on unity and the lighthouse: a love story
The following is a segment from our love story and is the only installment written in second person, to Seth – for Valentine’s Day. You’ll want the back-story first. Click My Love Songs tab at the top.
Oh, and how full of love I’ve been for you, though I didn’t mean to lie to you that day, on our wedding day. I guess we all lie. I guess unless a Spirit fills to the tip of my tongue and spews out my eyes with timeless perspective, I will be conditional toward you, whose lack of love was so much less than mine.
In the shower, how the truth hurts, I moan in tears, how my confession unravels you, how you question me, my every thought, every promise I ever made. Even the truth doesn’t feel like truth to you at first, but it does to me. I combine all the grief I’ve ever known, and it is only a wrist slap in comparison.
I pull the towel down. It soaks my dripping hair, the salty face. There you start to hug me, not afraid of my dripping, and now that I’m clean, all I want are your arms, but you pull back and hold my shoulders, say, “Listen.” Then your words pour like cold shock.
“Please forgive me,” you say. “Please forgive me for leaving you during Law School.” You say “forgive me” for other things, too, and suddenly aware that I hadn’t forgiven, I realize I believed the lie first. Unforgiveness is not a safe harbor, no haven of rest. Unforgiveness is a wedge. It’s a burned-out lighthouse.
My sin has so overshadowed yours that I never saw it, so dark.
I forgive you. I gladly forgive you, and I finally fit in arms like conquered puzzle.
We are small people. We are two drops in mercy sea, and we love like we have brand new skin. Let us never grow old. Let us hear the other breathe. Let me call your depravity my own. Let us stay at sea.
Let us call this unity – the two becoming small, new, kindled,