Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

To She Who Did Not Wait Pt. 3

“I need a moment now, I have to clear my mind 
There is a limit, Lord, just to being kind. …
Can you see it in the night? Can you feel that it’s out there?
It’s the arcing of a life and it’s hanging in the air
Though I try to close my eyes and pretend that I don’t know
In my heart, I just can’t let it go.”

Did you ever sit on the stairs in delighted anticipation of Christmas morning, absolutely bursting with the childish excitement, anticipating the gifts that wait for you just a Christmas morning sprint away, and yet having to wait for them? And did someone ever go down ahead of you and peek at the gifts first? Or, did someone ever guess the gift you gave, or unwrap it ahead of time without you knowing?

Did you ever arrange to meet with someone, or to leave together with someone, and they went without you because they didn’t want to wait? Did you ever make an appointment with friends for dinner, and they ate without you? Did you ever want to go see a special movie with a friend and then they went to see the movie without you? Did you ever work your brain until it hurt trying to pass a class, only to have someone cheat and do better than you?

Petty annoyances, aren’t they? Trifling, bothersome little events in life that get under our skin. But we get over them and we move on. After all, what’s the big deal? The same presents you couldn’t wait to see were overvalued in your mind at the time…they will be half-broken and half-forgotten in six months’ time. The gift you give is still the gift…is timing all that important? Your friend will still be happy to finish eating with you, and they’ll be ever so happy to go to the same movie again.

But it isn’t the same, is it? Somehow, timing changes everything. Your friend is nice to see the movie with you again, but she already saw it. She’s just seeing it to be nice to you. It’s about the shared experience. It’s different — special, when there’s a first and you share it with someone. I can’t help but think God knew this since He wanted us to give our first fruits as an offering.

Now super-size that feeling of exclusion, loneliness, disappointment, missing out and so forth to one of the most fundamental tenets of the human existence. (In case you disagree with me, I was reading the other day how explorers like Ponce de Leon and Columbus were wanting to find trade routes and all, but they also sought the Fountain of Youth. Why seeking that? Because the aging explorers heard rumors of a fountain which rejuvenated them and restored to them “all manly performances”. Was America discovered and populated because some old guys wanted to have sex again? We may never know.)

The point is, that’s how I feel. It’s how you make me feel. And it’s a permanent feeling. It’s eternal and ineffaceable. You can’t erase the knowledge in your head. You can’t ever forget welcoming another man’s privates inside your own, the shared pleasure and happiness it brought you. And that knowledge itself fills my heart with foreboding and weighs down my mind.

The funny thing is, you don’t understand.

You still don’t.

It was all here. All of it! Just waiting for you.

The cozy nights by the fire. The ring and proposal on bended knee.  The Friday night pizza and movie. The road trips and laundry. The rice and the kiss. The burnt dinners and the laughter, the moonlight and music, the candles and dancing, the milk and cookies, the babies, the diapers, the shoulder to cry on, the closet full of shoes, the rainy nights, Christmas with your family and Easter with mine. Paris and Italy, the organ and the flower girl, the stroller and crib. The dusty attic to accumulate with half-forgotten relics of the life we build together. The “honey-do” list of home improvements and lazy Sunday afternoons. The youthful infatuation and the aged adoration.

It was all here. Every bit of it. Every raw emotion, every ounce of love and warmth, the fairy-tale romance you’ve always craved. Everything you wanted and more, I was ready to give, and to be, and to become. I’ve been putting it together, building it as best I know how in preparation for your arrival.

And you were off in bed with another man!

I want so badly to scold you for accepting, and to slug him senseless for inviting or pressuring. He has something I could never, ever have, something you can only give once. He probably doesn’t even know its value, the great ape. It’s like he withdrew an inheritance with my name on it and then burned it.

And now they say — the ones who warned and counseled me to remain pure myself, to subdue appetites stronger than wind and tide in favor of “something better” — are telling me not to cling so tightly to that standard. I have to forgive. Forgive! Abandon my hope for the the future, they mean. Foreclose. They want me to be the redeemer, renouncing the one thing I’ve looked forward to my entire life just so you won’t feel so bad. And hey, maybe I’ll be rewarded in heaven for denying my reward yet again on earth.

Let me explain something you may not understand since you’ve been sexually active for the last decade. Virgins are pent-up. We’re like a can of fuel that’s sealed and sat in the sunlight. It heats up and expands like a balloon. Merely cracking the seal releases tremendous pressure. We’ve been burning since puberty, waging a constant war to suppress the inferno. We can’t wait to toss that match into that can and finally burn freely, in a joyously clean inferno.

want that freshness, that newness, that excitement and energy of Christmas morning, but the first Christmas morning ever, together, when the taboo becomes not just permissible but a commandment. Hunger is the best seasoning, and I want that pent-up emotion to come out, along with all the butterflies, fireworks, laughter and adrenaline. I want that first meal together to be ours. OURS, and no one else’s.

