Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

If That Were Us

DancingDear Darling,

May I have this dance?

I told you I don’t do a lot of things for my own sheer pleasure, but this outdoor jazz concert series is one of them. They’re playing All of Me, and Stardust and In the Mood…the sounds of our grandparents’ generation. This is classic and classy; art with a melody breathed into it. Musical history come alive. Music let us say the things with song that we might not say with words, and in these tunes are many of the things I’d like to say, or have already written you.

It’s a quaint amphitheater, not as much amph to it as the name suggests, but the saxophones and trumpets are in full force in the light of a setting sun, and there are several couples and a handful of children dancing by the stage.

There’s maybe a hundred here, but it’s mostly older couples, with some younger couples who bring children. So far as I can see in scanning the crowd, I’m the only one flying solo. Some of the parents are younger than me, but look older, as though having children made them grow into parents.

If that were us, we’d have brought camping chairs because you know my long legs don’t fold up well under me when sitting on the ground. We’d have stopped somewhere to eat before coming, or we would have brought dinner here.

If this were us, we’d have a steady appointment with frozen yogurt after the music ends. That Golden Retriever over there? That could be ours. Our children would be the ones running around the grounds, dancing in a circle down by the stage.

If that were us, I’d invite you to join me in faking our way through a dance or two.

If that were us, I might be playing catch with our son like that dad is. Our child might be the mischievous one whose father grabs him just before he sneaks backstage. You might be the woman leaning on one arm and looking with affection at her man laying beside her, like that woman is doing.

We might be like that older couple that just got up to dance. His hair looks like it came from the 70’s but he knows his moves and clearly enjoys them. I creep down front and snapped the picture of them as the sun set. That’s them that you see above. I approached them afterward to compliment them and send them the picture.

I wish I could describe it better to you. The vendors. The rhythms. The faces of people enjoying the simple pleasures rather than plugging in to the television. But you have to be there.

It could be us. It will be us. Some day.

I think I found our first dance song by the way, if you’re in agreement. Etta James’ At Last

It started to rain as I headed out to walk tonight. As the skies emptied, my heart felt just a little more full, and I couldn’t hide the broad smile, soaked though I was. You know I love a good storm, and walking in it made me realize that along with things rare and old that please me, it’s often the simple things that suffice. Some simple jazz songs and a rainstorm are enough to rest my heart in the belief that our days are coming, and may be closer than either one of us dares hope.

Yours,
Beren

June 4, 2014 Posted by | Nights Like These, Our Timeline, Our Wedding | , , , , | Leave a comment

Your Time Is Coming

GleamingBrideDear Darling,

We all have our time in the light.

I’m not talking about fifteen minutes of fame. I’m talking about the moments where the sun shines fair and the light catches us just right to magnify all of our best and favorite features. We look our best, and feel our best, we feel grand and capable and hopeful, and everyone is looking at us while it happens, wishing us happiness and joy.

You’ve had a taste of that here and there, I know. Times you won, times you were proud of yourself, never happier to be you, times when everything came together at just the right time, or you were paid a compliment that somehow fell through your defenses, or you caught your reflection smiling back and approving your favorite outfit.

One day, someday soon, that day is coming round, bigger and better than it ever has been. It’ll be the sum of all those parts put together. Your friends will come to honor you, our families will celebrate and give gifts. The bells will ring, the organ play and down the aisle will come the only person that matters among the whole crowd in the entire church. Every eye will turn to you, radiant and glorious in white.

You will get to fret over wedding cards and decorations and venues just like you’ve wanted to, only this time you won’t be worried about bridesmaids’ outfits which fit or compliment you, but your friends. You’ll shine brightly in our engagement and wedding photos, and of these I attach the greatest premium. I don’t see us lacking for photographers with as many friends as I know in the industry, and these are the captured moments that can outlast a wedding gown or bouquet. We won’t let our friends and family be snapping away with their phones, but invite them to be present in the moment itself.

You will go from joy to joy as we seal our vows with a kiss, celebrate our union with a dance, and then depart at last.

But it’s not just a day, sweet heart. Days can disappoint, fail, be sabotaged. Winds can mar, rain can soak, tempers can flare. We can’t hinge all these golden hopes on the one day, but each one after. We can rest in each new morning, in the simple and intricate confidence of knowing we rise together to face life’s challenges.

