Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

I’ll Find You

31. Alciati, Antonio Ambrogio -  Il Convegno, 1918

Dear Darling,

Nothing fills me with more sadness than to know I am not by your side, nor can enjoy your company as anything more than a gleam of desire; nothing fills me with greater hope than to know our time of fulfillment is yet to come. These days, our days, are fleeting and precious, and we each feel each other’s absence.

There are times where it seems all the doors are closed and the Lord is silent even to your requests for guidance. Then there are times when all the doors blow open at once, yet still you are uncertain which to pass through.

But Time and Time’s Master have bidden me wait for you, sight unseen. And so wait I must, here at this chamber where all doors seem closed, wisdom is short and counsel scarce. But on your behalf, I wait. On your behalf, I make every effort to learn and earn and become a better version of your future groom.

And on your behalf, I want you to know now, there is no barrier of time or space I won’t hazard, no bond of distance I won’t traverse, no gatekeeper I won’t challenge, no boundary of human design that I will not confront to find my way to your side. Our meeting is inevitable; I will find you.

Reach out again across the night sky, my love. Send your kisses heavenward and have them forwarded, and know that somewhere, your pensive warrior awaits the word to burst forth and set about breaking the spell that keeps us apart.

Love,
Beren

October 28, 2013 Posted by | Loneliness, Nights Like These, Promises | , , , , | Leave a 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

One Year Anniversary Promise #25: An Everyday Love

“Her smile will be right there when I step through that door
And it will be that way tomorrow, just like everyday before
It’s ordinary, plain and simple, typical, this everyday love
Same ol’, same ol’ keeping it new, emotional, so familiar
Nothing about it too peculiar oh, but I can’t get enough
Of this everyday love
.”

Rascall Flatts

Dear Darling,

12 months ago, I took my wistful little romantic letters online in hopes either of finding you, or inspiring you, or inspiring others. 12 months ago.

That wasn’t the beginning.

No, the very first letter I ever wrote to you was May 20, 2007. I still have it, and all the letters in between. Four and a half years of them. I’m going for a record.

Here, a small group of hopeless romantics and loveless wanderers have also gathered, who find appeal in my words. I’ve inspired tears, laughs and smiles. Since I began, I’ve allegedly had more than 6,700 visitors, from 62 different countries.

This makes the 170th letter I’ve published online, and I have 64 drafts of unfinished ideas still to develop.

We’ve made one whole trip around the sun. I’ve grown a little older, a little wiser, a little kinder and fonder, but also a little lonelier and more sad. I’m sure we both have. I’ve had ups and downs, good days and bad. You have too. I’m a hopeless romantic and a bit nostalgic about these sorts of things. It puts me in the mind of our anniversaries to come. It’s always possible I’ll become just like the other men and forget anniversaries, but I don’t think so. I tend to remember dates that are important, like this one.

I get thoughtful about the passage of time too, particularly when one reaches that stage of life where friends are marrying, getting engaged and having babies. (Not all of them in that order.) You’re left not only solo, but almost none of those friends is actually involved or interested enough to chuckle and say “So, when’s it going to happen to YOU?”

Of course, I hope the normal feelings of jealousy and “when’s it my turn” don’t sour into envy or anger, though it can be wearying when they post of their great love and adoration for one another.

I remember one friend (one who did it right) spoke of how she could not get enough of her “everyday love.”

That’s what I want. As the years unfold and our future together washes over us, I just want that everyday love, the kind made up of precious moments we don’t even recognize at the time, the snapshots that symbolize the new life we’ll enjoy.

I can see them dimly. I can see me bending over your pregnant belly to buckle you into the passenger seat. I can imagine our first Sunday in church together as man and wife, and how I’ll keep my arm around you until it goes to sleep and then I’ll hold your hand. I can see us going out on dates even after we’re married, and singing together on the drive home. I can see us getting out and silently gazing up at the stars on a winter’s night, with you coming around the car to stand beside me. My arm will slip around your waist so comfortably and securely where it belongs, pull you close to share my warmth. A gentle and drowsy Sunday afternoon where we both settle into a nap together.

