Lovely Letters: #2

...from husband to wife and back again.

Stubs,

Thank you for your kind letter. I’ll be honest - I was a bit worried about your proposed new correspondence. So much of what we share in our intimate husband-and-wife discussions is just that - intimate. Special pieces, innermost thoughts. But you and your Lord Of The Ring references (though, I’ll be honest. I know way more about Seinfeld) have won me over. You’re lucky I think by writing and talking out loud. Though you said it wouldn’t cause such a response, I found tears streaming down my face while I read your letter. Perhaps this is the melancholy you speak of? I kid. Of course it is.

I always struggle with the question “What’s wrong?”. Nothing and many things all at once, so usually, I just answer “nothing”. Perhaps it’s the doldrums of summer that you speak of, it is after all almost too hot to even be outside at the moment (one feels like a poaching piece of chicken in such weather). But perhaps it’s also the cancelled trip to Italy. Responsibility is a jewel in one’s crown no doubt, but a real party-pooper at times. I’m grateful that you are a responsible decision maker - one who is willing to make the un-sexy, un-funs decision when the need calls for it. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think far too often of throwing caution to the wind, packing your clean laundry into the suitcase hidden beneath the stairs, and heading for Umbria…

(Who will watch Bertie while we’re away?)

I trust God knows the perfect time and way for us to return to this special place. Thanks for putting up with my  elementary Italian sentences in the meanwhile. Feel free to shout “BASTA!” at me when you’ve had enough.

Brad Pitt? Who’s that? Yes, I do seem to recall a movie about fly fishing now that I think of it. Perhaps he was the blond fellow who played the lead? The quote is timely and wonderful. Many of the labors of our hands are unseen, hidden from the world and tucked away only for us and the Lord to share in. There are no congratulatory shouts and pats on the back. There is simply consistent trials and labor, work that begins to form our hearts, minds, souls, and bodies as year upon year we toil in corners that no one will ever see. It’s worthwhile labor - though tiring no doubt.

I think of a story you told me years ago as I sat, a nursing baby tucked into my chest, perhaps with a bit of melancholy glazing the day, about Michelangelo’s painting in the Sistine Chapel. As you told the story, a friend asked Michelangelo why he labored to paint with painstaking effort a dark corner of the chapel that no one would be able to see. “God will see.” he replied.

Thank you for, even in my foggy melancholy, helping me to feel seen (you are always so good at that) and for not forcing me to make sense of the emotions. Thank you, also, for reminding me that God sees. He sees the toil of our hands, the deepest desires of our hearts, and can make sense of our longings, labors, and passions.  He knows of the canceled trip, of our disappointment, of the work ahead of us in the coming months, and of our desire to be both here-and-there. I don’t understand it, but I trust He can.

Love,

Me

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