Letter #6: You Love, Love, Love

Dear you,

“These fingertips will never run through your skin, and those bright-blue-eyes can only meet mine, across a room, filled with people that are less important than you.”

-Of Monsters and Men lyrics

It’s been a little over a year. Funny how people can come to mean so much to us in such a tiny bit of time. I still remember that first time we talked (not counting the time I ignored you). Did anybody think God would work miracles because of that friendship? Probably not. In fact, absolutely not.

People were more concerned with me beating you with a frying pan, cakes that were a lie, the cow, and getting engaged. And granted, those are legitimate concerns. Even you and I were caught up in those concerns, because they are rather…occupying. But even still, who could’ve guessed how we’d turn out.

We’ve had our conflicts. I still remember the time that I told you a secret about me, not knowing it would hurt you, and you cried. I remember the desperate helplessness that I felt, because I couldn’t be there. I sat and stared at my screen, reading that you were crying; and you sat and stared at your screen, telling me you were crying.

Dang this distance.

I feel really helpless. You struggle. I know you do. I read it on your face; I hear it in your voice; I feel it in every “I’m fine” that you give me. But you try to cover it up for me. You try to look strong for me. You try to be something unwavering – constant – for me. It’s precious. But you don’t have to do this. You can open up your scars for me. You can tell me what hurts. It’s okay.

I want to help.

But honestly, you break my heart. You’ve been there this whole time. And most of the time, I let you be there. But other times, I pulled away. It was always because I wanted to protect you. It was always because I love you. You are my kid brother; it’s my job to love you, protect you – help you out in this wild wide world. And yet, I haven’t always been there. It breaks my heart.

I’ve made you cry, at least once that I know of. I’ve worried you a hundred times. It’s not been right. I am so sorry. When I “adopted” you, I was supposed to love you, be there for you, be your big sister. Nothing more, nothing less. So many times, I’ve been less.

But you. You’ve always been there. You’ve always loved. You’ve always prayed, always hoped, always cared. Even when I didn’t. Even when I couldn’t. When my world was falling apart and I shut you out, you stood there – painfully, awkwardly, worriedly – outside my walls. You waited until I could let you back in. And dear child, it is a process. It takes a while. But you’ve always waited. It’s beautiful. I don’t deserve this. You’ve modeled Christ to me.

Who would’ve thought that’s where our friendship would end up.

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