I see vacations and nurseries and hospital visits. Sickness and health, riches and poverty. Fights and families and holidays and gifts, and all the other moments I’ve inscribed on these pages.

I want that everyday love to be amazing. I want to create delirious, giddy times of joy for us, even when we’re old. I want flames and fireworks and butterflies. I want a marriage every day, a reception every afternoon, a honeymoon every night, an anniversary every weekend.

I want to relish in all of life’s joys and pains with you, together.

Until then, love. May fondest wishes find you, on whatever plot of earth your feet rest tonight.

Beren

November 21, 2012 Posted by | Promises | 3 Comments

#24: We’ll Get There

Dear Darling,

I am sure the years stretch and dwindle on for you as much as me. It’s taking forever to find each other, and our friends, whether virtuous or not, seem to find their bliss and reward far earlier than you and I.

Hear my words carefully, my darling bride: We’re going to get there.

I promise. I promise we’ll get where we both want to be. It may take a while. It may not be the storybook beginning. It may not be easy, simple or fanciful in the end. But sooner or later, somehow, some way, I promise I’ll find you. I promise we’ll find each other. I promise our day will come.

We’ll find bliss at last. We’ll weep alone no more. We’ll have a reason to be grateful every day of our lives, and in leaning on each other, even the most bitter of moments will be sweeter.

Darling, I’ll be everything I know how to be for you. I’ll be your husband and a father. I’ll be a brother-in-law and son-in-law. I’ll be your lover and protector. I’ll sing to you, and serve you, and surprise you. I’ll care for you and hug you and comfort you. I’ll heal you, make you laugh, make you cry. I’ll beam with pride when you stand there in the bedroom door, looking so fine and ready for a night out. I’ll be your leader and your punching bag, your sounding board and your listener. I’ll be your fix-it guy, your great romancer and your provider. I’ll be your man. I’ll love you.

My beautiful bride, we serve the One who sees all ends. His plan is wonderful, his timing is perfect. If we say we trust Him, then we must trust Him. Even when it’s hard, even when it’s frustrating and sorrowful, and the nights of loneliness erode your heart and consume your soul. I don’t understand it all, but I know that God is there in the silence and the vacuum, and His plan is present even when we feel friendless, abandoned and alone.

Cling to these promises, Luthien. Bind them around your heart. Cling to God’s word, cry out to Him in these moments. Your soul is never alone, even if your body is. Hold tight to our Savior. Trust Him.

Our day will come. It will. One day you’ll round the curve and I’ll be there waiting for you. (Bring a tissue, those aren’t raindrops on my cheeks.)

Until then, always remember I love you. I’m praying for you. And I’m waiting for you with all my heart.

I promise.

Love always,
Beren

November 8, 2012 Posted by | Loneliness, Promises | 1 Comment

#23: Chivalry

Dear Darling,

Chivalry is not dead.

I don’t care what they say. It’s not. It may be rare, hard-pressed and scarce, but you see, I’m still alive. As long as I’m alive, chivalry will be.

I like surprising people with goodness.

I like doing things randomly, just small things, to make someone’s day better. Today a co-worker at her desk grabbed a coke, commented that it was lukewarm and would need ice, and resumed her work. I got up, retrieved a cup of ice and set it by her. A full ten minutes later, she looked over and asked if I brought it. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, a little surprised. Later during a meeting, a woman came late and found no chairs. I immediately stood and offered my seat to her. The other day, I gave up my seat on the bus to a woman, much to her surprise.

It’s not dead because I keep it alive. Maybe the day I die, it goes with me. I don’t know.

Mind you, some of it is me trying to set a witness for Christ to the world. Part of me is trying to set an example, even for the older lads who may have forgotten or not seen chivalry in action. And I’m sure some of that is “stranger kindness.” You know, that outward behavior of cheerfulness you present to people you don’t know? If a loved one calls, you are less cheerful, because you trust them and have the freedom to be yourself; you’re not afraid to show the glum, dismal, less upbeat side.