You can rise knowing you’ve found something equal, something new. Something that turns your head because it touches your mind or heart in a way no one ever does, that you thought no one could. Something surprising and unexpected. Someone who asks questions, appreciates rawness, can get you to talk more, invite themselves to listen more. Someone who gives you an outlet, a ray of hope, a new perspective…or who will at least try.

Oh my dear, you’ve lived in the shadow often enough, unappreciated, unrecognized. You’re a crown of beauty, and one day the curtain will draw back and you’ll be properly brought into the light.

And oh, how you’ll gleam.

Until then.

Love,
Beren

March 20, 2014 Posted by | Anticipation, Our Timeline, Our Wedding | , , , , | Leave a comment

Sundry Thoughts for December

My Dearest Love,

For some reason, it feels like it won’t be long before you’re calling me to bed; my body feels at ease as if it knows it will soon be lying next to yours, drifting off to dream. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I actually went to a church this morning, and had that “welcome home” feeling of relaxation and ease, knowing the afternoon was mine to plan. It makes me think of the days to come when you and I will come back home, our home, shaking off the cold as we enter. I’ll help you off with your coat, and maybe more. You’ll fix lunch while I build up a fire. We can both sit on the couch, huddle under the covers and enjoy being in each other’s arms as the sun sets.

Don’t you wish?

1) I’m a little blue again today. The holidays, I think. But it’s time we began making allowances for the fact that on some days, I will feel a little blue in spite of your presence. Doubtless, the small efforts you make to cheer me will make any such triflings far more pleasant than now.

2) It is the sad province of men that he can neither speed nor slow the passage of time to suit his whim. I cannot slow down Christmas to enjoy it, nor can I speed it up to find you. We take time as time finds us, not counting the years but making the years count. A German poet named Freidrich von Logau once wrote “though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.” We’ve yet to be ground, but I wish for the sake of the child in me that I could slow down time and breathe in Christmas this year.

3) Being with someone means doing nice things for them without being asked. But what is a kind deed? What does kindness look like, and how does one set about becoming so helpful and supportive as to become necessary? (That is, after all, what I intend to become for you; vitally necessary, an essential ingredient to your day.) I confess to you, the standard of acceptance for kind deeds is at once both high and low. Low, because I am unaccustomed to kindness unlooked-for, but high because think about what I do for a living. Nurses are consistently present in the lives of the wounded and hurting, the ill and diseased. The worst day of your life may be just another day in mine. I bathe head to foot, deliver a smile and a cup of water, I make you laugh while drawing your blood. This is what kindness looks like to me, and all in the course of a day’s work. I help heal you. Who heals the healer? I don’t mean this to raise an impossible standard, but how do you impress someone with kindness for whom kindness is a career? You may have to rise to the occasion, because I seldom see comparable kindness in the world.

4) I do not ask the question of you without posing the same question to myself, Darling. Kindness for me looks like trash taken out, dishes washed, children (or pets) bathed, rooms cleaned, laundry run, food cooked. It looks like a treasure chest of four hundred letters, written in ink and tears, scattered across the wind until they come home to roost on our wedding night. It looks like anticipating your needs and trying to fulfill them. It looks like looking you over and thinking about what you want, or how I can surprise you with kindness unlooked-for. You can certainly expect foot rubs…and back rubs…and shoulder massages.

5) I’ve always known God had something in mind for me. I’ve always insisted He and I have a standing agreement not to call me to be a pastor, but something in politics. I never aspired to something so high as the presidency, but today during the sermon I felt maybe that would one day be the call. Truly, I don’t want it. And of course, so much to learn before that is even possible. Perhaps because I don’t want it, it is something marked out for me. But God never gives us a task without the means of its achievement, and when I asked, I felt the response was not that He intends me to be president, but perhaps that He wants me to try. What about it, Luthien? Could you be a first lady? It’s a stern and solemn question to consider, not to be answered lightly. If I have preparations towards my goal, then you must take thought into what preparations lie ahead of you, and which you should undertake now. “It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.”

6) I believe I have imparted before my love of all things old and traditional. The old that is strong does not wither, and my love runs deep for old music, old fashions, old customs and books, old speech and vernacular, of old hymns and old hymnals. If I did not believe in God’s sovereignty, I would speculate that I was born in the wrong decade, if not century. Churches and my Bible study are so quick to embrace the overheads, and I find it sad. More than once my stubborn adherence to page and paper has saved me the confusion others experience when technology goes awry. Too soon my people abandon their roots to pursue the latest fad and fashion. Too late they discover the fleeting and hollow transience of pursuing change; too late they realize there will never be satisfaction in chasing the wind.

