Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

A Belated Valentine

“And cannot pleasures, while they last,
Be actual unless, when past,
They leave us shuddering and aghast,
With anguish smarting?
And cannot friends be firm and fast,
And yet bear parting? 

And must I then, at Friendship’s call,
Calmly resign the little all
(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
I have of gladness,
And lend my being to the thrall
Of gloom and sadness? 

And think you that I should be dumb,
And full DOLORUM OMNIUM,
Excepting when YOU choose to come
And share my dinner?
At other times be sour and glum
And daily thinner? 

Must he then only live to weep,
Who’d prove his friendship true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of anguish? 

The lover, if for certain days
His fair one be denied his gaze,
Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
But, wiser wooer,
He spends the time in writing lays,
And posts them to her. 

And if the verse flow free and fast,
Till even the poet is aghast,
A touching Valentine at last
The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past
Of February. 

Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
In desert waste or crowded street,
Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
Perhaps to-morrow.
I trust to find YOUR heart the seat
Of wasting sorrow.”

-Lewis Carroll

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February 16, 2013 Posted by | Holidays, Poems | , , | 1 Comment

Valentine’s Day Special: Imagine the Fire

Flaming Passion

“And on nights like this, when my blood runs riot
With the fever of youth and its mad desires,
When my brain in vain bids my heart be quiet,
When my breast seems the centre of lava-fires,
Oh, then is the time when most I miss you,
And I swear by the stars and my soul and say
That I will have you and hold you and kiss you,
Though the whole world stands in the way.”

Dear Darling,

Happy Valentine’s Day.

No really. I know it may not be happy now, when you’re a party of one on a day meant for two. (I hope you’re not spending it with someone else!) I’m sure it gets harder for both of us with each passing year. But I wish for it to be happy nevertheless.

This year, rather than wallow in the musings of self-pity, I thought I would give you a gift. The gift of imagination. I want to use the power of these letters to offer you a glimpse of my vision for the future, for how awesome it’s going to be one day. I’ve been working on this letter for three months, so I hope you like it.

First, tell me something: How much imagination do you think is okay? Before we meet or marry, is it okay to fantasize about our married life? Is it okay to reminisce about the future today, and relish the treasures yet to come? How often do we dare let ourselves broach the topic, how much banter is permissible….how much fire can your mind play with before a line is crossed?

I have a good imagination. I’ve had thoughts (and dreams) that might make you blush. I know that one day we’ll seal ourselves in covenant, forever freeing us to dance in the flames, and until then, it’s hard. Thinking about it (sometimes) makes it easier. I think any race is easier when you know there’s a finish line.

It’s okay to look forward to that…even to get excited about it.

I think it’s the freedom I’m looking forward to the most. The ultimate license, the absolute liberty to release every inhibition, caution, reservation and warning we’ve ever had…inhibitions about time and touch and love and romance and intimacy and propriety and sex.

Oh darling! Can either of us even begin to conceive of the freedom of kissing, touching, hugging, caressing, making love whenever we want? It will be like nothing else. No strings attached! Guiltless, fearless! It will be an experience to cherish. There’ll be no shame. We’ll be proud of each other. You’ll be able to take pride in being worth waiting for, and pride in your man for waiting! You won’t be competing with any other experiences or memories, and neither will I. We can enjoy each other just for being ourselves. One partner, no worries. It will be a celebration. Our whole wedding day will be, and as flustered and surreal as that will be, underneath will be the fires of passion and anticipation, a quivering, eager expectancy.

If you look at me, you might see steam. If I looked at you, I’d probably see stars.

Oh, and Darling, I want it to be the best! I want hundreds of tea lights, chocolates and rose petals. I want soft music, dim lights and silk sheets. And yes, I intend to have spent more than a few weeks at the gym. (Nothing but the best for my bride.)

