closed. Power lines were down. Accidents abounded on the slippery roadways. Many of the local residences and businesses were without electricity. It was mayhem.