I say that in recognition of the fact that I’m not always the cunning and noble cavalier to brothers, sisters or family members. Eventually, though it’s wrong, even I let my mother get her own car door now and again. All relationships see that descent into the comfortably familiar, which I daresay ventures too far into the realm of neglect and taking for granted.

You may have to help me guard against that. Because as long as you’re my lady, then I will be your man — a chivalrous man.

When we go out, or when it’s time to leave, I’ll help you with your coat. The man always gets the coat for the lady and helps her put it on.

I’ll pull out your chair and seat you first in the restaurant. Doesn’t matter if it’s the first date or our 500th, you sit first.

I’ll get your door. My mind really doesn’t let me just barge on through a door when a lady is behind me. I won’t hold it open at such distances as to force a lady to speed up out of courtesy to me, but if I pass through first, I’ll at least hold it, or glance back to make sure no one else needs it held. And when it comes to cars, we both go to the passenger side, and I open your door. You are seated first, because that’s what a gentleman does.

I’ll carry your bags. Yes, even the purse when necessary. (Don’t get too excited. I said when necessary.)

I’ll hold your umbrella.

I wouldn’t mind at all if our first kiss is me taking your hand and kissing the back of it.

I’ll try to set an example for the other fellows to stand when you come into the room. Used to, a man rose when a woman came or left the room. This is a tradition which is more out of place than most in modern society, and borders on disruptive. So I’ll use a little discretion. I won’t knock popcorn off the couch standing up just because you ran to the bathroom during a commercial break.

I’ll walk on the outside. Years ago, horses and wagons would fling road debris, street filth and rainwater up, and it was the man’s job to walk street-side and protect the woman from these hazards. It was also more likely for the outside to catch the runoff from awnings and gutters during a rainstorm, and woman’s place was walking beneath the shelter. Obviously, cars still splash, and besides which, I just like the idea of genuine, gentlemanly, old-time traditions of chivalry.

I’ll serve you. I’ll protect you. In some ways, although man is head of the family, I will be yours to command.

Does a modern-day reading of the Bible seem to imply God has commanded woman to “submit” to man as the head of the family. I anticipate you being too secure in your womanhood to chafe at these principles, recognizing their deeper principles. Yet remember Darling, man is told to love his wife with a self-sacrificing, life-on-the-line kind of love; the kind of love Christ had and gave for us. The kind of love that stares down the most efficient and brutal form of torture and death contrived by Romans, coupled with divine rejection and the weight all mankind’s sins, past, present and future — a task so ponderous and immense that our savior sweated drops of blood and required an angel’s hand to stay him.

It is with this love that I am required to love you. Surely if I draw anywhere nigh this standard, you will not think submission so onerous.

It’s not because you’re weaker. No indeed! It has nothing to do with personal estimations of strength, but rather of value. My role, my job, my calling is to treat you as having greater worth. The “better half,” the greater value.

I have always thought of you this way, and I always will. I want to be your knight and uphold that dying standard of chivalry.

I promise.

September 22, 2012 Posted by | Promises | Leave a comment

Fields of Gold

My Darling, every letter I write is a seed in the garden of our love.

One day I will come to you, and with me, bring the harvest time grants us.

Then, we will walk in bliss through the vineyards, arm in arm, plighting our troth among the fields of gold.

I promise.

August 28, 2012 Posted by | Promises | Leave a comment

#22: We’re Going To Make It

“Didn’t they always say we were the lucky ones?
I guess that we were once, babe, we were once
But luck will leave you ’cause it is a faithless friend
And in the end when life has got you down
You’ve got someone here you can wrap your arms around

So hold on to me tight, hold on to me tonight
We are stronger here together than we could ever be alone
So hold on to me, don’t you ever let me go.”

– Michael Buble, “Hold On

Dear Darling,

Do you remember in the Disney cartoon movie Dumbo, when the big-eared pachyderm tot is snuck in to see his imprisoned mother? I think everyone teared up when she snuggled him in close, and he clung wordlessly to her trunk because he’d missed her and needed her so badly.