I think I know how it will start. Of course we’ll both be nervous. Maybe even shaking. Each step beyond the borders of the formerly taboo will be furtive, but I daresay hunger will compel us. I’m sure there will be plenty of kissing. You might run your hands through my hair. But at some point, if you’re willing, you’ll have to let me take over, take you by the hand as we cross that threshold, to take our place in the book of love. It will be time to awaken your senses and excite them. I’ll kiss not just your mouth, but your eyelids, your forehead, your ears and the soft skin at the base of your throat. Our eyelashes will tickle each other to meet. We’ll feel chills and pulses as our foreheads meet, and you’ll thrill and shudder as I kiss your bare shoulders. I’ll take a rose and trace the lightest touch over every inch of your body, with lips to follow. Such rapturous vulnerability…it will terrify and thrill.

They say most don’t get it right the first time. I plan on trying. Lack of experience doesn’t mean lack of knowledge; I know to go slow. But ultimately, I suspect we’ll want each other so badly that neither of us will be disappointed. Still, I want to put you first. I want you to have a secret that you can’t tell anyone, or maybe you’ll tell a close friend or two — that you suspect no one ever loved a woman like your man. I want your eyes to roll back, your neck to arch, your toes to curl and the hairs on your neck to stand on end. I want to make you forget about time and life and fear and yourself and even us. I want to transcend the physical and unleash a blissful torrent of ecstasy straight to your brain, a seismic reverberation taking you places you’ve never been before, a flaming rush of senses that feel so good you wonder if it’s even right. I want you to lose yourself in the moment, your brain to go blank, not even knowing you’re making the noises you are. I want you to come back to yourself drained, grateful and amazed. All of this and more I wish to do for my darling, my beloved Luthien, simply because she deserves it.

Nothing in our public life, our dreary waking existence could ever prepare us for such euphoria.

Hours later, we can spend the rest of the night, talking for hours, giggling gently, touching each other’s noses and asking all the questions we’ve wondered, about what it’s like to be a man or a woman, learning about each other and exploring, fervently laying bare whatever secrets are yet unlearned. The burden of being forbidden will lift, and we can bare not just our bodies but our souls before each other. Finally, exhausted and tranquil, we can drift off to dream in each other’s arms.

Imagine the morning after. Things will be peaceful and still, just as they are after any fire. Imagine your consciousness rising to the surface, when you first become aware but before your eyes even open, when the thought explodes inside your brain: “I’m married! I’m his wife! I belong to him, and he belongs to me!” Those are the moments that make every pain in life worthwhile…waking and finding only love and hunger, renewed and washing over us, heedless of care and worry. Moments when you want to jump up and run around, uncontrollable joy bubbling up as we dance and laugh and embrace, because our waking world is finally better than our dreams. Maybe I’ll wake up before you. If I do, I’ll wake you up with a kiss. You pick where.

Breakfast and some encore performances will be in order, don’t you think?

And that’s just the first night! You might recall, I’d like to honeymoon on a private island. Imagine yourself there now. The doors are open and a warm tropical breeze wafts through the house to rustle the curtains and caress our bodies. It’s day three of our island vacation. Maybe later we can take the boat out for a spin around the island, or take a dip in the ocean. We’ve come back and showered off (nudge nudge, wink wink) and in the process of satisfying one appetite, we’ve worked up an appetite for dinner. So we head to the kitchen for dinner — grilled seafood. (If you like seafood?) If you like, I’ll feed you the whole meal.

Then the sun goes down, and we keep the lights off. Maybe there’s a veranda, and I can light some torches, to give us the primal luminescence of firelight. We can cuddle in a reclining chair built for two and tenderly read each other poetry, or our letters. We can dreamily share more stories of our lives as our fingers trace little patterns on each other. We can take a walk on the beach, sit on a knoll and watch the moonlight. (Remind me we need to go when there’s a full moon.)

Darling, we’ll be making up for for 25-30 years of virginity, and while I see no reason not to try that first night, we’ll have the rest of our lives to satisfy and reward each other. Take the first year for example. Aha, that first year…! I think people are going to be whispering behind our backs about that one. We’ll be late to work, and sleep-deprived. We’ll develop code words to whisper at parties, which will find us both leaving early. Did I say words? Who needs words? One of us will just give a glance and suddenly the air around us is sizzling and we’ll have to make our goodnights. I probably wanted you the moment you walked out in that dress.

