Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

To The Sister From Another Mother

We’ve known each other for years. Among my friendships, ours is one of the oldest.

The last time I saw you, I hugged you for the first time. Was it me or did you look really happy to receive that hug? But we were never destined for romance, you and I. We were more like brother and sister, and content to be so. We were happy to interact now and again, or grab lunch, commiserate on being lonely.

Remember that one Valentine’s Night, when neither of us had anything to do so I called you up and asked if you wanted to just grab dinner (just friends!) so neither of us would be alone? Or how about the time I tried introducing you to a friend of mine I knew because I thought you might hit it off?

At the end of the day, no matter what other abominable catastrophes took place in life, at least I could remember that somewhere out there was a friend who stood with me against the crowd, who stood on the same principles of purity and chastity and waiting — an island of common ground. I was so proud.

Now you’ve joined the deserters.

I don’t understand. You and I stood for something. We even talked about it. All our friends were taking the wrong turns and making messes of their loves. Your own sister gave birth to an illegitimate child, and I grieve for her that she has ruined the life we all wanted for her.

In our despondency, we had conversations about how difficult it was. How could you abandon me now? I thought you were stronger than that. Did I not look in on you and encourage you from afar? I wanted to protect you. Even though I wasn’t appointed to be your groom, I wanted to see you happy and make sure you were safe. I wanted at least to keep your dragons at bay until someone could take over the task full-time. Now you’ve gone and cuddled with them. What was the point?

I invested time in you as a brother. I wished you joy, and tried to bring you some when you needed it. I couldn’t wait to see you do it right, to show them all it could be done. I couldn’t wait to be in your wedding. I talked you through some hard times, and encouraged you because I know you needed it. “King’s Daughter” I called you, remember?

We even had a half-joking agreement that if we should fail to find love after a few years, we should marry just so we wouldn’t be alone. I guess you shot that all to pieces, didn’t you. I think in my sadness, I would not come to your wedding now if you invited me.

As a brother, I feel like I failed you, even though I did everything I could. I lost you. You lost you. “Nobody’s perfect”? Spare me. That’s an excuse, not an apology. Although, spare me the apology too.

I’ll bet you didn’t know you could break off a piece of my heart that easily, did you. I’ll bet you didn’t didn’t think I cared, didn’t know it would hurt, didn’t know that in abandoning me for the night’s embrace, you would leave me literally trembling. The night I found out, I was shaking and asking God “Why??” I think if you had seen me, you would have been very alarmed indeed.

“It’s no different than any other sin,” you say? God doesn’t count sins as weighing more than others? Perhaps not. But this isn’t like taking a drink, or saying a bad word, though I feared for you as I observed these behaviors taking root in your life. This isn’t stealing a CD or striking a friend in anger, or even a moment of looking in lust. This isn’t a breach of contract, it’s a breach of covenant. It’s a deliberate decision to leave the path of wisdom, to put self and pleasure first before God, before your vows, before your family and friends and church. This is never being able to give your husband yourself wholly and completely on your wedding night. This is never being able to look your daughter in the eye and tell her to follow in your example when she faces temptation.

You’ve forsaken your virtue, your purity. You’ve joined the world.

Oh my sister and friend, of course you can be forgiven. But it will never be the same. Actions have consequences. You’ve proven you aren’t the person I thought you were. You’ve helped the devil believe no one is beyond his reach, and played into his hands. Who knows what consequences the years will bring you? You’re another vessel damaged by steering too near the shoals; a warning to other ships.

Even if I found my Luthien today, and married her tomorrow in perfect marital bliss, a piece of my heart will always ache for what you were…and could have been.

**Addendum**
I thought of you again last night. We haven’t talked much since then. Actually, hardly at all. Granted, I’m way busier now, but I think I was the one who initiated most contact anyway. Take away the spring and the lake dries up.

You frighten me with your testament to the power of darkness. I swear, I get a kick and twist in the gut every single time I think of you. I want to forget about you, about everything. You’re probably a little sad and maybe angry, feeling like our friendship was contingent on purity, and that I’ve left you because you fell. I didn’t reject you…you rejected me. You have done what you have done, don’t you dare be angry with me for the fallout! You can’t come back and pretend nothing has happened.

The last thing you should do to a man who is hurting and lonely is leave him. But I guess you had other things on your mind. You cut that tiny golden thread of connection and unity.

You can never read this letter. I know how much it would hurt you. Sometimes, I confess I want you to feel that pain. I have avoided that fire because my Father told me to, but also because He warned me of the pain. I would not see others so lightly escape the pain that I have labored to avoid.

I have asked God to forgive me of my unforgiving attitude toward you. Maybe something will change. In the meantime, you have galvanized my fierce determination never to turn out like you.

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January 23, 2012 - Posted by | Other Letters, Purity

2 Comments »

  1. […] knowledge runs deeper, his humor exceeds mine, and he performs better than I. Then I thought of a friend I haven’t spoken with in some time, and how she had received a minor injury. I had to ask […]

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