It may not be the manliest of expressions, Darling, but sometimes that’s how I feel. Like I’m just down to my last straw, like I just need you to call when I get off work, or to pull you close when you need the same. It’s not some “lost mother” sentiment either, I get along fine with mine. I just get that image in my head sometimes when I think about how I need you.

Some days it’s nice to have a job I can completely bury myself in, to stay busy and thinking and on my feet and juggling different tasks so that I don’t have time to think about me…or you. But nevertheless, I still have these thoughts about you all throughout the day. Last night, for example, I thought “If only I knew who she was, I would take her some chocolate. Right now.”

But I didn’t. And I don’t. So I simply drove home.

I hope things aren’t as hard for you right now as they are for me. Everything else in life is slowly starting to line up, except that which the world and my own heart deem most important. It’s hard not to feel left out, even as I excel in so many other avenues of life.

But we already know times are going to be hard, don’t we? It’s hard to believe in that finish line, and it’s hard to run the race alone.

We’re going to make it. I promise you my dearest love, my darling future bride, we’re going to make it. You and me, with the Lord’s help. We’re going to grit our teeth, buckle down, suck it up, shake it off, and fight through it. I wish I could see you now, wish I could know if you’re as spent as I am, maybe kneeling by the roadside to catch your breath, wondering if you’ll make it. I wish I could walk up to you, lift your chin, cup your face in my hands, put my forehead to yours and give you strength. I wish you could hear my imploring cheers, that you could see me running by your side and shouting, begging, ordering you not to give up. And I don’t just mean on Waiting, Darling. I mean everything. I mean life. I mean love. I mean being a servant, I mean staying cheerful and happy.

I want to do this for you, because Christ told us to do unto others as we’d have done to us. I think we’ve all received at least one or two words of encouragement in our lives, and can remember a time when we were so tremendously downtrodden that those simple words put us right back on our feet.

I’m good with words, Darling. It’s a gift God has given me. I used them to help buy that car I told you about. I can use them to uplift people, and though I try to restrain myself, I have used them to berate them as well. Balm or blow, I weave them well. It’s a gift, and a curse. I want to use them to wound those who hurt me. I try, perhaps not successfully, to restrain them.

My point in all this is, I look forward to using those words to build you up. To take you into my arms and remind you how much you mean to me and how much you are worth.

We’re going to make it, Darling. We’re going to make it to each other. We’re going to make it to our wedding. We’re going to make it back from our honeymoon. We’re going to make it through sleepless nights with crying infants and sick children, we’re going to make it through school years and hectic holidays.

Through the rain and drought, snow and sun, good times and bad, famine and harvest. we are going to make it. You and me, together.

I promise.

Love always,

-Beren

August 5, 2012 Posted by | Promises | Leave a comment

#21: Sweet Nothings

Dear Darling,

Do you ever feel like a baboon in a cage, wordlessly grunting and contemplating this still-foreign concept of love? No; I’m sure you’ve been in love before. And to be honest, my dear, I’m jealous of you for it. But remember, we’re still going to crave after that different kind of perfect.

But I find myself looking at love, turning it over and over in my hands like a bright jewel or an unopened gift. I know what’s inside, of course; it’s all humanity speaks of. But to know something and to understand it are two different things. So I find myself thinking of those rainy nights together, and our wedding rings, and dances, and the drowsy, tender nights of comfort between each other when many years have passed and we are intimately acquainted with each other’s ways.

I wonder if you will find me a great romancer. I used to think myself quite the craftsman of humor and laughter. But nowadays, it seems the world has rubbed me raw and left me less cheery. Or, as I wrote before, grave, solemn and cross.

I don’t know what the future holds. But I promise I’ll try.

Here’s a fine example. Sweet nothings. I was thinking about these the other day. You hear and read about them, but no one really says what they are. First of all, it seems a latent contradiction. If it is a spoken word of sweetness, how can it mean nothing? Who could attach a value of nothing to a whispered token of affection? Quite the opposite — such a gift is beyond price!