Things are going to be hazy and dreamy and wonderful. The ultimate intimacy, the communion of souls. Oneness.

There will be things we’ll both be excited to try. We can be discreet, but daring. We can make overnight trips for the weekend, or go camping and spend late-night romps in a tent or around a campfire. We can wake each other up in the most delightful ways. We can be risque, and inappropriate. So many people seek to be “good in bed.” I don’t want to be good in bed…I want us to be good in bed. By listening, and putting you first, I hope to be all you could ever hope for in a man.

The problem is, I want you right now. I want to make out with you. Like, seriously. I just want to forget everything and let go, both of us caught up in a kiss that ignites fireworks in our brains, that sets our hearts racing, our heads spinning, our blood pumping, our neurons firing wildly. There’s going to be that animal magnetism  primeval and raw. The shackles aren’t loosed yet! For a while, we’ll fear to be alone because we can’t trust ourselves. We’ll have to guard each others hearts if we ever want to arrive at that night without being ashamed.

There will come a day we’ll have to meet to talk about this…after we’ve promised to marry, we’ll meet — in public — to discuss your expectations and mine. What we each should wear, how we’ve always imagined it, what our expectations will be. Would you like to remove your wedding dress and tuck it away? Or would you like me take care of that for you? Will you wear something daring — either black or red — for me?

Luthien, my love, you’re the only thing that keeps me waiting. Come to me soon. We have some dreams to get started on.

Until then, happy Valentine’s Day my fiery darling. I mean that with all of my heart.

With love and fire,
Beren

February 14, 2013 Posted by | Anticipation, Holidays, Our Wedding, Promises, Purity | , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

How Can I Wait?

Waiting

“How can I wait until you come to me?
The once fleet mornings linger by the way,
Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee
At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play
Like truant children, while I sigh and say,
How can I wait?

How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours
Refused to pause or loiter with me long;
But now they idly fill their hands with flowers,
And make no haste, but slowly stroll among
The summer blooms, not heeding my one song,
How can I wait?

How can I wait? The nights alone are kind;
They reach forth to a future day, and bring
Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind;
And time speeds by on light and airy wing.
I feast upon your face, I no more sing,
How can I wait?

How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell
A pitying night has flung upon my soul.
You are not near me, and I know full well
My heart has need of patience and control;
Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll.
How can I wait?

How can I wait? Oh, love, how can I wait
Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine
Upon my world that seems so desolate?
Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine;
Until you come again, oh, love of mine,
How can I wait?”

– Ella Wheeler Wilcox

February 12, 2013 Posted by | Poems | , , , , | Leave a comment

When I Don’t Have All The Answers

The_Thinker

“Sometimes we stumble, sometimes we even fall
And we can’t find a friend, can’t comprehend it all
And we are lost, with nothing to hold on to
When we can’t find the answer…sometimes a Prayer will do.”
Secret Garden

Dear Darling,

Wow. When life catches up with you, it really catches up with you.

It’s been a difficult couple of weeks, a lot of uncertainty, a lot of reevaluation.  sudden and maddening rubric of decisions came on me, a challenge to most of what I’ve been shooting for in life.

First, I slammed headlong into some personnel challenges with my political work, causing me to lay down the banners I’ve been carrying successfully and rather publicly for the last five years and step back to reevaluate.

Then my plans for moving fell through due to nothing more than a Still Small Voice whispering “not yet.”

Then another small voice rose up in my mind and asked me if being a nurse wasn’t too low of a goal for me, if I shouldn’t let go of an almost-sure thing to reach for a very uncertain but great thing like medical school.

At the same time, some family ghosts rose up from the past (and a few birthed from the present) to haunt the domestic side of life.

And then there have been a few sort-of potential relationships on the radar, including one or two that should really excite me but don’t, causing me to want to grab my heart and shake it, demanding “feel, you rebellious blighter; feeeeel!” But it doesn’t. It’s duecedly uncooperative, the heart. Desperately wicked; a warm, red, treasonous rebel.

