my careless contagion

What follows is a text message — directed to the author of this blog — minus personal details, including the woman's name. I haven't logged on to this blog since last year about the time of my last post, shortly after the blog eclipsed 40,000 hits. Now it's nearing 50,000. The reason I came back was to correct something: I was wrong. There was a happy ending, as the following reveals. My next post explains more.  I include much of her message because it answered many whispered prayers over the years. No, God didn't answer how I expected, but, when we let Him lead, we must trust He has what is best for us. If you're wishing for a partner, the Lord knows your heart. Do not expect any gift to be given without testing. God needs to know if you can handle the gift. Otherwise, it will ruin you.  What follows is a love letter, but, unlike so many on this blog, I didn't write it. It was written to me. She said it first. She said, "I love you." It was important...

Slipping in and out of sleep, I dreamed you were here, your body against mine. Through closed eyes, we felt one another across a great distance. You teased me repeatedly, making me want you, then retreated, asking me what's wrong. There's nothing wrong with wanting. What's wrong is the not having, not being sure, grasping for the golden ring, like falling in love with a movie star from long ago.  My eyes opened, and you weren't there. But I was sure you were momentarily, visiting repeatedly. We connected across time and space, like a portal yawned open for a moment. Our souls touched. Our hearts met. Then you were gone again.  Are you a wild animal which refuses to be kept, more at home in the forest than with man? A cat, a fox, a wolf. All have been tamed to a degree, but all retain a wild heart. The fox in The Little Prince said we are forever responsible for what we have tamed. But you there is no taming. You come and go as you please — like the wind, the waves, a fi...

The storm blew up while we were a mile from home. As luck would have it, neither of us checked the forecast. The rain never lasts long, but today it did, driving everyone inside. We were alone on the sidewalk, running now. We laughed because it happened so fast. We were soaked within seconds. Glad  I didn't bring my phone. Our happy, little walk turned into a fiasco, but we didn't seem to mind.  When my key hit the lock, I exhaled a sigh of relief. We stripped to our underwear there in the hallway, and you took a shower first. I wondered what was taking so long, but soon you were out and laying on the bed, a towel wrapped around your hair and a soft robe around your still shivering body. I showered quickly and joined you, throwing a fuzzy blanket over us. We laughed at the stupidity of running in the rain when we were already wet, then taking showers after, as if that fixed anything. We were still chilled, and you took off your robe and pressed yourself against me — not as an ...

When you told me you kept a seashell your grandmother gave you, you allowed me to see something. Our conversations fill me with wonder, as they are small revealings, tempting prompts that lead to something more, yet are endlessly satisfying on their own.  You are a mystery, an enigma, like a seashell without a story. Had you not told me the story, I never would have known where it came from, what it meant, how it made you feel. It is a small treasure, yet it travelled an unknown number of miles.  So it is with the heart that carried it. Without revealing yourself, little by little, line by line, I never would have stopped to ponder, probe, to discover more. You stopped me in my tracks, not overtly, but tenderly. Simply by being yourself. Other men may not notice what a man of patience and maturity sees. You are not ordinary. You are captivating, in a deep and wonderful way.  This isn't about a shell. This is about your heart. Like that shell, you don't have to shout to ge...