7) I reach out to people too much. I’ve told you that before too, haven’t I? (Thoughts change shape but not substance, and sometimes I repeat them, forgetting I’ve shared them before. Four hundred and thirty-five letters, surely you’ll forgive a repeated thought or two.) I’m built to reach out, but I don’t like it. I get restless when people aren’t in touch. I have to hold myself back from texting people who don’t care. It becomes a balance between “am I withholding out of pride” and would Christ really resist such an urge because someone didn’t reply?

7) I’m sorry I’m too needy and emotionally thoughtful at times. I look back on these letters, and through them seeps darkness and woe like a vapor; surely it isn’t pleasing to your eyes as they pierce the veil? At times I am glad to reflect on a night’s writings, whether dark or bright, but seldom do I truly find joy or delight in the reading, except maybe with the thought of how it might one day make you glad. I see these distant, hardened men of history or of film, who want a woman but don’t need her. I think sometimes that’s what makes a woman want a man…the fact that he doesn’t need her. Well my dear, I need you. I make no qualms about that, nor about the thoughts that drift through my mind on nights like this. I hope you will need me, and that you need me now — and that you make no objections to feel thus. Yet, for your sake, I hope you don’t feel the need quite so keenly as I.

Sleep well, Love.

-Beren

December 2, 2013 Posted by | Holidays, Nights Like These, Our Timeline | , , , , , | Leave a comment

My Heart Sees You

Dear Darling,

I can see you.

I see you out there, clinging to hope like a climber’s cleft, trying to be strong, just hoping to break even. I see the glory and solitude of the season descending on you, the epoch of bitter and sweet. You’re happy to be doing well on your own. (After all, the mere act of life — with its licenses and setbacks and deadlines and demands — can be gargantuan!) You’re on your own and you’re managing. You’re keeping your head above the tide, you’re keeping the colors within the lines. But it’d be nice to have someone to lean on.

You want rescuing, but you don’t want to want it. You want the hurt to end, you just want a piece of life without its loneliness, without a missing ingredient you can neither name nor place. You want rest and peace. Your eyes are tired from seeking the face of a familiar stranger.

You want to let go, but you don’t want to fall. If you let go, you want to be caught, but not by just anyone. There aren’t many you’d actually trust to catch you, and you’d really rather they be the one destined to catch you for the rest of your life.

You want to be cared for, wrapped up, held. It’s cold outside…just the weather for warm drinks and cuddling on the couch while watching a movie.

You’re tired. Tired of the rhythm of your weary feet, the passing of the years, the meals cooked for one. Tired of trying your best, only to have no one to tell you you are the best.

You’re tired of the almosts and not-quites, the posers, doppelgangers and imposters.

You’re tired of eating alone, and sleeping alone, and being alone. You’re tired of faking a smile every day of your life, because no one will help you carry your sadness, or give you a reason to smile.

You’re tired of the happy couples, the romantic movies and the love songs. You’re tired of pregnant moms and beautiful babies, tired of people telling you you’d be a great mom, asking you when your turn will come.

You’re tired of always having to do the heavy lifting, of being consumed from the inside out, of having to soothe yourself. Tired of feeling like the future is perpetually on hold.

Day is cold, night is long, silence is bitter. You want life to get started. You want to be understood, or for someone to at least try. You don’t want to be trapped anymore. You want a hello with promise, and goodbyes without fear.

You don’t want to be lonely.

Darling, it’s alright. I see you. Not with eyes, not the spectrum of mortal color channeled through the optic nerve, but a sense of the heart, a perception of the soul, an echo of eternity. I know what you feel, I see what you dream.

You aren’t alone.

I’ll get there. I spend every night praying I’ll get to be your hero soon. We are two years closer to our meeting, and though each day has been passed in loneliness and solitude, it is two years of waiting that are complete and behind us. Take heart! White fire and pure reward await those who fulfill their oaths.

Love,
Beren

November 28, 2013 Posted by | Our Timeline, To Be The One, Uncategorized | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Two Years and Four Hundred Thirty Letters Later

Answer to a Valentine

Darling Mine,

It has been two years since I began secreting these letters online anonymously.

Five years since I first began writing to you at all.

There are now two hundred and fifty-five letters online, meaning I’ve written you more than one letter every week for the last year.

There are another one hundred seventy five in my private vault.

