Love That Chooses Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 - Personal blog of Trisha Rapley, Australian Author.

For so long, I clung to the ones who left—not because they were right, not because their love nourished me, but because their absence felt like the only rhythm I knew.

I learned early that love could vanish without reason, without ceremony, without apology. And somewhere in that silence, I learned to stay attached to emptiness, to ghosts, to people who could not choose me.

Those who stayed—the ones who anchored, who showed up day after day, who loved quietly without fleeing—felt strange, unfamiliar, almost suspicious. Their steadiness unsettled me because I had been trained to survive on instability. I had built my heart around departures and rehearsed how to exist in the shadow of leaving.

As a child, I learned this.

Affection arrived in fragments, sometimes warm, sometimes cold.

I learned to chase what I needed and mourn what I could not hold.

I learned that worth was measured by endurance and endurance alone.

And so, as a woman, my value has been quietly conflicted.

I know I am deserving.

I know I am enough.

And yet, I stayed attached to what abandoned me, ignoring the ones who would never leave, as if familiarity with pain was more comfortable than the unknown warmth of care.

Then something began to shift. A love arrived, steady and gentle, patient enough to wait for the parts of me still trembling from old hurts.

It was not flashy.

It did not arrive in storms.

It arrived in presence.

It arrived in quiet, unwavering consistency.

And my heart, so accustomed to storms, flinched at the calm. Old triggers rose, old fears whispered:

He will leave.

Love is temporary.

You are not worth keeping.

But I prayed.

I prayed through the tremors, through the tension in my chest, through the ache of disbelief.

I prayed that Jesus would meet me in the silence, in the longing, in the shadow of old pain.

And He did.

He whispered that I am enough.

That my desire for love does not make me weak, does not make me greedy, does not make me foolish. That being chosen is not a reward—it is my birthright.

And then there is him—the beautiful man who does not need to rescue me but simply reflects to me the worth I have always carried. Through his care, through his quiet reverence, I am learning to see myself through eyes that do not judge, through hands that do not demand, through a heart that chooses to stay.

And still, the old patterns rise. I notice the pull to what abandons, the urge to attach to distance, to rehearse grief before joy can settle.

But now, I pause.

I breathe.

I pray.

I remind myself that love that chooses me is not dangerous, that steadiness is not dull, that I am not repeating history by receiving care I deserve.

Through daily prayer, through honest reflection, through the quiet work of healing, change is happening. I am learning that worth is not measured by what leaves me, but by what stays.

I am learning that desire is sacred, not sinful. I am learning that faith is my anchor and that, through it, I can finally rest in love without fear, without hesitation, without holding my breath.

I am learning to root myself in those who remain.

To meet their care with gratitude, to allow their presence to shape me rather than my past.

To see myself reflected in steady, tender eyes and recognise the woman I have always been as worthy of being held, chosen, and cherished.

And slowly, so slowly, the heart that once clung to leaving is learning to stay with what loves it back.

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor:

If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.

But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

Lord,

I come to You with a heart that still trembles from old patterns, from the weight of attachments that no longer serve me.

Forgive me for clinging to those who leave, for loving what disappears, for rehearsing grief before joy can take root. Forgive me for doubting my worth, for questioning that I am deserving of care that chooses me, steadfast love that does not abandon.

Meet me here, Lord. Anchor me in Your truth when my mind whispers old fears. Remind me that I am enough, that desire is not weakness, that being chosen is not earned but a reflection of the value You have placed upon me.

Thank you for those who love me steadily, who do not waver, who reflect back my worth through their care and consistency. Teach me to receive their love without suspicion, without retreat, without punishing myself for wanting it.

Help me to see myself through eyes that honour me, to feel myself as the woman You created me to be, to root myself in relationships that nurture, and to release those that drain.

Through daily prayer, through quiet reflection, through faith and surrender, heal the places that cling to absence, and teach me to stay with love that chooses me, that holds me, that celebrates me.

Jesus, may my heart finally rest in the knowledge that I am worthy of being loved fully, of being seen truly, of being chosen consistently.

May Your presence guide me in the journey of change, of trust, and of healing.

Amen.

Love That Chooses Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 - Personal blog of Trisha Rapley, Australian Author.

Love That Chooses Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 - Personal blog of Trisha Rapley, Australian Author.