I usually have answers. I’m good at watching, planning, managing, deciding, guarding, protecting, leading. Managing a family is work, and I’m a hard worker. I’m used to doing life’s homework and having the answers. (If only my academic grades were as competent.)

But the fact is, sometimes I don’t have the answers. That’s hard.

For whatever reasons, God tests me with uncertainty. He throws a few curveballs my way, and with oh such divine deftness. Maybe He’s teaching me more to trust. Having a purpose is vital in life, so questioning that purpose makes me rely on Him, not me.

It’s never easy not having answers. But when it all cascades down at once, it’s even harder.

If it’s just a test, I can/could content myself to fret and wait on God. But what if it’s me? What if I’m not a strong enough Christian to decipher God’s will? What if I need to change, what if I made a mistake unknowingly? For me, following God’s will doesn’t seem to prove too challenging…it’s knowing it that’s the problem.

So what do I do in these situations? I reach out for friends. I listen, and ask. I run things by them, bounce ideas off them. I should reach out for God, and I do. But even Christ needed friends, and like his, sometimes it seems there really are no friends that I have who understand or are here for me. Here again I miss your absence. I need an attaboy. I need arms to hold me, someone to say “no, I can tell you’re not okay, don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?” Someone to give me that “there there”, it’ll be okay, to remind me who I am rather than what I’m not. To say “I don’t have the answers either, but I have faith that we’ll find out. So do you. Trust God to work it out, and hang in there. I’m here for you.” To offer thoughts, hope, comfort, even trust of what decisions I’ll make.

Sometimes I wonder, what reason is good enough for the Lord to send me you? The one who inspires me? Where are you, what’s taking you so long, what do I have to do to earn it? As I continue to fail in my search for you, I wonder if my standards are too high, if my feelings are insatiable, or my expectations unreasonable. I worry I won’t end up with the person I wanted, or the life I wanted. I worry I won’t be happy. Is it wrong to want not just to be joyful but happy? Do I ask for too much to want my breath stolen away? To find an equal? Would it be okay for just once in this life to find what I’m really searching for? To find someone who arrests my attention, catches me by surprise, makes me say “whoa”? Can I not just sweep you off your feet, but have you sweep me just a little bit?

Where are the sages? Where are the wise and seasoned men and women, who identify and understand, who come along with their wisdom to uplift and strengthen, who will listen, who you can go to for answers or advice? I can’t find them anymore. At roughly 27 years of age, I’m the sage people look to…and ignore. Someone recently told me, with regards to my fights for what is right, “don’t embrace more darkness than you do light.” It was a good thought. But where is the light? Where are the people willing to be lights in this world — steeped in darkness, condemning brightness for burning the touch, banishing darkness and blinding the eyes.

Do you know what it is not to have the answers? To be confronted continuously by shortcomings…or incompatibilities with the shortcomings of others?

All in all, it has made for a very tumultuous several weeks. I don’t know if the decisions were to be left in my care, or if the results rested in my actions, or inactions. Do you believe the devil orchestrates attacks against the Lord’s own? Sometimes it’s direct and targeted; other times, I think it’s just malicious, meddling attacks to frustrate and throw us off of our game. The last several weeks seem to be the latter.

Yet for all of the tumult, I have the Still Small Voice of guidance, and the surety that God is in control. There are promises and truths to fall back on.

One of them is God’s purpose. God’s purpose is for me to give. To write, educate, inspire, motivate. He has goals for me, and they won’t be denied. In fact, I was lately struck by that fact when the young lady who had previously rejected me for reasons I misunderstood was brought back into my life, briefly, giving resolution to that momentary confusion. Our dinner gave me something to look forward to, an understanding of who someone else was, and a resolution to that unknown. I don’t recall asking the Lord to show me why, but He did. He orchestrated that for a reason.

The other is His plan. None of us are big enough to arrest His plan. So…although confusing, frustrating and bewildering, I suppose the lesson is that we don’t need to have all the answers?

So no…I don’t need to have the answers. But I do need you.