I’m sure half of its value is the way it’s said. A whisper in the ear can be romantic no matter what, when a word is accompanied by the breath of someone you adore, tickling your ear with love.

But what are they? Just silly variants of “I love you”? Cheesy throwaway lines leftover from bar-hopping days? Bed-bait? I went looking for answers, and found a few purported examples:

– I love how you love me.
– You are my endless melody.
– I’m lost, can you keep me?
– If you were cheese, I’d want to be your macaroni.
–  If I could wish for one thing on this planet, I would wish for your lips to touch mine, without a question, without a sound.
– You are my endless love.
– You are special and wonderful.
– My favorite place to be is inside one of your hugs. 

The advice sites say to check your breath, don’t be overly poetic, and don’t steal lines from movies. Someone else wrote that it didn’t matter, you could say anything in your lover’s ear and it means a lot because you love her. I’m sure just saying “I love you. I love you. I love you.” would suffice.

That’s not good enough for my lady.

I think if I were to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, it would be more special. Something like…

“Do you want to know why I love you? Because you are the most wonderful woman I have ever known. You are everything that is good and wonderful in this world, bound up inside the most beautiful and graceful woman I have ever known. I don’t love you in spite of your wrinkles, freckles and spots — I love you because of them. Every one of them is uniquely you. Every one of them makes you perfect. To me, you are perfect. I cannot begin to tell you how full of joy and wonder I am just to know what it is to love someone as wonderful as you. I can’t believe you chose me to love, but I promise you, now and forever, I will give my all, my everything, to make you happy. I’m nothing without you. You are my all.”

Too scripted? Should I be more random and flippant and playful? Ah well.  We can’t expect to be masters starting off. We’ll have time to learn. We’ll have to teach each other a lot anyway. And if sweet nothings fill your heart with joy, then you will have them.

I promise.

Dear Readers:
I see this letter is somehow the first result on Google when searching for sweet nothings. Maybe it led you to my little trove of letters. If you’re looking for more, I’m still writing at SavedLove.

June 20, 2012 Posted by | Promises | Leave a comment

#20: To Make You Brave

Dear Darling,

It’s pouring rain outside right now. The lightning flashes frequently, and thunder is quick on the follow-up.

I’m a sucker for a good storm.

There’s something about the wild power of it all. I’ll stand outside on the front porch in the dark and silently observe the fury of wind, light and sound in their terrible dance together.

Flash forward five years and I have this mental image of you seeking comfort by my side like a child in the midst of a storm, as if I could confront it for you or chase it away. There’s something comforting about facing the same dangers or fears alongside someone who doesn’t fear them. But maybe you’re not scared of storms at all. Maybe it’s too many sappy movies or Jared commercials I’m seeing, and you’re far too grown-up to fear a few claps of thunder and some lightning.

Alright then, what are your fears? What dark thoughts creep into your heart and weaken it with fear — even against reason? Is it simple things like spiders, snakes and mice? Do I get to play the role of your bold and fearless crusader with merely a rolled-up newspaper or fly-swatter to slay your fearsome insects for you? Or are your dragons darker and less tangible?

Do you fear the dark, or heights? Do you fear growing old, being abandoned, or getting sick? Do you fear needles, or are you a bit of a germaphobe? Do you fear death?

I have a rational discomfort with heights, and I’m not entirely fond of needles, but I’ve learned to face some of these fears. They also say the average person fears public speaking more than death. I used to think that because I have spoken many times in public, I was the exception, until I remembered that I don’t fear death at all — you and I serve a risen Savior who conquered death for us. Therefore, I still fear public speaking more!

I suppose my worst fear would be watching the ones I love face pain or death and being unable to save them. Helplessness, I think, is every man’s greatest enemy. We’ll face dragons and demons all day long for those we love. Give us a weapon and we will fight, against impossible odds and certain death. But tell us to sit in silent torment and watch helplessly, ah! that is a something else.

