Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Strange and Sundry Thoughts, Pt. 3

Dear Darling,

Did you ever start a sentence and not know how you were going to end it? I’m starting tonight not knowing where I want to go, or what I want to say, or how to say it, but I feel like talking, and there’s no one really to talk to. I want a normal conversation, but those aren’t something you plan. You pick up the phone and call someone and ask them how they’re doing, and you go from there.

It’s funny. I’ve got a few dozen drafts of letters on here waiting for me to finish them, and another dozen ideas and thoughts bouncing around as vague ideas in my head. In fact, I’ve got a lot of writing I need or want to do. Grand promises and warm thoughts and gentle remembrances, and somehow all I want to do is sit down and have a normal talk with you. Not the beautiful prose and poetry I imagine or portray on a medieval scale between Luthien the Unknown Bride and her Knight, but the simple dialogue of two best friends who love each other.

People tell me I am risking building you up in my mind, until no woman can possibly live up to the ideal. Actually, aside from a few critical elements, there’s a lot of strange, normal, objectionable and weird I’d be willing to put up with. I’m good with some drama and baggage, as long as you didn’t really intentionally create it.

It would be easy to lower my standards though. Demand always goes up when a price is reduced, and let’s face it, I’ve faced a decent amount of demand already in my life. Is it so much to ask a girl to share my faith, be of equal intelligence, share my vision and aspirations in life, be physically appealing, and not torture me with mental images of having sex with another man?

I find that even among virtuous women, they have regrets. They got a little carried away with a boyfriend, they’ve done some kissing, maybe went a a little too far. They all have regrets, and I don’t. I’ve never had a girlfriend. The timing has never been right, the person has never come along that I felt comfortable pursing, or was really worth it. In reality, having no regrets is my regret. I have no mechanism by which to relate to the people around me. I’m viewed as somehow less than a man.

Maybe I’ve even done you a disservice. Perhaps, in holding such a standard, and hoping to find the same in you, I hold you to too high a standard. Maybe I should have just lived a little. Maybe I should have thrown a few kisses out there, had some fun, snuggled a girl or two. Maybe touched her, or let her touch me. Right? That way I’d have some regrets. I’d fit in with 99% of the rest of my peers. That way, you wouldn’t look at me as an oddity. You’d appreciate that I had some experience, since most girls somehow seem to value that over the restraint and strength of will it takes to restrain one’s self to give whole and pure and completely when the time comes.

That way I couldn’t hold you to the same ridiculous standard. After all, as I’ve said before, if you’re the type of gal I think you are, as wonderful as I hope for, how could you escape the jackals and cads, and maybe even the smoother and classier gents that put moves over on you? In some sort of blind irony, it seems most women can’t wait to build that trust, to find that security, to give, to know, to be known. And I’m not going to lie, Darling. It bugs me. It’s an irritating little burr under my saddle to think you might have snuggled, cuddled, canoodled, whispered, kissed, stroked or touched foreheads with some other guy.

Because see, now it’s a big deal. I’ve held out on that kiss so long that it’s special. It’s got a high price on it. I can’t just give it away to the first bidder. But people want to add that chemistry and electricity into the mix so soon. They want to release that hormonal, euphoric cocktail of pheromones and oxytocins and endorphins because it’s fun, and they miss the long-term consequences of bonding yourself like that before you’re ready.

I feel like I’m a luxury model; a Hope Diamond of men, too elegant for most people to desire, too expensive for most to afford. Arrogance, you might think? Ah, but who is sitting behind wall, surrounded by security, walled off from humanity, only to be looked at and adored from a distance? My fate is thus no greater than the common rock that lies by the wayside. No one wants to afford a rock; no one can afford a diamond.

Regretful of a clean record. What would the Savior say?

One of those dear, charming old ladies spoke to me today in church. She introduced me to her daughter, who spoke of her daughter, being my age and in the same profession. Wheels in the woman’s head were clearly turning as she mentally compared us and hoped I might be a willing son-in-law. Then she quickly snuck in the information she knew it was only fair to say; that her girl was a single mom. (And the explanation was nothing as innocent as a military mother left widowed by a war.) Another lady I encountered once eagerly set me up to have lunch with her own daughter. Now that I look back on it, I’m surprised I went, but I did, and it was a waste of time.

I think about all the people I should be praying for, Darling. So many souls I know, in pain, facing circumstances far worse than my own, who confide in me and who I feel obligated to check in on. (These are those friends who never text unless texted to.) I should pray for family, and job and school and economy and government and politics and missionaries and pastors and starving populations in forsaken countries.

All I want to do is pray about you. I want to ask God to bless you, nudge Him about how badly I want to meet you.

I suppose I’m a little bit worried I won’t find you, that all this waiting will have been in vain and I’ll have wasted the best years. I never gave much thought to that whole idea of a biological clock until recently. Suddenly life felt (feels) very short. I still wonder if I haven’t done something wrong. It’s good to know, in the midst of this, that God knows what He’s doing. Even if I don’t.

It’s hard to have faith through doubt, my love. But if you think about it, without doubt to push aside, there can be no faith.

Love always,
Beren

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August 13, 2012 - Posted by | Loneliness, Sundry Thoughts

1 Comment »

  1. […] shared the illusive “true love’s first kiss” with someone. Like I told you here and here, it bugs me a little bit. But I’ve held on this long, held back on this gift that so […]

    Pingback by I Dreamed I Kissed You « Letters to Luthien | August 20, 2012 | Reply


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