Yours,
Beren

February 10, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , | Leave a comment

Sundry Thoughts for February

StargazingDear Darling,

I’m in another one of those moods tonight. The kind where I don’t want to be Beren the wistful and wandering knight, stargazing atop his steed. I want to dump all of the armor by a tree, relieve the steed of his harness to graze, and walk down the path in silence. Still stargazing, of course.

1) I need someone to sing Josh Groban’s “You Are Loved” to me. The dude identifies all these lonely and sad feelings and then he’s like, “but that’s okay, I love you.” Thanks Josh, but you aren’t here, and you couldn’t help me if you were.

2) Why is it always the girl I find unappealing who makes a play for me? How many men would love to brag about having to turn women down, but I truly hate it. Heck, even my sister-in-law has clearly set her cap for me, and after the animosity between families, she should totally know better. It seems like I’m attracted to the pleasant, outgoing sort…the kind who is too outgoing to have waited. But when I fancy someone, and I find out they didn’t keep the standard, it’s like rejection. Every time someone breaks that standard, it’s a microscopic rejection. If I could just stop holding that against people…if I could somehow learn to expect less, or find peace in the dashed hopes of finding the one who waited for me…life would be so much easier.

3) I don’t want to be nice anymore. I don’t want to respect the people who don’t respect me, I don’t want to overlook someone’s offenses. I don’t want to be the one who has to hold back his own anger at the hypocrisy and double-standards of people. I’m tired of being good. I’m tired of the people who tell me how cool I am, and then don’t aspire to be the same. I’m tired of meeting the women who are really neat, a few months or a few years too late. the ones who are already married, or already grown impatient and decided it was time to grow up. I’m tired of the ones who meet everything I’m looking for and yet present no chemistry. I’m tired of finding chemistry with the people who don’t look good on paper. I’m tired of getting punished for doing the right thing, of being shamed for struggling with the poor life choices of everyone else, of striving hard to obey the standards God gave us, and then having people throw stones at me for wanting to know why others can’t try a little harder. I’m hard on myself, but I don’t have a high enough opinion of myself to be “understanding” about why I could pass where others have failed.

4) At the end of every day, I just want a woman with a nice face, a warm voice and kind heart to talk to. You don’t even have to be smiling. You don’t even have to be happy! Just listen to my woes and let me listen to yours.

5) I’m usually strong, and when I’m strong, I’m invincible. There are times I’m not strong, though, and that’s when I need you.

6) There are some days — I’m talking to you as my wife, dear…between you and me — there are some days where I want to forget I possess male genitalia and a mindless, senseless urge to copulate with any warm and willing body. There are thoughts that are all too common, that invade my mind, that I do far too poor a job of taking captive for Christ, thoughts that aren’t always mine, but which dishonor you and me, and the temple of the Lord that is my body.

7) Do you ever feel like you’re still just a kid in an adult’s body, fooling everyone, ad-libbing your way through life? Or that you wish you could go back to being a kid? Or that you have an old soul, aged far beyond its years, and can’t tell anyone?

8) One day dear, you and I are going to go camping out on a mesa. There won’t be anyone around, and we can gaze at the stars — and each other — all night long.

Love,
Beren

February 9, 2013 Posted by | Nights Like These, Sundry Thoughts | Leave a comment

How To Heal Me

Woman hugs manDear Darling,

I’m really not that high-maintenance. And no, I’m not depressed. (Trust me, I’ve been around people like that. They’re black holes. I give, not take.) But yes, I do have hard times. I thought maybe you’d like a list of how to help fix them for me.

