Yesterday, I was shopping at American Eagle Outfitters. A tan, flannel shirt in the men’s section caught my eye. I walked over and felt the fabric. When I touched the shirtsleeve, a memory hit me that came like a bird landing on my shoulder. Not a good bird. At least not at first.

When I was naked, he clothed me.

Okay, I wasn’t completely naked, but I felt naked as I remembered that night years ago.

This memory isn’t about sex. It’s about shame. And it descended upon me in the mall like a crow or a dove, I can’t decide which kind of bird it was. Maybe it came as an eagle. Maybe remembering will give me stronger wings.

When I was younger, I tried to laugh off or quickly bury these painful memories that came unexpectedly, but I’ve learned they have shaped me, so I pay attention now.

I was eighteen years old, just months out of high school. Scott turned twenty that October. We were at Yuba College for different reasons. Scott was there to play football and get his grades up enough to move on to University Nevada-Reno, where he would join ROTC. I was there because my parents believed junior college was the way to go.

Scott was my first honest to goodness boyfriend. I call him my honest to goodness because I gave him my virginity, which felt like all of me, and then he dumped me. We spent that summer after my high school graduation apart. Scott messed around with other girls. I cried a lot. And got two jobs. Work has always been a refuge for me.

By October, Scott wanted me back. I quit one of my jobs to make time for him. I couldn’t wait to be his girlfriend again, though my heart was shattered over his wild summer with other people.

Upon getting back together, we went to a college party. Everyone was playing drinking games. I was the youngest there but did my best to keep up. I can’t remember exact details, the night is fuzzy in my mind, but the emotions aren’t fuzzy, they are sharp and jagged. I remember how I felt that night– young, dumb, and eager to be loved– as we piled into a car with a group of guys to go to another party. I think a second carload of college kids followed us.

When we started driving, I knew it was over. “I’m going to throw up,” I told the driver. He pulled over and I jumped out of the car. Why I chose to throw up all over myself in the middle of the beaming headlights is beyond me. But that’s what I did. Even writing about this now, I find it a little hard to breathe. I was trying to be one of the cool kids and failing pretty badly that night.

Some of the guys got out of the two vehicles to see what was happening. Maybe they were laughing at me or maybe they were concerned. I really can’t remember. But after throwing up all over myself, I tore my sweater off. By then Scott was at my side in the middle of the bright lights. I threw my sweater on the ground because of the vomit. Scott ripped off his tan, flannel shirt and wrapped it around me. His shirt was from Maine, why do I remember that? He’d done his first year of high school there. It felt so warm and soft and big. Bigger than my shame. I’d never been so thankful for a shirt in my life.

Scott stood there naked from the waist up on that crisp, autumn night in Northern California. Not a bad thing. He spent a lot of time in the gym at Yuba and had amazing muscles. I still love his muscles. He went without a shirt for over an hour and never complained once, though I know he had to be cold.

He called off the party for us. Drove me across two rivers, over several bridges, all the way to the Sutter Buttes where he snuck me up my parents’ stairs and put me to bed with a glass of water. Every time I hear that country song, Take a Drunk Girl Home, it squeezes my heart, but I didn’t know why. Not until yesterday. Not until I saw that tan, flannel shirt hanging in American Eagle.

The shirt triggered this long lost memory. I bought two of the tan flannels yesterday, one for Scott, and one for myself, though I grabbed a size small instead of an extra small because I know my teenage sons will want to wear it too. I don’t know if I will ever wear this tan flannel shirt. I’m not sure I want to. But Scott went to work today in his new shirt. Every morning I pick out Scott’s tie because when it comes to dressing nicely, he is at a loss. So I help him. Scott would live in gym shorts if he could.

This morning I chose the tie Scott wore to our daughter, Lacy’s wedding to go with the AE shirt. Not on purpose. But because it matched the tan flannel. Scott looked so nice when he walked out the door to go teach junior highers. I didn’t realize I chose the wedding tie– the love tie– until I really thought about it while writing this story.

I didn’t think I could ever face those college kids again after they saw me drunk. Saw my bra. And my vomit. But Scott said, “You’re my girlfriend. Who cares what people think? You’re with me. You’re mine.”

I cared back then what people thought of me. I still do. Writing honestly this way is hard. I’m not proud of who I used to be, but I now have compassion for the girl I once was. I felt so lucky to be Scott’s girlfriend back then. At least I did when we first fell in love. Before he hurt me. Before I hurt him back. Human love can bring such pleasure and pain. Human love arises out of our messy human hearts. Hearts that wander. Hearts that go astray.

The Bible says “the human heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” Jeremiah 17:9. But once we give our human heart to the Lord, he gives us the ability to love the way he loves. With everlasting love.

Today, I feel so lucky to belong to Jesus.

“I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me,” Matthew 25:36. 

I’ve never been in prison, but in a way I was. And still am, though I’m trying to break free. People-pleasing feels like a penitentiary. But Jesus has clothed me with his compassion. His mercy. His love. I’m no longer a drunk, naked girl. I’m with Him.

If you have some painful memories, don’t ignore them. Pray about them. Ask Jesus to heal you.

P.S. Thanks, American Eagle for the use of this image. I hope you don’t mind. I do love your clothes.