Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Meetings and Partings

Dear Darling,

Is it just me, or are older single people sometimes made to feel ashamed, somehow a failure for not being in a relationship? Surely you’ve sighed and wondered what’s wrong with you, not to have met someone that’s felt like the real thing, the torch that finally stays lit? Ah, but maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’ve got a few years on you yet, years that haven’t stretched on for you as much as me. But yeah, sometimes I feel that way. Like I’ve said, I watch these people all file in on Sunday mornings, attractive couples, all bedecked with smiles and fine clothes, younger than me, many of them. And you just start to wonder, what have those people have that I don’t? We can’t look at it like that, but I know the temptation is there.

I’ve lost count of the people there who desire my better acquaintance. Probably a half-dozen. Nice young ladies, of course, but it’s hard to explain exactly what kind of person will fit the bill, or why — through no fault of their own — they don’t. I suppose I don’t entirely know myself.

It’s the unknowing that gets you. Not knowing when, or where, or how. Not even knowing how you feel sometimes. With classes starting, changing apartments, church services changing, the family upheaval, there’s a lot of change on the wind, and sometimes it takes longer to process.

If you asked me right now what I’m feeling, I could honestly say I don’t know. Sometimes like I’m in God’s purpose, but yet there’s still something missing. Feeling behind, ahead and right on schedule. Like everything is up in the air and changing, and yet, I want something new. Like I’m living the most amazing, blessed and enviable life, and yet, an unfortunate one at the same time.

That’s part of the reason why I won’t always tell you what I need. Not always, anyway, not unless you ask. Sometimes I just won’t know. It’s not fair to you, and I don’t intend to leave you guessing. But unless with you, I’m not usually the sort to sigh and say “you know what, I think I just need a hug.” It may be true more often than not, but I don’t ask. I don’t feel entitled to put myself first.

Alegfast asked tonight if I’d like to join them in the hot tub. It’s a small tub, and barely room enough for him and his friend — the woman he spends all his time with but won’t date. I think he knew I would decline. Why wouldn’t I? I don’t fault them, or anyone at all, for hot tubs or massages as some of them do. But I don’t think that way. I don’t think of ways to treat myself, or to relax myself. I don’t live for myself, not normally. I live for others. That’s why I feel stale when I’m not working, even after working long hours. I think that’s also why I write, even when I have little to say. If I’m not serving a purpose, I don’t feel worth much. I don’t think it’s always a good thing.

On the subject of being purposeless, I’m still having internal conflicts with the family. I’m standing up for what I know is right, and it’s not setting well at all. I sought counsel on the matter, and among other things, was asked what my father and mother, but especially my mother, have to live for if not their children. What would they do when they all left? The question nearly stunned me. My mother has spent every ounce of her energy fostering family, education and household. I’m not sure that she has much after that. I’m actually disturbed to realize my parents may have spent so much time orbiting around their children that they forgot how to be a husband and wife, or that they could find new identity as “just” a couple. At least until the grandchildren come along. (That’s up to us you know, at least for now.) I’m told strife is still rampant and the discord runs deep. (Pray.)

I have been of a fairly strong conviction that a wife’s optimal role was that of Proverbs 31, to manage a household. I have never been of the persuasion that “a woman’s place is in the home” or that women cannot work. Rather, I have held the conviction that children are not to be birthed only to be bequeathed first to childcare and then to the state to educate and safeguard. These roles are given by God to us as parents, and that a mother and wife is most often best suited to care and manage and instruct, supporting her husband as he supports her, while the father is to bear the curse pronounced in Genesis 3, by the sweat of the brow will we earn our daily bread.

This concept, that of robbing a mother of purpose or identity outside of her children, suddenly became clear to me when I saw my mother — and how she might see herself — and all of her labors imperiled if she thought her children had not become as she believed they ought. Maybe my parents haven’t been diligent to pursue an identity and a life of their own beyond the household, but it was the first time a compelling argument has entered my mind against mothers primarily as caregivers.

We shall have to discuss that one more in person.

There are some houses about which still have their Christmas lights up. I’m always grateful for these people. The world needs the cheer of Christmas kept burning into the cold January nights.

Some friends and I played some games into the night, and it turned into men versus women. In a bid to distract the men (and in vengeance for the lads’ own ploy) the women began discussing hygiene, cycles and cramps. It resulted in a victory for the women, and turnabout was fair play for the men that started it. But I rather think, at least in public settings, some things are best left unsaid, don’t you?

Ah my dear, I’m sorry again that I’m not there for you. Life is long and love is hard, and I know your hardships are harder to bear in my absence. Missing me is just another part of loving me. My prolonged absence is what will make the payoff all worthwhile. Every day I’m not with you whets our appetites for our union and lives together.

And one day, it will happen. One fine day you’re going to turn around and out of the blue, I’ll be there. Unexpected but right on schedule. Someday not too distant, I’ll take you by surprise, and, if I can, I’ll leave you speechless with a very forward but casual invitation to see you again. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll have a race between the butterflies in your stomach and the ones in mine.

God bless and keep you my darling, and may he guard you in his care until such time as he delegates the task to your one and only Beren.

Love,
Me

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January 13, 2014 Posted by | Anticipation, Loneliness | , , , , | Leave a comment

She’s Somewhere

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Song
Richard Le Gallienne

She’s somewhere in the sunlight strong,
Her tears are in the falling rain,
She calls me in the wind’s soft song,
And with the flowers she comes again.

Yon bird is but her messenger,
The moon is but her silver car;
Yea! sun and moon are sent by her,
And every wistful waiting star.

January 13, 2014 Posted by | Poems | , , , , , , | Leave a comment