1. Hug me.

2. Text me and ask about me. Don’t believe me if I say fine.

3. Say “aww” if I tell you something bad that happened.

4. Encourage me.

5. Remind me who I am, who I’ve been, what I’ve done. I forget to look back and see how far I’ve come.

6. Listen to me.

7. When we’re talking, ask questions. I always like it when someone says “can I ask you a personal question?”

8. Sit on the couch and invite me to lay my head in your lap. Rub my hair while we talk.

9. Write me a letter. Or, just leave a note.

10. Remind me you’re here for me.

11. Bake a dessert.

12. Be there waiting for me when I reach the end of myself.

13. Pray with me, and for me. Remind me where true strength comes from.

14. Look deep into my eyes with yours with a “hey…hey. Talk to me.”

15. Pull me out of myself. Remind me what’s right…gently.

16. Be understanding…and honest if you don’t understand.

17. Know when I’m just too tired to think; know when to just put me to bed.

18. Forgive me.

19. Wait for me.

20. Think of things to do with me.

21. Compliment me.

22. Fight for me. Fight ME for me if you have to.

23. Thank me for being me.

24. Don’t give up when things get hard.

25. Be there for me when I need you.

26. Tell me you love me.

I promise to do the same for you.

Always,
Beren

February 8, 2013 Posted by | About Me, Loneliness | Leave a comment

TOGWD: Time Off

Dear Darling,

No matter how wonderful our life will be together, no matter how much we love each other or our children, there comes a time when everyone needs some time away. Life will stack up in all the wrong ways, and you’ll need a break before you break.

I can’t promise I’ll always see those times coming. I can’t promise I won’t have my own frustrations and struggles that blind me to yours. But I can promise that when I do, I’ll intervene on your behalf. I’ll take that screaming baby out of your hands and tell you to go outside and take a break. I’ll see the frantic glaze over your eyes if the house is messy and the kids are arguing and you’re working over a hot stove with hair stringing in your eyes. Though you’ll feel like it’s your fault and your responsibility, I’ll order you to stop and go breathe somewhere. Just breathe. I got this. You’ll come back and (I hope!) the kids will be calmed,the pasta is served and maybe even the dishes washed, depending on how much time you took to breathe. I hope you’ll feel better, and grateful, and I dearly hope I can earn your admiration by having restored order and given you a moment’s peace.

There’ll be days even I’ll get on your nerves. Maybe I’ll be home too much. Maybe I’ll be gone too much. Maybe my political work will get the better of me and I’ll suddenly realize I’ve neglected you for a few days. I’ll call a time-out on work and spend a day with you. We can just have an all-day date together, sleeping in, going to the zoo, going sledding, going to a movie, going to dinner. We can cook together in the kitchen, or grab a picnic basket and head for the hills. We can light some candles, and turn off the lights. We can turn some music, and each other, on as we dance in candlelight.

There’ll be days where life just stacks up for both of us. We both approach the breaking point, and need a retreat. That’s when I’ll suggest we take a weekend trip, or even just an overnight. I’ll find tickets to a show a few hours’ drive away, or a concert. Or we can just throw a tent and some sleeping bags in the truck and rough it. (And when I say rough it…) Maybe we can just overnight to New York City. Or some night when you’re thinking about dinner, I’ll say “you know what I’d like? Dinner at Delmonico’s.” And you’ll laugh and say “yeah, right.” And I’ll say “I’m serious.” “But that’s in New York City!” And I’ll shrug and say so? We’ll go check airline prices, and you’ll laugh incredulously as I tell you go to pack a bag, we’re spending the night in New York. I can be spontaneous that way, and I’m working towards earning enough that it won’t be a wasteful or frivolous use of our resources.

I’m trying to be aware. I’m trying to anticipate, because the experts all say wonderful things, even marriage, can eventually wind up taken for granted. I love you and miss you so much right now it hurts, and it’s hard to imagine that. But I’m trying to think with my head, not my heart. I’m trying to understand that you and I won’t always be on cloud nine of perfection, that sometimes love has to be intentional.

I’m trying to be aware that occasionally, time away from me is one of the best ways to show you I love you. And if in the end I’m big and dumb and clueless, just wave the flag (or smack it across my face) and tell me you need a time out.

Like I said. Sometimes love has to be intentional.

Love,
Beren

February 2, 2013 Posted by | Things Other Guys Won't Do | Leave a comment

Running

Dear Darling,

What right have I to hurt?

That’s the first question you might ask if you spent a day inside my head. Why is there blood and no wound? Why pain and no injury? I’ve grown up in a good home. I’ve not faced any vast life tragedies or setbacks like so many that I know. I’ve had supportive parents and good family. I’ve been blessed with many opportunities beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve rebounded from some hard times, but not so bad by comparison. So why is there pain?