Four hundred and thirty letters with your name on them. Four hundred thirty letters we can read together; we could read one letter every day for a year and not have finished them. Are you pleased? Do you doubt the strength of my commitment? Is it even possible that any hesitation remains? Throne and crown and scepter, all await; you need only come forward and claim your throne to be crowned queen of my heart.

Until then, I’ll cherish every opportunity to write to you, and hope that these letters give you joy and hope, fueling your love, strengthening our bond.

Sealed with a kiss,
Beren

November 18, 2013 Posted by | Our Timeline | , , , , | Leave a comment

If I Met You

14. Lynch, Brent - Twilight RomanceIf I met you, it would be like an unexpected wave of happiness washing over me and leaving an irresistible smile in its wake. It would be like God sweeping back the curtain as only He can, saying “Here she is!”

If I met you, I would be worried I’d forget your name, partly because my memory blanks in happiness, and partly because it takes time to commit to memory.

If I met you, it wouldn’t matter what your name is. It would be above my likes and dislikes; it would describe you, and that is all I need know.

If I’d met you, your face wouldn’t burn itself into my mind yet, but your soul would have. That means I would get to see you anew each time we meet. I would better know and remember your character; I would know you better from the inside out.

If I met you, it would be natural, so natural as to arouse both fear and suspicion. I would continually worry someone got it wrong, had messed up the paperwork, that someday Santa would come back all apologies and say there’s been a dreadful mistake, this happiness was meant for someone else.

I’d be worried it isn’t real.

There wouldn’t be a lot of drama, or angst, or fear. For the first time, there wouldn’t be any roadblocks except what I put up to make sure to take it slow. It would be fearful and freeing; a green light and an open road for the first time.

If I met you I would finally realize why it never clicked with anyone else, the people with whom I always felt some kind of roadblock; a lack of peace, a lack of clearance, a lack of something. I’d realize that I wasn’t supposed to be with any of those people, because they weren’t you.

With you, there wouldn’t be those hangups. Just peace, clearance and a divine “go get ’em.”

If I met you, I would kneel to pray at nights and God would beat me to the punchline: “Ain’t she something?”

If I met you, we’d spend so much time together in that first week that it would feel rushed. You’d be surprised my questions were so deep and direct, but you’d answer openly and truthfully.

If I met you, conversation would be easy, open, and pleasant; it would be worthwhile for its own sake. We’d mull over the deep questions, a steady flame rising in each of us as we realized our expectations, hopes and dreams were met (complemented, fed, fueled) by the other. We’d each be the hope that neither of us dares trust.

If I met you, I’d have to hold myself back. I’d be loving what I’m seeing, dying to know more. I’d want to share with you every keepsake, souvenir and heirloom accrued during the journey here. I’d have to remind myself to hold back and go slow. Someone who gives me such peace to pursue deserves to be pursued slowly and intentionally, savoring each moment along the way, and not diving in too quickly, for principle’s sake if nothing else.

Your faith would be real, your strength and boldness would be evident. You would take me off guard with how winsome you are. You’d be encouraging and attentive, just the right combination of confidence and vulnerability. There’d be lots of little “perks” about you, an alignment of the quirks and eccentricities that just fuel the feeling we were made for each other.

If I met you, my mind would immediately set about marveling at the few twisted ends of my timeline it can comprehend, which seemed at the time to be in such shambles, but in truth have conspired seamlessly towards our introduction. I’d trace all the paths that led me to you, recognizing that each and every one fulfilled a purpose, and if even one of them had gone wrong, we wouldn’t have met.

If I met you, we’d go to the movies. You’d smuggle frozen yogurt in your purse, and we’d bend in to whisper comments or jokes about the movie or its plot holes. It would be an excuse to touch heads, for you as much as me. Whispering in your ear would inexplicably feel like home, and like resisting a magnet to pull away.

I’d be worried such joyful potential wouldn’t last. That it isn’t as “meant to be” as it feels, or that I’m going too fast.

If I’d met you, then time away would renew my mind’s questioning it was real. I’d question your looks, your personality, your attraction. Then you’d surprise me from behind, and as I turn to look, the sum of all my fears and doubts melts into a herd of butterflies which migrate into my stomach.

If I met you, it would make me just a little light-headed. It would be exactly as I imagined, and yet nothing could have prepared me for it. I would question how on earth I could know to expect an experience and follow a script I’d done nothing but imagine.

