(Side note: I know it’s been a minute since you’ve heard from me. I am trying to finish up a book for Craig and I’ve been conducting a wife prep curriculum class for women on Facebook that has been wearing me out! But, I am about to post a few things that I am praying will be of service to you in some way. Today marks the end of a seven-week “Past Fast” that I was on. I will be posting that in a minute, but I first wanted to share a letter that I wrote myself awhile back. God has me in a “move forward” season and I don’t think I’m the only one who needs to do so in this stage of life. Don’t knock doing this exercise for yourself. It’s amazing what you see when you put your life to pen and paper. Hazy things often become VERY CLEAR.)
Baby
Girl,
I
know you’re nervous.
The
man you’ve loved since ever knowing what love was, you will be
seeing in just a couple of days—and at a wedding, on
his birthday, no less.
Oh,
how life is full of so many ironies and surprises. Back when
you were 19 and giddy (or was it delusional?), you and “he” used
to tease his cousin about how selfish he was, how immature he was,
how “so-not-husband-potential” he was. And now, 14 years
later, in a race to the altar, he has beat you both to the winning
line, marrying a woman who is tall in stature (literally) and
character.
But,
that’s not what tops the list of ironies or surprises when it comes
to this situation. What you really didn’t expect was that you
two would be attending these nuptials apart. Sure, “he”
will be on the altar, but as a groomsman and not the groom.
Yes, you will be walking down the aisle, but not in white—lavender,
and not as the bride, but a guest.
To
add insult to injury, after not speaking for over ten years, two
years ago, he reached out to apologize for writing a nightmare ending
to your storybook romance. Oh and Baby Girl, what did you do?
Instead of closing the chapter of this passionately tumultuous
novella, novel, book series, you pulled out another page of your
heart and started dreaming, wishing, and hoping again. A
two-hour luncheon turned into a 24-month reunion tour of “The
Way We Were”. What was supposed to be an “I’m
sorry” translated into “I still love you and I always will.”
Baby
Girl, until you heard it again, you didn’t even realize that was
something you had so deeply longed for since the last time you heard
his voice. Like a woman in search of the right shoe, you tried
on the words of others, but nothing else quite fit. Oh, but you
always seemed to grow a deafened ear to what usually followed those
sentiments: “I can’t be what you want, need or deserve.
This won’t work.”
I
know you’re disappointed. Baby Girl, I hate to say it, but
I’m a little disappointed in you. Not because you took
a chance on love; that’s what living life is all about, but because
you were supposed to have known better by now. You are no
longer the freshman in college with an undeclared major who earned
her PhD in life experience by giving your virginity to a young man
who had given his away years before knowing that you existed.
You are now a celebrated author and speaker specializing in the very
thing that with “him”, you still seem to battle with:
Self-esteem, self-respect, self-control.
Yeah,
Baby Girl, I know what you are about to say. All is fair in
love and war, right? The thing is, when it comes to “him”,
I’m not so sure if you’ve ever known the difference between the
two. Just think about it. Whenever you were with “him”,
did you feel protected (love) or exposed (war)? Did he meet
your needs (love) or take whatever he could get (war)? Did he
celebrate you (love) or harm you (war)? Did you trust him to
stay (love) or fear he would leave (war)? Was he your lover
(love) or sparing partner (war)?
Now
tell me, Baby Girl, ten years later, when it comes to these
questions, what answers have really changed? Looks to me like
you are still nursing wounds, healing scars, resetting a heart that
has been broken in the same place twice. The only difference is
that this time, it’s gonna take that much longer to heal.
I
hate to say it, but your gut, your conscience, I told you not
to let him in. You are simply too beautiful, too exceptional,
too worthy for that now. But as a lover of music and movies,
sometimes you get carried away by getting caught up in the hype of it
all. To be honest, that’s something that I love and even envy
about you—your love for love. But not with “him”.
Not again. Not now and in this way. Not because he’s
not a “good guy”, but because he’s simply not good enough.
You’ve come too far and he, in many ways, is right where you left
him two and ten years ago.
I
know that doesn’t change the fact that your stomach is full of
butterflies and your heart is beating faster with every passing
moment leading up to Saturday. Even with “first love”,
“first abortion”, “first heartbreak” and miles of secrets and
memories between you, because he either never had the money or made
the time, ironically and surprisingly, there is still a
“first time” left to be shared: You seeing him in a tux.
Baby Girl, I never said he wasn’t fine. But you can admire fine
from afar.
But
he is not the point. What I’m really writing to say is that
you have nothing to be nervous about. I know you think fate
must be playing a cruel joke to invite you to the one and probably
only wedding where the two of you will be in attendance, but Baby
Girl, this is a date with destiny. You need to go to this
wedding and mourn and then bury your fantasy of being his wife.
You need to go down the aisle walking first towards him and then
turning away to your seat. It’s symbolic of the direction
your life will be taking now. And, as much as you are worrying
about how he will look in a suit, you need to take pity on how he
will feel when he sees your voluptuous silhouette in your vintage
gown, silver heels and butterfly jewelry. One thing he has been
consistent about is telling you how beautiful you are and he’s
right.
This
time, though, after all has been said and done, he will experience
yet another “first”.
This
time, ironically, and surprisingly, he will get something he needs so
desperately from you whether either one of you realizes it or not.
He needs see what love—true, pure, committed love looks like
just one more time before you both part ways; not out of spite, but
so he can have a standard set for when he makes the attempt at real
love again; something that is hard to come by, just like you, Baby
Girl.
So,
get out your grape sorbet nail polish and lip gloss with that hint of
plum sheen. It’s of no coincidence that while his cousin will
be in black and his wife will be in white, you will be in shades of
purple—the color of royalty.
It’s
their wedding, “his” birthday, but Baby Girl, it’s your graduation. You all have crossed the finish line. The race is
over. And you, too, have won.
I love you.