Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

A Clear Spring Night

Dear Darling,

It’s a little easier to think about you at night.

I just came in from a cool, inviting spring evening. I would write this letter outside, except the glare of this screen would so rudely disturb the darkness.

But it’s beautiful out there. The crickets maintain their steady chant, and somewhere off in the distance is a bird cheerily chirping away, as if he doesn’t know it’s night and no one is around to listen. God bless that little tyke, and thank God for creating him to sing like no one is listening.

A few early fireflies hover and blink in the shadows of the trees, and in the far distance I can hear a pack of coyotes. They’ve come too close on a couple of occasions.

Otherwise, it’s still and peaceful.

There’s a moonless sky, as full of stars as it ever has been, tantalizing, tempting and breaking the hearts of its beholders since time immemorial. Venus smolders on the horizon. Ironically, she is the namesake of the Roman goddess of love.

Late in the night, if it’s clear, you can even see the spiraled arm of the galaxy, reminding me that we’re still just tiny ants perched on a small blue marble suspended in space.

I love coming out here. I’ll bet I’ve taken a thousand of these walks. It’s easier to get out away from the noise and lights, breathe in the night air and listen to the stillness and noises of the night. It gives me just a sliver of that peace I crave, time to get away to pray and think.

How many of these walks have put me in mind of you, and how many times I have knelt before the Throne of Grace to ask the Lord’s blessing for you, I cannot even try to count. Many times I have imagined you taking my arm and our shadows gliding along the grass under a full moon, and even foolishly offered my arm to the empty night.

I’m hurting too, Darling. As usual. First, I was very rudely treated by one young woman who reminded me of you so much that I desired her better acquaintance. Second, I learned that a friend who I’ve known since I was very very young, but only recently reconnected with, got married without inviting me. I previously brought poinsettias for his house and fiance, and all seemed to be well, so I’m uncertain of the reason, particularly when a good friend of mine was invited. Third, I was spoken to unkindly by another woman who reminds me of you.

Oh I know, you needn’t say it. Men aren’t supposed to complain about such things. It’s life, not a soap opera. But I’ve told you before, many men maintain the tough and confident exterior until they step behind closed doors. The spell is broken, we are unmade, and we discover we’re not as strong as we think we are. There is freedom and relief in acknowledging this, but maybe some shame as well.

I try to make it a habit to check in with friends. To give them encouragement, to remind them to keep plugging away and focus on the positive. I don’t know that I do very much good, but everybody needs somebody. You know how so many people use Facebook as a covert cry for help? I answer those cries. If someone says they’re feeling sick, I text to see if they’re okay. If someone says they need someone to talk to, I chat with them or text. If someone needs prayer, I pray. If someone is nervous about a life event or circumstance they are facing, I text them to ask how it went.

I’m not bragging. It’s nothing less than what we are expected to do.

But I can’t be that guy anymore. Not all the time, not like I have been.

I get tired and spent. It can’t all be one way; I need people too, people who will take in hand the task of looking in on me. I need recharging. Right now, my unbelieving friends are kinder and friendlier than those who claim Christ.

Nietzsche was a dangerous philosopher, but he once wrote “In his lonely solitude, the solitary man feeds upon himself; in the thronging multitude, the many feed upon him. Now choose.”

He’s right.

Oh Darling, I’m sorry. It seems every time I sit to write of my love for you and romantic thoughts of our future, it’s overshadowed by the tragedy and vulgarity of present day life. I’m sorry I’m like that. I’m not always.

One day you really will be here and everything will be alright. You’ll take my arm as we go strolling. We’ll relish those private, awestruck moments, counting stars, finding planets and constellations, spying meteors.

I should trade even the nightingale’s song to hear your voice on the wind tonight.

Until then, I remain

Forever yours,
-Beren

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May 20, 2012 - Posted by | Loneliness, Nights Like These

1 Comment »

  1. […] me when I greeted her at work. This is the same friend who was invited to our mutual friend’s wedding when I was not. Another friend of mine posted photos of his wedding. I was invited, but he lives […]

    Pingback by Trapped « Letters to Luthien | November 5, 2012 | Reply


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