If I met you, I would want to tell people, random people: “Hey! I think I’ve found her!” But they won’t care. They’re too casual in their own pursuits to appreciate the beginning of something amazing — the end of the loneliness. They fall too easily, too quickly. A love left until the due time to cure in its own isolation, a time so long that when it’s brought forth, it’s the most pure and refined of droughts can’t be imagined by those who fall so easily.

If we met, it would be the first time I’ve encountered living proof that the girl of such character and quality exists.

If I met you, I would mention it casually to a friend or two, knowing there’s nothing casual about it. I’d write e-mails to my mother about you, trying to convince her you’re the real deal. They wouldn’t believe me. wouldn’t believe me.

I’d look at you, furtively and fervantly. “Luthien?” I’d ask hopefully. And even though you didn’t know who she was…you’d suddenly find yourself hoping you were.

And above all, if I met you…all this would be real, but I couldn’t tell it to you yet. Instead…instead I would retreat here, to my sacred and transparent refuge, where I would chart all these experiences, and hold my breath for the next step.

July 11, 2013 Posted by | Anticipation, Our Timeline | Leave a comment

Our House

“We’ll build a household of faith
That together we can make
And when the strong winds blow it won’t fall down
As one in Him we’ll grow and the whole world will know
We are a household of faith.”

Steve Green

Dearest,

Shall we speak a moment on our home?

A home can be a lot of things. Barring some unforeseen turn in our fortunes, it will probably have humble beginnings, although I have no small measure of confidence that you can make the best of it.

But eventually, I want a big house. Do you suppose it wrong or vain to want that? I do. I’d like to earn a big fine house, something not unlike a Victorian semi-mansion, with a whitewashed stone or brick exterior, lit up on the outside, with a roundabout drive and immaculate white pillared columns, or perhaps a front porch going all the way around. I’d like to have Christmas decorations every year that people come from miles around to see.

Inside, I’d like wide open rooms, vaulted ceilings and a fireplace you could walk into. I would adore a room big enough for parties and balls, not the drinking kind, but the genuine old-fashioned balls whereupon we can teach young men how to be gentlemen, and girls to be ladies. I would love to have Christmas balls and harvest dances, with classes a few weeks in advance to teach people how. We might, perhaps, perform the duties of matchmaking which, to date, no one has successfully performed for us!

I should like very much to have a library, and peaceful grounds with plentiful acreage for you and I to get lost in. And we should have a panic room installed.

Of course, this sounds like living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. I have often wondered if God has in mind to bestow both, not (as I’ve said before) an end, but a means to one.

I would like that our home, in whatever form it takes, be a shelter and haven for those who have none. Women who have fallen prey to violence or trafficking, orphans, homeless, veterans. This sounds like a lot, and really, I don’t intend that you should be mistress and overseer of all these things. I’m merely saying that such a home as I envision should be a vessel through which we can show God’s goodness to the world.

But more important than cosmetics and details, what is the spirit and idea of our house? We’ll have children of course, and we’ll have to try to raise them as best we know how, with order and discipline and love. I visited a friend of mine this evening, and as well as dining with him and his pregnant wife, played with his daughter of not more than four years old. She was bright-eyed and precocious, just starting to become well-versed in putting words together for sentences of meaning. She giggled and presented me invisible gifts, paraded her Cinderella dress for me, and jumped in my lap. And thoughts of us and our future, never far beneath the surface, extended a few years beyond, into our children. Postpone it as we might, the day will come.

We must, first and foremost, have a home of stability and love amongst each other. We will have to communicate with each other, support each other, and try as best as two failing humans can to understand, work with and love each other. There can’t be any drinking or swearing, we can’t lose our tempers or lash out physically. We must make time for prayer and Scripture, and as the head of the family, I take full responsibility for that, relying on you for support.

For our children, we have to do everything as nearest to the Lord’s will as we can, with discipline and love, setting order and rules. We must never argue in front of them if we can help it, nor disagree on parenting or contradict each other when that correction is being handed down. We have to remember to act with grace, and at times, with mercy undeserved. (Oh how I remember the time my brother and I once wantonly disobeyed my parents, and how we were given reprieve from the discipline we knew we deserved, and feared!)

It is my desire that we school them at home as much as we can, since to place them in public schools is nothing short of turning them loose to the wolf-pack, trained and commissioned by the devil himself. It is ours to shield them from the harms of the world as long as we can, without raising them to be sheltered or shy. Learning should be structured, but it can happen anywhere. We should both try to teach them the skills that we already have, and learn new ones together. I also desire that by no means should we both work to their neglect. I’m not so adamant as to oppose you working if we can manage it, though my intention is to be a sufficient provider that you will never be obligated.

