Thursday, January 09, 2003
Open letter to Vicki, my wife:
Hope you get this today 8^).
I drove out a ways down Wilson Blvd. during "lunch," looking for that little church we did the lock-in for in college. Remember? Playing spoons around the lo-o-o-o-o-ong table, playing basketball and v-ball outside as it got chilly, watching Stand By Me in the sanctuary - I'll never live that one down.
And I thought of you. You know, you might not have even been on that excursion - but I've got memories of you there. I don't remember much else, except you were there. Like when you went to Japan - the only memories I have of that entire autumn are being locked up in the dungeons of LeConte for our senior project, and the times we talked, I recorder Hugo's remnants on a little tape recorder, and taking your packages as you de-planed. The only things I remember are the times you were there.
And I'm overwhelmed at how, through it all, you're there. Sometimes, I find myself living in a fantasy world where everything will work itself out, where things will turn out okay in time, where things aren't as bad as they seem - and the only constant other than Christ is that you are there with me.
I should be more attentive, more understanding, more forgiving, more serving. I don't show my love for you "as Christ loved the church" in nearly enough ways, choices and moments in time. But this is only an apology in the short term. It's much more about a thankfulness, a gratitude, a wonder at who you are and what place you hold in my life.
So, how was your lunch?
lymi - deep - r'