They’re all bundled up in a gold box tucked inside my antique chest down in the basement.
All those letters he wrote the first summer we were getting to know each other. He used bright colored paper cut out in funky designs. Sometimes with homemade confetti to pour out surprise all over my lap as I ripped open the envelope with my trembling hands while my heart skipped a beat. He was miles away.
When I walked the long lane to the mailbox and reached in and found my name scrawled out by his very hand I would long to know what words he folded up and sealed as our spring love began to blossom.
I’d take the stamped enveloped touched by many hands as it had travelled down through the post and see his name in the top left hand corner. Mine was in the center. He was the sender of this carefully crafted letter and I was the young woman to whom it was addressed.
I’d take the rest of the mail and drop it in the front hall and head for the meadow. I’d slip off past the back of the house, along the path by the pond, cross the bridge over the waterfalls, up through the wood and out to the swaying grass on the gentle rolling hills. Not until after I reached the rock in a little grove of trees would I tear into his words and devour them over and over.
That was half my lifetime ago when we hardly knew each other. We were young and in a vulnerable new chapter in our budding love story and all we had to share that summer were words. He signed his letters “In Christ’s love”, but he never wrote the bold words, never even spoke them until he slipped a diamond on my slender third finger on my left hand and told me he loved me. He desired to know me but never carelessly gave away words without committing to prove them with his life.
His life speaks of his love for me. Every day now he tells me he loves me and not only with words. He still reveals his love for me all through the for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. Our love has grown more intimate, more raw, more beautiful.
He still writes love letters with amazing surprises that make my heart skip beats. His words still speak of the ways he loves me.
I don’t run up the to little grove of trees anymore. The last I checked the rock is all but hidden by the trees that have stood faithful and grown strong and tall through the years. Now he and I walk by the way together and I lay down beside him as we grow stronger in love through all the seasons.
This love speaks of a greater Love that came down. The way the Lover of my soul loved with His life makes my heart not only skip a beat but makes it completely new.
The Word, the Alpha and the Omega, came and took on flesh and walked dusty roads to write his love by humbling himself to the point of death, even the death of a cross; the most excruciating way to die. He suffered the most cruel, degrading and humiliating way to bear the sin of those whose names would be written in the Lamb’s book of life.
He records His love for us, page after page in the God-breathed writings carefully passed down through the ages for us. The message of His holy, unfailing love for a fallen creation makes one wonder at His amazing grace.
He writes bold words, “For God so loved the world that He gave in only begotten Son that whosoever believes shall not perish but have everlasting life.”
And we can run out through the woods and up to the meadows under the great expanse of the heavens and cherish these words that Love came down that we might have life and grow in an intimate oneness as the Bride of Christ.
Do you unlock the treasures and tuck them in your chest, deep within your heart?