What I’m trying to tell you is, there’s not a great many fears I have. There is room for yours.

Nothing is more fulfilling than facing someone else’s fears with them and for them. And so, I want you to know that I promise to make you brave. I want you to introduce me to your fears, each and every one of them. I want to meet them, and level my gaze at them, staring them down with a steely cold glare, and let you watch their gleeful laughter die choking in their throats. I want them to know that you’re not alone, that the Lord has given you a protector: “You mess with her, you mess with me.” I want them to know that it is no longer a small matter to come against She Who is Protected.

I want to be the warrior that stands by your side and renews your courage to face your dragons. I want to be your knight in shining armor, your valiant protector. I want you to take strength from me, to know that I’m behind you and when necessary, in front of you.

These aren’t just empty and idle words from the lonely pen of a stranger. I have studied with weapons and trained in combat. I am ready.

I can’t fight them all you know. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. God has ordained that struggles make us stronger, and it is not mine to deprive you of those struggles. That would only make you weaker. And maybe the day will come when you must face a struggle such as cancer which I cannot fight for you. How many hospital waiting rooms have served as the temple of prayer for the man pleading God to give him the sickness or disease or pain instead of his wife?  In God’s good plan, He doesn’t. How many men have watched the love of their life depart from the body, with absolutely nothing in their power to resist?

Maybe this is our path. Maybe you and I will spend many blissful years together until you will find the quicker path to heaven, leaving me to pine away as I am now. Who can foresee such ends?

I know only this: I will never abandon you. I will grow old with you. And when I cannot stand in front of you to shield you from the world, I will stand beside you, holding your hand, whispering courage into your ear and your heart and reminding you of who you are. I will give you strength, to the very end of my own.

I promise.

May 5, 2012 Posted by | Nights Like These, Promises | 2 Comments

#19: To Fight With You

Ever wonder what our first fight will be about?

“What a strange question!” you might respond. No, not really. A strange promise, then? Perhaps. After all, who would give the woman he loves a guarantee of conflict?

But don’t you see? That’s the hallmark of true love. How could I promise anything else? That’s what lovers do. They fight. They argue and squabble. Familiarity breeds romance, love and, yes, contempt.  It’s actually a sign that we care because otherwise, why would either of us waste time?

Oh darling, I hate to think of it now, but we’re probably going to get into all kinds of arguments.

You’re probably going to be one of the very few people that can get underneath my armor and really hurt me. As the years progress, you’ll get to know me better than anyone else. You’re going to learn how to hurt me. You’re going to say mean, horrible things to me in a fight. Or maybe you’ll just freeze me out and give me the silent treatment. You’ll make me feel empty and bare, like my universe is caving in and my world is ending.

The funny thing is, right now I would give anything to trade places with that me. That future me would probably rather gladly accept the trade, but to have someone that I care about so much that it hurts would be an improvement.

And ah! what fun we’ll have making up!

Now, mind you, when I say I promise to fight, I don’t just mean arguing with you. I may even mean that I’ll fight you. Not physically (never!), but maybe the day will come when you don’t accept yourself for who you are. Maybe you don’t feel worth it. Maybe I’ll have to remind you of your value, maybe I’ll have mount the walls you’ve put up, invade the towers, break through your clouds of despair and darkness and pull you out into the sunlight…or bring sunlight to you.

If I have to, I will fight you for yourself.

I can see it now when we have those married fights, or even those couples fights before we’re married (when it hits us that this is how bad it hurts to be without each other), and we finally have that moment where the tension releases, and the tears come down your face and maybe mine as we fall back into each other’s arms and heal the rift, so relieved to find how tiny it is compared to our love.

You know I’ll never leave you. Our love will have to be deeper and stronger than the winds and storms, even the ones we create.

As much as it hurts to think about now, I know you’ll matter so much to me that we’ll eventually fight.

I’m sorry for that. But I know that love can hurt and be volatile if it’s true love. And that’s the kind of true love I’ll always have for you.

I promise.

March 25, 2012 Posted by | Promises | Leave a comment