Why are you running? That’s the second question you might ask. What are you running from…or to?

Because I am. I’m running. There comes a time where you learn to appreciate moments in life where you recognize things about yourself, and that’s one of them. I’ve talked myself into this frenetic life, so much so that I’ve begun to realize I almost don’t have time for you! I keep commitments going. Jobs and volunteering and writing and working out and studying. I play music to drown out my thoughts.

Explaining yourself TO yourself doesn’t seem like it should be a hard task, but sometimes it is the hardest. Sometimes it’s a challenge just to figure out what questions you should ask yourself. I think those two questions were ones rising above the other ones in my mind the last few weeks. Other questions have accompanied, like, who am I? Who am I meant to be? Is it possible to botch God’s will for my life, or is it inexorable? Are I settling for too little? How much longer will I have to wait for you? How will I possibly know it’s you? Could I ever botch that area of God’s will for me? Could I ever forgive a woman who gave herself away to another man first? Should I? Am I at fault for being proud and unforgiving? Why do the sexual sins of others grieve and frustrate me on such a deep level? Do I know how to be happy?

So why do I hurt? It comes from listening to hurts. God gave me broad shoulders and a compassionate heart. It is a gift with which I look forward to serving you. I was meant to rise burdens, and I’m not bad at it. But I’ve spent a lot of time doing it, and sometimes you don’t realize how it’s all stacked up. You go through experiences that weigh you down. Holding patients and their families while they cry, watching someone die, calling up someone just to let them cry to you. I have a good bedside manner. I listen. I help broken hearts. I lift burdens. I talk. I advise. I hurt for them. I wish desperately I could have been there for their plights. People don’t understand why an unbroken man could carry so much hurt, or why. I know what it is to mourn because I have mourned with or about others.

And then there is the hurt that comes from loneliness. The times I find people that remind me so much of you that it hurts. The times of bowing my head, feeling defeated because I feel like the last person to uphold a command, then having trusted friends tell me I’m the problem because I can’t forgive. It comes from feeling the weight of those sins, feeling an eternal loss, grieving something that was never mine, feeling betrayed, feeling envious, feeling alone, longing for the same release. It can be an involuntary pain. Sometimes I have this hero complex when people tell me their sad story of how they came to give themselves away. I wish I’d been there, and think about how it would all be different.

I hurt because I see. I see because I look and ask. But seeing is painful. It’s no gift; I want to see things as they really are, but it’s never positive. What has been learned cannot be unlearned. Sometimes I can’t blame people for preferring ignorance.

All of them, literally only a few exceptions, even the Christian girls, give themselves away. “Get them young,” advised a friend. “Your assumption is that all girls ho it up after a certain age?” I retorted. I can’t be afforded, which is the rationale behind wondering if I should lower myself, seeing no one really up to the task of aspiring to make the same choices. Some say it’s arrogant to look at the world in these terms. Maybe.

There’s the hurt from being hated. The reason people like me is the reason they hate me. I represent something good. I’m “too good.” I’m too strict and should have more grace. True? Perhaps. People don’t want good. Except sometimes, when they’re hurting and want some help.

Is that a reason enough to hurt? Does that even begin to make sense to you, to explain me a little more? You tell me.

What about this running? Well that answer is easy enough. I’m running from the pain. I’m so grateful for groups like Within Temptation and Evanescence that bathe the jagged pain in jagged music, coating the sharp edges so that at least they don’t slice so deeply.

I’m running from loneliness. I’m running from myself, from my own lack of fulfillment without you, from my inadequacies.

I’m running to what I hope is a better future. I’m running to the next stage, even as I know I should take my time in this one. And I’m running to the day when I know we’ll be together and in love.

And as a friend recently told me…everything in life is better with love.

All my love from across this bitterly cold night, to wherever you are.

Yours,
Beren

February 2, 2013 Posted by | Loneliness, Uncategorized | Leave a comment