We should try to give them gifts and luxuries, while teaching them to be healthy and active and to work for what they get.

Darling, if at the end of the day we both accomplish much for the kingdom of God, yet our children do not follow His way, I will have serious concerns about my success as a father.

My first ambition, my greatest obligation is to further the kingdom of God and its testimony. My second is to love you and for us together to raise our children to be happy, useful and willing servants of the Lord.

If we can say, through failure but through Christ, that we achieved that, then I think I will die a happy man.

Yours ever,
Beren

May 31, 2013 Posted by | Our Timeline | 1 Comment

Let’s Talk About the Honeymoon

“What raging fire shall flood the soul!
What rich desire unlocks its door;
What sweet seduction lies before us!
When will the blood begin to race 
The sleeping bud burst into bloom 
When will the flames at last consume us?”

-Andrew Lloyd Webber

Dear Darling,

What comes to your mind when you think about your honeymoon? Where do you want to go, what images fill your head?

I had a friend tell me once, don’t go anywhere exciting and fun! You might wind up not even leaving the hotel room.

Tell me…are you the sort of woman that yearns for the day of consummation, when you will take your husband into your arms and make him your own? Are you desperately aching to retire the shackles of restraint and self-discipline and begin soaring? Do you ever have times when you cannot wait to make love, early, often and with great vigor?

My fiery darling, if that describes you, then…I’m your man.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as aware of sexuality as I am now. Of how it pervades society…of how it motivates and drives people. Of how it drives me. It’s the engine that keeps on revving in the motor car that must stay parked. It’s that sacred fire, sequestered deep inside, radiating endless heat to every pore of my body. It’s the unbidden urges, the ravenous craving for a warm body to embrace. It’s a beast, a raging, voraciously hungry animal. I have to crack a whip to bring it into line. That’s good for you, if making love early and often is something you relish. But it’s not good for me. Not now. I love that beast. It’s part of me. It IS me. But it can’t make the rules. I must be the master, force him back into the cage, because he doesn’t belong outside of it until the due time.

To be honest, sometimes it’s hard to remember that due time will ever come. It’s hard to have faith that one day I’ll go running down to that cage, smash the lock and fling open the door. He’ll be set free at last. I’ll be free. We’ll be free. And then everything forbidden and taboo will become not just permissible but mandatory! We’ll be free, free to burn in the white-hot inferno of love, to dance in the blaze of our primal, pure pent-up passion for each other. I’m zealous that we should share this only with each other; you know this. I desperately hope you will be speechlessly proud of me for saying no when my body demanded otherwise, and make me speechlessly proud of you for waiting. And yet, I hope that you will expect no lesser standard.

And what will that look like, Darling? Can you imagine? Can either of us even begin to envision the strain and cravings building up to the days before our wedding? (By the way, should we have a long engagement or a short one?) Two weeks to go? One week? What about that last night, each of us going to bed alone, sending some last goodnight texts and thinking “last night alone, forever”? I don’t know if I’ll even sleep. Not one wink. But that’s okay…because I doubt either of us will the night which follows.

When morning arrives, I have a hunch I’ll absolutely fly out of bed. I might flit around the room before hovering downstairs for breakfast. Maybe you’ll have beat me to awakening and will have sent me a good-morning text. (But no, the old tradition is not to see the bride before the wedding. I think we must agree not even to communicate!)

Imagine it: thoughts and butterflies and nerves all whirling and flashing about in dizzying haste, life slowing down and speeding up at the same time, heart racing as the ceremony commences. As you walk down the aisle all in white. Faces will be looking, music will be playing. I’m sure somewhere in the back of my mind, angels will be singing. We’ll say our I-do’s. There’ll be a kiss. We’ll greet the guests, eat the food, dance the dances. The sun will set. The hour to depart will draw nigh. We’ll hop into our JUST MARRIED car and take off.

But where?

Well Darling, of course you’ll have a say in that. But I’ve got Plans. Ohhhh yes, do I have plans!

I don’t think either of us will want to travel a great distance that night. As much as I’d love to take you through an airport security checkpoint with your gown on, show you off, let the entire airplane applaud us, I don’t think either of us will have that energy. So let’s stop at a hotel for the night and save the travel for the next day.

