1/15/11
Dear Gabriel,
I hardly know what to write in this letter, only that I absolutely have to write it. More importantly, whatever I have to say here is apparently something that you need to hear. Don’t think the boldness of that statement is lost on me – trust me, it isn’t. My pride is still smarting rather keenly after having informed you that you wouldn’t be hearing from me again, so as I type tonight, I wonder rather worriedly at how much credibility I have anymore with you. Probably none, but the need to write certain things must be satisfied.
I’ve had some lengthy conversation with God concerning this urge to write you again. The last thing that I want to do is sound desperate, as I feel so undeserving of any affection you’ve bestowed on me, but the feeling I have to reach out to you becomes more and more insistent — like the need to visit you in the hospital (It is the same need, to be exact. The same need only stronger, and harder to deal with because I have behaved so badly now) so maybe there is something going on that I don’t understand here. As words are an invention of mortality, no words would really do justice for what I felt pass between my Father and me in prayer, but if I had to write it out, this is what it would have been like:
……
GOD: Violet, write to Gabriel.
Me: …what? I can’t. I have hurt him too badly. I have done him a favor by disappearing — he couldn‘t possibly want to hear from me again after how badly I treated him.
GOD: Child, he needs you. Write to him.
Me: But Father, what on earth could I say that would take away all the short-sided judgment that I heaped upon him? My heart groans with the severity of my criticizing words. I have injured him considerably.
GOD: (With deep sorrow) Yes, my Child, you have. My Son suffers cruelly in part because of your unwillingness to understand him. But the pain you have given him is little compared to the pain that he inflicts on himself. Leave the words to Me. Just write to him.
Me: I am so embarrassed. I don’t think I can do it. You know I want so badly to reach out to him, Father, but I took so much from him, and I told him I wouldn‘t. I hate inconsistency. I feel I would only do worse by saying anything else, and I am so imperfect. What if I disappoint you?
GOD: (A chuckle) A little humility won‘t kill you. And besides, my Daughter, you have never disappointed Me. And Gabriel needs to know that he has never disappointed Me, either. This is the most important lesson he will ever learn, and will be the hardest for him to accept. Not only has he never disappointed Me, but I am proud beyond measure that the courageous heart I kept beating in his breast remains true.
Me: (I start to cry) I’m scared, Father. It’s his heart that I love so much — that I’m afraid I’ve wounded beyond repair.
GOD: Would you deny Gabriel the opportunity of learning to forgive? Let not your heart be troubled, Child, neither let it be afraid. Put your trust in Me, and I will take care of you.
Me: Why have you asked me to do this?
GOD: Because he will listen to you.
Me: Why?
GOD: (With tenderness) You know the answer to that already, but you are afraid of it. It is because he loves you. He is badly shaken by you, but he loves you still, and in that mutual exchange of real and genuine caring, there is room for Me. If his heart is even the smallest bit open to you, and you are open to Me, then I can love him through you. And what my Son needs now more than ever is love without judgment – without expectation – without condition. He is in despair, Child. You know little of his sorrow; you couldn’t know – but I do. I have been with him from the beginning. I am by his side through all of it.
Me: I feel unworthy, Father. He will think I’m insane for being so presumptuous. How can I simply act on a feeling without reason enough behind it?
GOD: (Confidently) You will feel the rightness of it. Your heart is pure also, my Daughter, else I could not dwell within it. Gabriel longs for Me, and I am come to comfort him.
Me: Then please help me, Father. I don’t want to hurt him anymore. Help me know what to say. Please.
GOD: (A smile) Trust in me, Child. Trust in me and Love. All will be well. You’ll see. All will be well.
……
I don’t know what else to write. I feel like I have no place even sending this letter at all, except that if it’s true that you still care enough about me to have read this far, and if any of this makes sense to you, then I am bound by love to send it. Let me put my meager candle flame next to our Father’s mighty blaze. It would seem that in whatever way He can, God is trying to get your attention.
I don’t know what any of this means. If it were me, I would be inclined to think that whoever wrote me this was a frothing lunatic, though nothing would keep me from respecting the guts the author had in being so bold. But, if indeed this letter has struck a chord, then do what you feel is right.
For my part, I will keep writing as long as I feel the need to. Rest assured, however, that in other ways I will leave you in peace. I get a strong message to leave you to God now, so you won’t be getting a phone call or a visit. I hope I haven’t intruded on your healing process now with my inconsistency and human weakness.
If I could, I would tell you in person how sorry I am for damaging the heart that you took such a risk to love me with. I didn’t see it, and because of my fear of rejection, I may have lost the best thing that ever happened to me — something I will regret for the rest of my life. But I get the sense that now is not the time and place for such a conversation, so I will keep to my corner in Pleasant Grove and only bother your mailbox.
I hope this letter has served its purpose — God only knows what it is.
Your Friend,
Violet
P.S. I’ve had an idea about what to write. About 10 days ago, I got the feeling that I had to write to you, but I figured it would stay with me alone until you asked for it, if you ever did. I purchased a diary and started writing to you every day. Since then I have filled nearly half of it, and after this conversation with God about actually writing to you and sending it, it seems like the most logical thing for me to just transcribe from my diary my thoughts to you into a letter that I actually send. After having fasted specifically for comfort and confidence concerning this idea, it feels good, though I am still a bit petrified. I may send you additional pages that I’ve written in the future, but for now, this feels like enough.
© 2011
