The Ones Who Turned Away

Author’s Note
Every once in a while, I like to share a story straight from the heart. Most of my tales carry a bit of humor, a wink, a grin, or a tumble through life’s lighter moments, but underneath them all, there’s always a lesson or two. Just like the stories I tell my grandchildren, the laughter often makes way for truth. This one is a little quieter, a little heavier, but just as full of love.

Rejection has a sound.
It’s not the slam of a door or the shatter of a word.
It’s quieter, like a breath drawn in but never released.
It’s the pause that lingers too long after you say, “I love you,” and no one says it back.

My story is full of those pauses.

My father’s love was something I studied from a distance. I watched him pour it out like warm honey for my sister, his laughter came easy with her, his pride shone bright. I waited my turn, hoping maybe one day he’d see me the same way. But that day never came. He knew how to love; he just didn’t choose me.

Then came the man I thought would never leave. We had been together since I was fifteen, grew up side by side, built a family, brought a child into the world. But one day, he put me and our baby on a bus and said he didn’t want me anymore. I remember watching him fade from view through that dusty window, his goodbye buried in silence. A week later, he moved another woman into our home.

If you’ve read From the Piney Woods, you’ve seen where it all began, how those patterns of longing and loss wove themselves into my early years. Rejection didn’t start in adulthood; it grew roots deep in the soil of my childhood. I carried it like a shadow that followed me through every chapter.

And just when I thought I had learned to live with the ache, it happened again. This time, it was my brother, the one I adored, the one who once made me laugh so hard I forgot to be sad. He stopped answering my calls. No explanation. No argument. Just silence. He still talks to the others, still shows up at family gatherings. Just not for me.

For a long time, I tried to understand it all. I asked what I did wrong, replayed conversations, searched for clues. But sometimes there’s no reason that satisfies the heart, only the truth that people love the way they’re capable of, not always the way we need them to.

I used to believe rejection defined me.
Now I see it shaped me.

It taught me compassion.
It taught me faith.
And most of all, it taught me how to love without needing to be loved back.

Because that’s the quiet miracle of healing, realizing you can forgive without an apology, and wish happiness for those who turned away.

I can love them still.
Even if they never loved me the way I thought.

Because God loves me that way.
Even when I turn away, He never does.
His love is the ultimate example, steady, unconditional, and full of acceptance.
And when I remember that, I know I’ve never really been rejected.
I’ve been chosen all along.