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My First Love

By Dr. Robin Moorezaid

January 2025 Christian Writers Awards Writing Contest

Grand Prize Winner

The Orphans by Denise E Johnson

Runners-Up

• 2nd Place: Beyond the Waves: A Journey to Faith by Jerry Gist

• 3rd Place: My First Love by Dr. Robin Moorezaid

I met Him at a young age. He embodied magnificence, adorned with a tender smile that permeated every fiber of my being. His royal eyes mirrored the gentle gaze of doves. His mouth dripped sweet-smelling savors that captivated my ears. There, suspended in midair like a wingless eagle, He gazed, pondering the realm of His own making. I squinted my eyes to grasp Him, and, at that moment, I sensed the warmth of His eyes, ever so attentive to me. He loves me. I saw it in His eyes. Even as a young person, I had never experienced such affection like that from anyone before. It was astonishing to feel such significance, so mesmerizingly important. He bid me to come, pointing upward with his finger. Oh, how much did I yearn to embark upon that journey, but simultaneously felt the piercing sting that I didn’t measure up, inadequate compared to the beauty that graced my mortal heart

“May I go and change my clothes,” I asked. His kingly, smiling, kind eyes said. “You are fine as you are.” I looked down at myself and then turned my attention back to Him. I could not compare. I raised my finger and stated, “Hold on, I’ll go change my clothes.” I turned away and sensed His love go silent. I glanced back; He was not there. The beautiful and magnificently illuminated face that loved me like no one else had vanished. My ravished heart stood fixed for what felt like an eternity, waiting for Him to reappear.

Day after day, night after night, week after week, month after month, and year after year, the regret and longing persisted, never ceasing. The anguish of rejection made me ill, lamenting my longing for Him and regretting my fixed mind. I went on about my business, searching for meaning, seeking significance in the absence of my beloved. I looked for Him everywhere and in everyone, expecting Him to reveal Himself in the blueprints of His design. Nonetheless, he never materialized. I found solace in the proximity of His blueprints, the patterns crafted by His own hands. I cherished them as if they were gold. Not only that, I protected them as if they were my own. Likewise, I wanted so much to please Him, to show Him that I accept myself as His divine creation and would never again turn to change my clothes. Still, a harsh quiet, persisted. I heard no voice, as before. As I busied myself, I realized that each effort went unnoticed, every intention misunderstood. Yet, like a hungry farmer, I diligently made sure He was aware of the depth of my care.

The teary nights escaped me in the speed of time, flooding the rivers that nourished the neighboring vibes. I could not shake the persistent yearning and discovered no counterpart in love. Still, I went about my business, searching for His shadows in the blueprints of the day. At first, I believed too much in His blueprints since I felt a glimpse of His mouth, dripping that sweet-smelling savor. Until I witnessed the shadows masquerading as Him, crafting imitations of things to evoke His godlike control. Yet nothing compared to that moment, the day I fell in love. The rest were mere silhouettes, no kingly eyes to resemble the eyes of doves. The deeper I delved into the shadows, the stronger my yearning became. The more I realized their deliberate transgressions, the more sad songs I sang. The more I listened to their subjective details, explaining His eagle silence, the more I regretted thinking on my own and not seeing His perfect design.

The watchmen of the shadows caught me and stripped my body bare. They possessed not a shred of love to give me and envied my affections somewhere else. Never did I turn to their artificial screaming to tame my worship of them. With but one mind, I sought only to express my contrition and apologize to my first love. No one understood my yearning, how I longed for His return, to come back to His garden, the garden made with just His words. Like yesterday, I could still hear him say, “Come, my beloved, let us go. Stroll with me through the fields; let us run and ride the ambiance that covers my playing sphere!” Then did I wished I had uttered a yes, but now I beg His pardon and feel a satisfying bliss. Never did I know a love so profound as His, on that fateful day when mine heart did surrender to love's sweet embrace, the day I fell in love.