It has been too long since I wrote you. Rest assured though; were a letter found for each thought that I have of you in just a day, our correspondence would quickly fill a library.
It is this idea that gives shape to what follows; a description of the mysterious absence of words over the last months and the anticipation of things to come. Words; odd capsules that indicate thought et al. without capturing the whole of them. In the end, they say almost everything, yet without that small part which they lack ring hollow; noise without symphony. Take action for example. Words fall short when action is needed, though they outline it in its essence and accidents so that it can be seized upon, admired, deliberated and ultimately effected. Consider political debates; they say much, and say nothing at the same time- for we expect action to flow from them. They are premonitory expressions of what would be said after the fact.
I love you.
It is this that I say, and by writing it you, it is this that I do. Yet, on the other hand, I have spent these last months by writing to you this very phrase in a special way: not writing to you.
I have loved you these months. My new job has, no doubt, added to the complexity of our lives. It fills my days in a way that we had not expected. Out little one grows, and so too the time committed by both of us to raise her to love God, family, and self. To that has been added the expectation and gift of another child; who thought God could trust us so much? My own academic work- a form unfinished; a quality of mine acknowledged by all except the petty and rewarded by none except the blind.
All of this, and the innumerable battles shared by us against the world, the flesh, and the devil have taken us away from the essential pleasantries of our letters. They are essential. Thus this letter to you liberates me in a way that has not happened in many months. It reflects too our love for each other sent by way of the language of marriage every day. From the details of coffee in the morning, to the generalities of raising our child in love- we have been writing letters, using language, since the day that we met.
And thus I write to you, saying what we have said the whole of our time together: I love you.
Now that I have written that, there is a darkness on the horizon. It is not with our love my darling, but it is for our love, and our child, and our future. Family is still attacked; marriage it blurred; society is corrupted; children are lost. What…is…happening? I have mentioned this before; we will not be able to endure as a species, as a race, as the beloved of God, if we do not understand ourselves. Speech bleeds into actions; actions shape identity; identity indicates first the being, and this leads to the mystery of the person; the person is loveable and is loved by love; and love dies for the loveable lest the loveable die without love. Jesus, we need help as a culture.
The most practical man is the man of prayer my love. We have returned to words; the words of God, and the words to God. These words will shape our actions. And our actions will speak even more clearly what our words intend. Our new project is, in its way, unprecedented. But our Shepherd, Christ’s Vicar, has encouraged us; we are co-responsible. So our task now is to lay groundwork amid the ruins of the ego, fighting the shadowy culture of id, to elevate by way of words our brothers and sisters so that their words may become true words in this breaking and broken world. What a task we have. I cannot wait to look for more ways to share it with you. I cannot wait to talk of the challenges of reintegrating broken psyches- damaged souls.
I will save the details until my next letter- I am excited and I anticipate our work together given all that we intend.
I will write it once more: I love you.
I remain yours,