Love Letters Straight From My Heart

It has been quite a long time since I wrote anything even approaching a love letter. These days, my bag is more complaining emails and sarcastic texts. But it’s not a skill I plan to lose. So, today, I want to flex my writing arm in tribute to love: love so perfect and so  immeasurable that I think, folks, we’ve got to give it a capital ‘l’.

Love. 

I could tell you about how I met my husband. It would write itself, a blog about the best man I ever knew. And I could reminisce about how, weeks before he died, there were still flowers for me on Valentine’s Day. 

But I have a better love story for you even than that. Oh, and, if you don’t know this other love of mine, you could be forgiven for thinking he’s a bit of a villain. After all, he brought myself and my husband together. He knew we’d be happy. In fact, he saw to it.

And then he split us up.

What a cruel, heartless thing to do. We weren’t old: I was in my late thirties, Donnie was in his early fifties. Our twelfth wedding anniversary was a few months away. Because of his work, we had already been denied a lot of time together. And then, it was over.

All because of Love.

That’s right. Because. Not in spite of love, not denying or ignoring love, but precisely because of it. 

God so loved the world that he gave his only son. These are words as familiar as ‘I love you’ and they mean the same – only more so. The harrowing, hellish, suffering death of Jesus on that cross is God’s love letter to a broken world. Do you think it meant nothing to him, to be separated from his beloved, perfect Son, for my sin and for yours? 

God IS love. He didn’t invent it or create it – he embodies and defines it. What is not patterned on him is not really love, but a pale imitation.

He gave us those three little words that mean so much, that changed the course of not one life but countless thousands forever: 

‘It. Is. Finished.’

My heavenly Father’s love for me deserves a response. It is worthy of acknowledgment. Of all the love letters ever written, his is the only one that was designed to be shared. God wants me to pass it on. And I can do no more than to tell it to you in terms you’ll understand. 

We’re human and, being human, we experience love – if we’re that fortunate – in its various forms. When you find happiness with a life partner, however, it brings a special kind of fulfilment. I had that with Donnie and he, I believe, felt the same.

So, you see, it was real love. The kind that used to make me think I could never live without him.

What stopped me from falling into an abyss of despair, then ? How can I look back on what I had and not feel bitter that it has been taken away?

I must be an amazing person, no?

No. Those who know me are scratching their heads, going, ‘no, that’s definitely not it’ – and they’re right. 

It’s that all this is done in love. Real love. God gave his only, perfect son for me. Does it seem likely he would do anything to gratuitously hurt a person he loves that much? Of course not; God is love. 

A life lived in Christ is a life of love. Even though it may seem that he is inflicting pain, in fact, it is the very opposite. I would not willingly sacrifice the things or the people that he would have me give up, and so, in love, he gently removes them himself.

I love the Lord because he first loved me. And he has gone on loving me. God’s love is not the fragile emotion that we humans sometimes share – it is active, and it follows a set trajectory which ends in perfection. He doesn’t waver, or doubt, or forsake.

So, don’t pity me for my loss: envy me so much for my gain that you do everything you can to secure that love for yourself.

With God, every day is a celebration of real love.

Are you ready, boots?

Everybody has their ‘thing’ and for me it’s shoes. I love them in their infinite variety and yes, that includes boring shoes as well as more    unusual styles. There are glittery unicorn flats and lightning bolt-heeled boots, but on the very next shelf is a pair of brown brogues (and blue ones and red ones and silver . . .). Even my wellies are yellow and covered with bees. Aye, okay, the boring, functional shoes are very much in the minority.

Really, however, I could manage with fewer pairs. In fact, being strictly accurate, I could get by with one. This is especially true at the moment when slippers are what I mostly reach for.

The Bible talks about shoes too. Yes, it repeatedly mentions sandals but I’ve never really got on with them (and I’m sure they’d say the same about me). What I’m referring to is the verse in Ephesians, in the ‘whole armour of God’ passage: ‘as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. 

Go looking for commentaries or sermons on this and they will undoubtedly talk about the soldiers, who needed footwear that enabled them to go into battle, secure in the knowledge that it would also permit them to stand their ground when that was necessary. It’s a good analogy for the Christian life, which seems to involve a perplexing mixture of being sent, and of remaining still. I have a whole wardrobe – okay, who am I kidding, room – full of shoes for every different occasion. There are walking boots, wellies and trainers for those times when I have to haul the dog over some bumpy Lewissian terrain; I have any amount of what you might term ‘smart’ (also ‘wacky’ if you’re rude and lacking in taste) shoes for work or socialising; and I have slippers (multiple pairs) for staying still.

But spiritually speaking, there is only one thing your feet need – the one-size fits all, suited to any occasion word of God.

Since curtailment of my outgoing ways became a necessity, I find myself speaking to God more frequently. Indeed, I read his word more assiduously. 

‘Weird’, you might think. After all, I’m not going anywhere; I’m not going out and meeting people much (or at all, officer). Apart from councillors appearing at my window with drams from time to time, and the odd plumber or electrician, no one comes to my home. So, why the increased contact with God?

‘Ah’, the sceptics will say, ‘it’s to assuage the loneliness. Faith is a crutch, a comfort blanket – she just can’t face the fact that she is completely on her own’.

No, that isn’t it. I am putting on the readiness, (as opposed to the agony or the style). You see, living our lives differently isn’t an absence of anything. This is God’s will for me now. For the moment, I don’t have to rush between work and church and meetings and home, with no white space at all in the diary, but plenty white noise.

That was the crutch, that was the comfort blanket. Rush, rush, rush. Barely coming to rest in one place before flying off to another. Always in fabulous shoes, of course.

Now I have time. I am not fitting God in around other commitments. Instead of exhaustedly going through the motions, showing up at church and Sunday School with black circles under my eyes and a short fuse under the bonnet (it’s a car metaphor; I have long since eschewed hats), I am spending quality hours in worship. 

Circumstances will change eventually, of course but that is the wonder of God’s word: the same gospel that is today like slippers for my feet can become boots in which to march, to climb or to fight. The readiness is not in me, but in him.

I can rest on that, knowing his word prepares me for all that he has planned.