Can you imagine checking in at the front desk, the clerk giving us a wry smile with our room keys, and we two trying to keep poker faces as we head up in the elevator, stealing kisses the whole way? Hmm. I think I just decided we should get a private lodge or house somewhere rather than a hotel room. Yep. Definitely. One of those chalets in Gatlinburg, I should think. First thing inside the door, I’d say it would be time for some record-breaking kisses.

Will we want food? I think my stomach will just grin, give me the thumbs-up and say “to heck with dinner.”

Knowing me, I think I’ll be terrified it’s a dream and I might wake up. I might need pinching. (Maybe you’ll oblige me.) I think I’ll have that feeling of my gut dropping out, the gasping, gaping “this is finally for real.”

I suppose we’ll both need to shower?

We’ll both be nervous as anything. But I want you to know something right now. I may be a virgin’s virgin, but I’m not uninformed. I’ve done a little homework. I know the first time is often painful for women, and that men have a reputation for giving reign to instinct, turning into hormone-fused time-bombs that ignite too early and leave their partner disappointed. I want to be among the first men who prioritized their wives before themselves…one of the few guys who anticipated the problem and averted it. I want to go slow and let us both savor the moment.

“At the door of every bridal bedchamber, an angel stands, smiling, with a finger to his lips.”

Ah, and the morning after! If we even sleep at all, to wake up in each other’s arms, as the sun spills on the sheets and the birds sing, and we both arise, forever changed.

But what about that travel I mentioned? Darling, how does a private island sound?

How about an abandoned beach house, miles of uninhabited beachline and open ocean sound? We can dance like no one is looking, explore our temporary tropical paradise (and each other) together, and make love on the beach as the sun sets. We can go swimming in the ocean as the moonlight dances off the water, build fires on the beach, kiss each other madly as the tropic rains thunder down, watch the sun rise, go boating in the open ocean.

We will give each other wholly and completely to ourselves. We can share our secrets far from civilization where no one can hear. We’ll share our innermost thoughts. I’ll haul out the chest of letters that I’ve been saving for you, years of them, for us to go through.

It will be a honeymoon of great renown. We’ll remember it for years. You’ll be breathless to tell about it, your friends will be amazed.

I hope this indicates the kind of life I hope to build with you. I hope we’ll have the best relationship we can’t ever talk about. I hope you’re as hungry and eager as I am. I hope we’ll turn each other on effortlessly…that you’ll read the smolder in my eyes, and dare me with come-hither looks, even years later.

Let’s never allow the spark to die.

Now of course, all these plans may unravel. They say never to expect the perfect wedding day because nothing is ever perfect. The cake could be ruined, it might rain, the candles might set the drapes on fire, the dog could wet on your dress. The world could be tumultuous, the flight may be delayed, there might be war. One of us could be sick, or we could both wind up a little awkward, annoyed and unfulfilled on our wedding night. We won’t let the possibility of failure prevent us from striving for success.

And to think! These red-lettered days may only lie nestled among the next year or two of our lives!

I could go further. I think my meager gift of words might just be enough to arouse your desire and your passion for your husband like never before. But a knight and gentleman would not broadcast such things publicly. To do so would be unwise, imprudent and unkind. Discretion bids us close the lid on this box of wonders and speak no more of it until the due time. Love must not be awakened prematurely.

But oh darling….what a lovely way to burn.

-Beren

October 14, 2012 Posted by | Anticipation, Our Timeline, Our Wedding, Purity, Things Other Guys Won't Do | 5 Comments

In Anticipation of…Meeting

“So I’ll be waiting for the real thing
I’ll know it by the feeling
The moment when we’re meeting
Will play out like a scene straight off the silver screen
So I’ll be holdin’ my own breath
Right up to the end
Until that moment when
I find the one that I’ll spend forever with.”

– Nickleback, “Gotta Be Somebody”

Dear Darling,

God promises us that he can do more than we can ask or imagine. Way more. That should excite me since, in my opinion, I have a good imagination. Is it possible you could be better than I imagine? You’ve read of my discouragement and despondency over the trends of society. You know that when I seek for “perfect” I don’t truly mean perfection. But sometimes it seems impossible to imagine that I could ever find someone who fits that definition of perfect for me.

I have a confession to make: I have a persistent, entrenched desire for everything in my life to make a good story.

I want you and I to have a good story, right down to our first meeting. I want a story we can tell to our grandchildren: “Let me tell you about the time I met your grandmother. I still remember every detail…”

There have been times I’ve met someone that I began thinking about (innocent thoughts, you understand, the way of your man as he’s just beginning to wondering if such a girl could be you) and thought “Yeah, but the way we met was absolutely rubbish.”

