Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

The Unknown

Dear Darling,

All I ever wanted was to be understood.

That’s what any of us wants, I think, to be understood and loved because of it — or in spite of it as the case may be. I don’t make sense to me sometimes, and sometimes a comment is made that helps me understand myself better. Likewise, sometimes I have a knack for summing up or analogizing a situation in a concise way that it sheds light on someone’s life.

I want to find someone I can fit in with, because I’m so used to not fitting in.

I want to find someone who understands the concept of being world-weary, even at this age…who knows what it is to be an old soul. (I’ve been told often enough that I’m an old man trapped in a young man’s body.) The truth is, I don’t have many friends, but the few I have can generally talk to me about anything.

Someone who will understand and support the boundaries I lay down, without thinking me a little paranoid or over-cautious for setting them, especially when ensuing circumstances validate the wisdom of those boundaries.

Someone to whisper truths into my heart when it begins to forget.

Someone who will hold me accountable and look to me to carry the spiritual mantle.

Someone who would hold my hand, and understand this burning drive to make a difference in the world, and stir me up to greater works.

Someone who made me feel every inch like the man that wrote these letters.

The truth is, I’ve let the world creep in on me a bit. I’ve ceased looking for a good church because it’s so difficult to find, and worked at the milky church. And that’s undoubtedly affected my walk with the Lord. I do try to read the Word in the mornings, and to listen to true sermons online. Sometimes just to hear the truth proclaimed boldly and freely is beautiful, and, drawing me close to tears, makes me hunger for more. Because losing yourself is so easy. You let down your guard, even for a minute, and you find yourself crossing boundaries and blurring lines that you could never understand others crossing or blurring. Discipline is hard to maintain, but harder to recover.

I’m also wondering just how much I’ve romanticized this idea of love and marriage, life and relationships. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of beautiful nonsense, and it won’t look anything like it when we get there.

Maybe it’s always going to be partly this unknown. It’s not even a beautiful unknown, not to me. When my head starts playing drama games with itself, I stress. I always figured the walls would tumble down and the feelings would break the dam when the time was right. Now I begin to wonder if I’m even capable of feeling, in that proper sense of being carried away by sentiment and emotion. Should a sermon or movie incite me to greater depths of visceral emotion than a potential love? Maybe I don’t even know how to love. Maybe I’m not nearly as prepared as I thought I’d be. But who is?

And then the questions come in, the ones wondering if the problem all along has been me. What if I don’t fit in because I’m the one who is discordant, who is making the wrong decisions and pitying myself for the alienation they produce? What if I don’t have many friends because I’m not someone many wish to befriend? And weren’t some of those boundaries a little old-school and unnecessarily strict? Is wanting a woman who will hold me accountable to carry the spiritual mantle really just an excuse to commit the perfunctory male shortcoming of not being the spiritual leader? Is the drive to do great things really just something vainglorious on my part, as opposed to an actual calling? Do I want someone who makes me feel like Beren-Estel, or should his fantasies remain in the world of shadows, while the man who played him graduates to the land of mortgages, insurance, retirement plans and making ends meet?

How much should reality differ from expectation, and how do you know which to question first when it does? How many foxes do you allow to run rampant through your vineyards before you decide you have a problem? How do you know when you’re just uncomfortable with the stretching associated with growth, and when you recognize that you’re becoming someone you aren’t, and were never meant to be?

Does the unknown ever at least give certainty a greater role in conversations?

Yours,
Beren

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August 22, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment