The Letter - A Love Story
Written as encouragement to both my brothers and sisters in Christ...it is worth the wait! Gauged from personal experience in a culture where purity has become a lost art, and where the design of the Creator has been discarded for a passing moment. For those who have lost their first opportunity, God is forgiving and merciful. If the Author and finisher of our faith has bestowed His forgiveness, who on earth could withhold it? And although some of us would desire to erase the blemishes from our past, may we never forget the journey that brought us through it. Much of who we are today can be accredited to the paths on which we've walked, and the faithfulness of a Father who desires all His children to be free. May our testimonies bear the grace of God in every stroke!
July 30, 1999
I lived once upon a time, in the land of hopes and dreams. There were castles, knights on white horses, fair maidens and happy endings…and there was always a charming prince! Dreams were attainable, stars were within reach, and all I could ever desire lay before me. Of all the treasures I could possess, the most cherished was a letter. It had been mine as far back as I could remember. Its pages displayed the gallery of my hidden emotions. Line after line tenderly clasped the secrets of my soul. Clean white sheets of paper cradled my very heart in delicate composition. This was where the very fiber of my being was scrawled in ink…hidden safely in a sealed envelope. It was mine for the keeping, but not mine to read. It’s story was written for eyes that were not my own – it’s contents penned for another.
And so I waited, guarding this prized possession with my life (for in essence it was my life). I would often sit beside the window of my thoughts and look at the world outside and wonder…who would the one be to read my letter? How would I know he was the one the letter was intended for? Would he find pleasure in its prose – reading the story again and again so as to absorb each and every word that was engraved in fine detail? Would his value of these pages exceed my own? Or would I even have the courage to let him read the tangled tale? These thoughts confounded me, but there was one thought that occupied more reflection than the former contemplation…would I also be a recipient of such a letter?
Seasons passed by, and my anticipation weighed heavily on the arrival of the moment. One moment in time, where truth would finally be written and the letter’s rightful owner would claim that which I had harbored for so long. The one moment when I would give up that which I guarded to receive that which I desired. At times my thoughts could be diverted by the prosaic affairs of life, but fragments of my heart always wondered aloud…when would that moment come?
Many years passed before me. Many hands had knocked upon the doors of my heart in petition for a glance at the exposition of my life. Many had fallen short of their alleged loyalty and devotion. Each of them had bestowed promises…and each had been forsaken by their own deception that they were the one I waited for. With poetic words they spoke, with beauty they attempted to entice, with strength they tried to seduce my heart – all in vain effort to unwrap the mystery contained in the envelope. They offered their letters to be read…if I would impart my own.
The constant endeavors of these swindlers wearied me. Were they sincerely interested in the contents, or merely curious in hearing yet another story? To assist my vigil I built higher walls and stronger gates to discourage the half-hearted - locking the letter safe within the confines of my heart. And still I wondered…would that moment come?
One day while I watched from my window, I saw a man come down the path. He stopped before the gates, pausing for a moment to look at the walls that rose in austerity before him. I surveyed the visitor carefully. He wasn’t like the others who had tread the same path. There was no presumption in his stature, no arrogance in his countenance…only the simplicity of truth spoken from his eyes. He hesitated before the door, glancing down at something he held in his hands - before placing it back in his pocket. It seemed like eternity had passed before he found the audacity to knock upon the doors that were slumbering from years of ignorance. I felt my heart leap within me…could this be the one I had been waiting for?
Moments of silence passed as I stood on the other side of the door that separated us. Could I muster the courage to open it? Would I be able to endure another set of footprints upon the threshhold of my heart? Was I ready to surrender my hidden treasure? I opened the door cautiously to find myself in the eyes of this stranger. For a frozen remnant of time there was silence in my thoughts. For the first time I could feel nothing but an overwhelming presence of peace. I knew that moment had finally come.
Stepping aside, I welcomed him within the walls of my home. He was not what I had envisioned, and yet he surpassed any expectation that I had derived in thought. There was so much to be said that I found I could say nothing at all - I could only look back into his eyes that received me as if we had known each other before this moment. He was the first to speak. “It has been a long journey,” he began, “and I have traveled far to find you.” His eyes passed over me as he replaced his own anticipations with the reality of this encounter. “Before I can go on, I have something you need to see.” From his breast pocket he pulled out an envelope.
Trembling hands embraced the gift. The long awaited prize was finally in my grasp. In wonder my fingers brushed over the name that was embossed on the front…it was my own. Then I noticed the envelope was slightly bent, and I saw its seal had been broken. All its contents had been read, its passages pilfered. Hot tears stung my eyes…there must be some kind of mistake! This couldn’t be my letter…and yet it bore my name in bold print. I slid the pages from their breached casing and held in my hands page upon page of his story. There were smudged fingerprints from the past; stains inflicted by cruel exposure; ink blots where the story had been rewritten. This could not be my letter!
So many questions flooded my mind. How many eyes had seen this text before mine? What stories had been read in return? Had he not seen the worth of the treasure bestowed upon him for safekeeping? Could I trust him with my own letter?
He watched the anguish cloud my face, but his sorrow could find no words in which to console me. I began to read the sordid tale, trying to swallow the anticipation of disappointment…and yet, each line met me with a beauty I could not comprehend. Despite the external blemishes that marred its intended perfection, the Author had reconstructed the script into a beautiful masterpiece.
Paragraph upon paragraph reminded me of a love and forgiveness greater than my own. Tears of joy, sadness and compassion fell down my cheeks as I placed this letter upon the heart that had since grown to cherish its tattered pages. There was no need for explanation, no cause for reproof. I had been given a great treasure that the foregoing beholders had cast away in haste and neglected to find. The same Author, who had penned the pages of my letter, had placed his seal of authorship upon this story.