Alternatively, there have been one or two meetings where I found myself just the right combination of witty and funny and polite, and thinking “Aw yeah, that’d be one for the family history book.”

It’s a silly way of looking at life, I know. Odds are we won’t be in some romantic setting, and neither of us will be on our game.

But oh, what if? What if it’s awesome?

I like the idea of chance meetings, for example. A person I’d always seen but never met or thought about. A friend I’ve known for ages and completely overlooked until one day a bolt of lightning hits me and I suddenly get butterflies in my stomach as I ask her out. Or just someone I bump into, strike up a casual conversation, and suddenly my soul rises to attention because I’m hearing what this girl is saying and finding out we have so much in common. Maybe we have a fender bender. Maybe we both respond to an emergency, and then in the aftermath we exchange contact information and laugh about it.

I’m not shy. I’ll chat you up. I’ll ask questions. They may seem casual, but maybe you’ll see through the fact that I’m surgically probing your mind to see who you are. If I like what I hear, I’ll ask for an e-mail, a Facebook, a phone number. I’ll find a way to stay in touch. I’m not bad with impromptu like that, although, I have to know something about you before asking you out. That’s how the world does it, isn’t it? “Hey, you’re cute, let’s go have dinner and find out if we have anything in common.” Dates have always been a bigger deal to me than that. I need to know something about you first before I’ll sit you down in a chair and (let’s just be honest) interview you.

You know some say I’m arrogant, but I also  have a confidence fed by a mildly steady stream of comments, compliments and girls who like what they see and hope I’ll like them. As a result of all that, I don’t harbor too many fears that you won’t like the man I’ve made myself to be…because I’ve been trying to make myself into the someone I thought you’d want to find. (To be honest, I hope you’ll be better than that, and that you’ll be someone I still have to work to impress, charm and win over.)

Maybe it won’t be anything that significant. Maybe it won’t be the makings of a good story. Maybe we’ll be fraught with miscommunication and misunderstandings. Maybe I’ll make a supreme idiot of myself and only through talking with you will you find out I’m not. Maybe you’ll be too afraid I’m like the other guys and shut down too soon. Maybe we’ll both be bumbling klutzes out of fear we’re going to botch something.

But is it possible that when we meet — dare we hope? — the sparks will fly immediately? What if, just what if, we meet and go out and things just go swimmingly? What if it will be so drama-free and peaceful, what if things clip along so smoothly and free of pain or drama that we’ll both be perplexed that we ever put up with anything less? What if we start shining together like two prisms aligned, and we just sit there dumbfounded — “Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow” — basking in this light neither one of us knew existed? Maybe we’ll have that feeling that it’s hard to believe we ever weren’t acquainted, like the people who say they’ve just met, but they feel like they’ve known each other a long time.

Maybe we’ll come away from that first meeting with a warm heart, a lightened soul, a smile or grin we just can’t erase. (Imagine the thought of an irresistible happiness?) If you’re anything like me, you might be grinning like an idiot, like a boy (“I think she likes me!”) and only daring to hope maybe there’s something there worth pursuing. Then that first date, and we’re both just blurting out things about ourselves and gleeful to hear the other say “Really? Me too!!” We’ll find pleasure just looking at each other, being with each other.

That’s going to be the fun part, Darling. It will be like a bank account that slowly increases, a smile slowly spreading across the face, a growing warmth in a cold room. That gradual hunch that turns into a thought, which turns into a hope that turns into a happiness which becomes surety and confidence — the swelling finality of our stories, merging into the joy and delight which I know we so desperately crave.

The glow of a beautiful sunrise increases, spreading its rays across the horizon, turning black to gold, turning night to day. Oh Darling, I sigh tonight as I imagine the happiness of our love unfolding. I can see it all from here, can’t you?

I don’t know, but I think we’ll have to make sure we each take it slow. Don’t ask me how, because it will be like waiting for heaven. “All we could ask or imagine,” remember? If we are engineered for each other and no one else, and we’re so enamored with each other, with the person who seems so impossibly perfect for us, better than we imagined, perfectly complementing us. It ain’t going to be easy.

But I have faith.

Ah Darling, how much I anticipate our meeting, and the ones to follow as we grow deeper together in our fellowship and love.

I love you. I always have, and I always will.

Yours,
-Beren

August 7, 2012 Posted by | Anticipation, Our Timeline | | 1 Comment