Madam, you won’t have that heady buzz. You’ve already been there. Lots of times. There’s nothing new I can give you, and darned if I want you instructing me! I would be given the keys to the car for the very first time. You’ll just be glad to be driving again. Because you started without me.

I wanted to be rewarded. Is that so wrong? One or two ladies I recently asked balked at the idea of being viewed as a “prize” — even though a higher compliment I could not contrive! Don’t we all hope that the things we do in the spirit of discipline and self-control are for a future reward? I said reward, not trophy. Even Christ endured the cross “for the joy set before Him.” I take no offense if I’m considered my true bride’s reward. Believe me when I say, I intend to reward her in every possible way! I’m working hard to polish myself so she’ll be happier with her reward! I want to treat you like a princess, and it’s hard to imagine that when you were off playing the part of the prostitute. (I don’t even blame prostitutes as badly; they’re just making a living selling their body. Disgusting, yes. But they are not giving their heart, their mind, their emotions. You did.)

I don’t see how I could ever sleep, or ever expunge the dark thoughts of knowing one or more men walk the earth who know what your orgasm face looks like, whose eyes have prowled every inch of you, whose fingers have combed the arch of your body.

I knew you couldn’t be like me. I knew you couldn’t have held off on relationships entirely. But I didn’t expect you to surrender all and everything, the ultimate trust and vulnerability given away. I always hoped and sought after that shared triumph of holding off together so we could discover it together.

Of course there’s forgiveness. But that grade you cheated to get is still on your transcript. You get to have your cake and eat it too. You have diplomatic immunity under the shadow of the cross, and I can’t say anything because you’re forgiven. Oh, and you feel bad. Of course you do. Now. Now that you see what you lost out on. Well guess what, I feel bad too. I’m angry. I’m furious with the traitors in my life who leave me holding the flag of principle because they want to go jump in someone’s pants.

This issue is one of the few that have rubbed me raw. It’s left a very sore spot and short fuse. (As if you couldn’t tell.) And sure, part of it is because I’m jealous. Sin is fun. If you didn’t care, then why should I? I could have just had my fling. There’s a male pride thing going on where you got there first. Abstinence is frustrating enough without you standing there at the finish line next to the table, an empty plate behind your back and you looking like a combination of satisfaction and guilt.

Those who starved themselves remain sad and hungry, and I’m required to forgive those who went ahead and ate.

Well. I thought I could do it. I thought I could look past all that. I guess I’m just not big enough.

But I wanted to. Oh, I wanted to so badly. I wanted the search to end and for you to be the one. And to be honest, maybe if there were extraordinary things to compensate it could be easier. I think I can create peace and resolution in my mind by reminding myself we wouldn’t have ended up together anyway. I am sorry for the burden you have to bear. I should do so much more to ease your mind on this and to be kind. As a friend, I will. I just don’t think I can do it as your husband.

I’m sorry for those of you this applies to. I’m writing here to vent every dark, despairing, raw thought and emotion percolating inside my mind so it won’t come out later and hurt someone I care about.

To She Who Did Not Wait, Pt. 1

To She Who Did Not Wait, Pt. 2 

June 21, 2012 - Posted by | Loneliness, Purity

2 Comments »

  1. […] asking how my heart was. She’s attractive, intelligent, industrious, compassionate…and heartbreaking. Were circumstances otherwise, I probably would already have made alternate travel arrangements. […]

    Pingback by Sundry Thoughts for March « Letters to Luthien | March 8, 2013 | Reply

  2. I pray that God will soften your heart. I used to be horrified at the prospect of my future husband having given himself to someone. I have now given that into His hands.
    Perhaps you’re not yet ready for your beautifully broken future wife, restored by His grace.

    We are all born with the heart of a harlot. I personally have “waited”, but I have thought before “what if it was just the two of us here? What if he had asked me again? What if I wasn’t so stubborn about my self-imposed regulations? ” and those are not points to have pride in. Those are circumstances. It is only through surrender to the Lord that I have been spared the pain of losing part of myself, not the feast you seem to think it is.

    I understand the frustration, and the curiosity, but I only implore you to search your heart on this matter further because reading what you wrote genuinely hurts because it could be me. It could be her. I think writing out these feelings must be helpful for yourself, but consider if these are the words you want to also share with the internet… including men and women of God who have chosen to become a new creation. Condemning others carries the weight of holding yourself to a higher standard than others. Not GOD holding you to a higher standard, but YOU holding yourself to a higher standard. Release the weight.

    Comment by Jeanne | March 12, 2013 | Reply


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