Pulling my own letter from its cache, I held it out to its sole beneficiary. There was much to be read, yet much more to be written.
The End
July 30, 1999
I lived once upon a time, in the land of hopes and dreams. There were castles, knights on white horses, fair maidens and happy endings…and there was always a charming prince! Dreams were attainable, stars were within reach, and all I could ever desire lay before me. Of all the treasures I could possess, the most cherished was a letter. It had been mine as far back as I could remember. Its pages displayed the gallery of my hidden emotions. Line after line tenderly clasped the secrets of my soul. Clean white sheets of paper cradled my very heart in delicate composition. This was where the very fiber of my being was scrawled in ink…hidden safely in a sealed envelope. It was mine for the keeping, but not mine to read. It’s story was written for eyes that were not my own – it’s contents penned for another.
And so I waited, guarding this prized possession with my life (for in essence it was my life). I would often sit beside the window of my thoughts and look at the world outside and wonder…who would the one be to read my letter? How would I know he was the one the letter was intended for? Would he find pleasure in its prose – reading the story again and again so as to absorb each and every word that was engraved in fine detail? Would his value of these pages exceed my own? Or would I even have the courage to let him read the tangled tale? These thoughts confounded me, but there was one thought that occupied more reflection than the former contemplation…would I also be a recipient of such a letter?
Seasons passed by, and my anticipation weighed heavily on the arrival of the moment. One moment in time, where truth would finally be written and the letter’s rightful owner would claim that which I had harbored for so long. The one moment when I would give up that which I guarded to receive that which I desired. At times my thoughts could be diverted by the prosaic affairs of life, but fragments of my heart always wondered aloud…when would that moment come?
Many years passed before me. Many hands had knocked upon the doors of my heart in petition for a glance at the exposition of my life. Many had fallen short of their alleged loyalty and devotion. Each of them had bestowed promises…and each had been forsaken by their own deception that they were the one I waited for. With poetic words they spoke, with beauty they attempted to entice, with strength they tried to seduce my heart – all in vain effort to unwrap the mystery contained in the envelope. They offered their letters to be read…if I would impart my own.
The constant endeavors of these swindlers wearied me. Were they sincerely interested in the contents, or merely curious in hearing yet another story? To assist my vigil I built higher walls and stronger gates to discourage the half-hearted - locking the letter safe within the confines of my heart. And still I wondered…would that moment come?
One day while I watched from my window, I saw a man come down the path. He stopped before the gates, pausing for a moment to look at the walls that rose in austerity before him. I surveyed the visitor carefully. He wasn’t like the others who had tread the same path. There was no presumption in his stature, no arrogance in his countenance…only the simplicity of truth spoken from his eyes. He hesitated before the door, glancing down at something he held in his hands - before placing it back in his pocket. It seemed like eternity had passed before he found the audacity to knock upon the doors that were slumbering from years of ignorance. I felt my heart leap within me…could this be the one I had been waiting for?
Moments of silence passed as I stood on the other side of the door that separated us. Could I muster the courage to open it? Would I be able to endure another set of footprints upon the threshhold of my heart? Was I ready to surrender my hidden treasure? I opened the door cautiously to find myself in the eyes of this stranger. For a frozen remnant of time there was silence in my thoughts. For the first time I could feel nothing but an overwhelming presence of peace. I knew that moment had finally come.
Stepping aside, I welcomed him within the walls of my home. He was not what I had envisioned, and yet he surpassed any expectation that I had derived in thought. There was so much to be said that I found I could say nothing at all - I could only look back into his eyes that received me as if we had known each other before this moment. He was the first to speak. “It has been a long journey,” he began, “and I have traveled far to find you.” His eyes passed over me as he replaced his own anticipations with the reality of this encounter. “Before I can go on, I have something you need to see.” From his breast pocket he pulled out an envelope.
Trembling hands embraced the gift. The long awaited prize was finally in my grasp. In wonder my fingers brushed over the name that was embossed on the front…it was my own. Then I noticed the envelope was slightly bent, and I saw its seal had been broken. All its contents had been read, its passages pilfered. Hot tears stung my eyes…there must be some kind of mistake! This couldn’t be my letter…and yet it bore my name in bold print. I slid the pages from their breached casing and held in my hands page upon page of his story. There were smudged fingerprints from the past; stains inflicted by cruel exposure; ink blots where the story had been rewritten. This could not be my letter!
So many questions flooded my mind. How many eyes had seen this text before mine? What stories had been read in return? Had he not seen the worth of the treasure bestowed upon him for safekeeping? Could I trust him with my own letter?
He watched the anguish cloud my face, but his sorrow could find no words in which to console me. I began to read the sordid tale, trying to swallow the anticipation of disappointment…and yet, each line met me with a beauty I could not comprehend. Despite the external blemishes that marred its intended perfection, the Author had reconstructed the script into a beautiful masterpiece.
Paragraph upon paragraph reminded me of a love and forgiveness greater than my own. Tears of joy, sadness and compassion fell down my cheeks as I placed this letter upon the heart that had since grown to cherish its tattered pages. There was no need for explanation, no cause for reproof. I had been given a great treasure that the foregoing beholders had cast away in haste and neglected to find. The same Author, who had penned the pages of my letter, had placed his seal of authorship upon this story.
Pulling my own letter from its cache, I held it out to its sole beneficiary. There was much to be read, yet much more to be written.
The End
posted by The Bean Bag Chair at 8:27 PM
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