I am Baste, 22 years old, single, and an active worker in our Christian church. I am not a pastor, but many of the members come to me for advice or prayer. They say I am a good listener and understand. Whenever they have a problem, I am one of the first people they turn to. I used to think that was enough to say that I was close to God. But sometimes, even when you are in church, you can still lose your way.
One day, Meldy came to me. She was a regular attender at church. She was kind, quiet, and always sat at the end of the row. I learned that she was carrying a heavy burden: her husband had another family. Her heart was broken, and I could feel the weight of the situation. So, as a servant of God, I prayed for her. I supported her. I talked to her every night—believing that I was only doing the right thing.
As the days passed, we gradually became closer. Until I didn't notice anymore—I had feelings for her. And Meldy? It seemed the same. Prayers turned into conversations. Messages became more personal. Until the day came when we didn't just meet at church anymore. There were times when only the two of us knew about each other. Secret. Forbidden. But we both chose to ignore it.
I thought I could handle it. I told myself, "We're not doing anything wrong." But the heart, when you let it get used to sin, becomes numb to right. In God's eyes, I knew it was wrong. But I tried to convince myself that it was okay. That there was a reason. That there was a reason.
Until one day, our head pastor heard about what had happened. He spoke to me quietly. There was no anger in his voice, but I could feel the weight of his frustration. He told me, “Basta, if you really love God, cut off that relationship before it explodes in the entire congregation.”
That's where I came to my senses.
It was like cold water was poured on me. I suddenly remembered why I started serving. Not to get involved in this. Not to lose respect. Not to break the trust of the people who depend on me.
I wanted to avoid it. So my first plan: move to the afternoon service. I told myself, maybe that would help. If we don't see each other, maybe I'll slowly forget. But as I thought about it, I had a deeper question to answer: Do I just need to avoid it? Or do I really need to end it—for good?
And that's when I realized: Avoidance isn't enough if you keep clinging.
Even though it hurt, I chose to say goodbye to Meldy—not in words, but in deeds. I didn't talk to her anymore. I didn't show up. Not because I didn't love her, but because I knew it was wrong. I didn't want to use love as an excuse to stay in sin.
Now, I'm trying to heal. It's not easy. There's guilt. There's sadness. But with each passing day, I'm learning to entrust the process of change to God. I know He has a plan, and despite my mistakes, He still loves me. I can't erase the past, but I can choose a better path from now on.
If you are in a similar situation, I hope this serves as a reminder: The right decision is not always easy, but it is what will bring you true peace. Resist temptation. Draw close to God. Choose the right—even if it hurts.
