Sunday, March 1, 2009


Disclaimer: Dear reader, please don't take this as addressed to you, but as a statement of this writer's struggles between reserve, expressiveness, false love (based on what I feel), true love (the I Cor. 13 kind), self-control, et cetera sentimentae.

The truth is, I miss you, and I don't know when I'll find a friendship like ours again. Maybe never: not because "we had something special" but because you are special. Each person is unique; each friendship--two unique people coming together--is unique. There may be someone else who resembles you in various relevant characteristics, but there is only one of you.

But I can never say this to you. I don't want to hurt you again by creating premises for false hope. I don't want to foster delusion. I don't want to make your wishes wrestle with your reason. I want to make things better but the only ways I know how to make you feel better will ultimately make things worse. Real love bears all things, hopes all things, believes all things. Real love protects.

Ultimately, I have to face the truth that I don't know how to love the way love is meant to be done. Agape is out of my power, no matter how well-intentioned I am.

But there is hope, because "It does not depend on man's desire or effort, but on God's mercy" (Romans 9:16). By the grace of God: real, hard, discerning, consistent, far-seeing, selfless love does happen. So, Lord, I am waiting.

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