Not So Famous…

No, not really. I don’t know what you’d call this. Perhaps a love letter addressed to no one. Who in their right mind would address a love letter to no one? No one. I never claimed to be in my right mind, you know.

Yes, I’ve gone mad. Before you start to spout some rubbish about this “rant” not sounding very insane, allow me to ask you something. How many truly insane people have you met? And even if you have met truly insane people, how many types of insanity do you think there are? Can the word “snowflake-like” (is that even a word?) describe the types of insanity? And who really freakin’ cares anyway?? I’m digressing…

(Flashback ON) I always thought that I’d always have the ability to write. I wrote all the time. I wrote about people I knew. I wrote about people I wanted to know. I wrote about knights a lot. I couldn’t envision a time when I’d stop writing, let alone a time when I lost the ability to write. Such a time never entered my mind, though I imagine if I HAD thought about it, it would have been right next to the time when I considered committing suicide. (There was a time where I wasn’t a Christian…or at least not much of one.) The ability to write was taken for granted…kind of like a lot of abilities we take for granted. My ability to play the clarinet, for one. My ability to hear music within music. (I’m not going to even try to explain that one. Those who have ever tried to improvise in a jazz band know what I’m talking about.) My ability to read. My ability to talk with people. I just think of those abilities as part of myself. I don’t think about what life would be like without them. Try thinking about life without your lungs…not exactly life, eh? These are just part of what makes me Chris. (Flashback OFF…and what kind of flashback was that?…shut up.)

Now here I sit, writing, and my emotions gush forth like blood from a deep, open wound. I’m emoting like a teenager here, and I’m 26 years old. (Please don’t take offense, my teenage readers…that comment will make sense when you’re older…now I’ve really pissed them off.) Essentially, it took a close friend to teach me why I can now write. Of course, if I explain it to you now, it won’t make much sense, so I must give you backstory.

My wife is gone. Not GONE gone…she’s just on a vacation with her family that I cannot attend because of school responsibilities. Shoot, she’ll be back in approximately 4 days and 5 hours or so. But that doesn’t make her any less not-here. She left…yesterday, and I’m already an emotional wreck. I’m already missing her more than I thought possible. Oh, I could explain why, and even those of you who are married may not understand. Marriage isn’t what it used to be, and I don’t think many of you understand what marriage should be, but this isn’t really a rant, remember? I just miss her. I can’t leave it at that, really.

My wife means the world to me. Only Jesus means more. And I don’t say that in the sappy, American way. I’m an American, and we’ve cornered the market on sappiness, but I say that in the “Jesus is my savior, and the only way to heaven”-way. (A little witnessing for those who missed the revival bus.) I love my wife. She is everything I ever wanted. I could sit and tell you all the things that she does for me that make me realize I’m a hopeless wreck without her. She makes my lunch. She cooks dinner. She cleans the house. She makes the house a nice place to live. She talks with me. She listens to me. She gives me her opinion. She is beautiful. She loves me as close to unconditionally as humanly possible. She tolerates my arachnophobia…heck, she kills spiders for me. She kisses me even when my face is all stubbly and it’s uncomfortable. She sympathizes with me when I’ve had a hard day at work. She tells me to “Have a good day” every morning, genuinely hoping that I will. She hugs and kisses me when I get home from work. She thinks of me when I’m not around, and it’s evidenced by purchases at the grocery store, or getting me little boxes with foam padding so that I can pad my Lord of the Rings backgammon set when I’ve long forgotten that I hate the way the rings, cups and dice clatter around when the box is closed. People always say, “It’s the little things that make a difference.” Well, I’ll tell you that little things, big things, in-between things are all important when you’re sitting here brooding in your coffee that you have no one to talk to. (I would brood in my ale, but I have no ale…now isn’t THAT depressing?) I love her for all of that, and I know that I truly need her because of all of that, but there’s something more.

Once, I asked my friend why she writes, or perhaps it was why she wasn’t writing too much anymore. “Because I’m not that sad anymore.” She told me that writing was something she did when she was bummed. I told her that I didn’t understand it. After all, I’m not bummed, and I write, don’t I? Don’t I?? Not really.

The last really big thing I wrote was a story about a Pictish warrior who learned that the enemy, King Arthur, was actually a wonderful ruler whose people were happier, and fought more tenaciously because Arthur really loved them. He wanted that love. He wanted to escape the lies of his people who worshipped false gods and prayed without ever receiving an answer. He wanted to be a subject of King Arthur. In this fantasy story, this warrior became a Knight of the Round Table, met his closest friend and brother in arms, and did many wonderful things for his new liege. But he still wasn’t truly happy. He still searched for something to complete his life. Then he met a wonderful woman, whom he married and they lived happily ever after. Well, it was a little less sappy than that, but what do you expect from the short, short version? My point in all of this was that I wrote that while my then-girlfriend was on a mission trip in Spain. She was gone for an entire week, and I thought I’d die. I wrote the greatest piece of fiction I had ever written because I was completely bummed that I was alone again. This fiction was allegorical to my life, and I mention it because it is crucial to understand why I’m writing. I was that Pictish warrior, and I left the world to fight for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, represented in my little tale by King Arthur. I was happy to be a Christian, but I still was missing something. Then I met my close friend and brother, who also was a warrior fighting for the wrong cause. My friendship with Derek was awesome, and made me very happy, but I still wrote at that time in my life…a lot. I was searching for something to complete me, and I didn’t know what it was. So even though I was happy, I was still missing SOMETHING, and I knew not what it was. I wrote, and I thought a lot about what I had, and I thought I had reached the pinnacle of happiness. What I didn’t realize was that I was only really happy when compared to how unhappy I was before. You see, becoming a Christian doesn’t erase all your woes. Sure, you’re grateful to the Lord God for pulling you out of the crap you’d been wallowing in for so long, but that doesn’t mean that everything is all good right away. You see, God recognized that “It is not good for man to be alone.” This whole husband-wife companionship is built into us from God, and He devised a way to get us that companionship. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So I was still searching for something. I met Kim, and that’s a wonderful story for another time. But I was very happy with her. When we decided that being together was what God wanted for us, I was VERY happy. She was so thoughtful, and sweet, and NOBLE, that I couldn’t believe how God had blessed me. And one week later, I began working at Christian Berets. I didn’t see her for like a week at a time, and it was tough. I was writing her letters, explaining that I missed her. Wonderful, verbose letters that grandiosely pined for her. Heck, I could still write, right?

Then I left Christian Berets, and spent one week with her before she left for her mission trip to Spain. So I wrote that piece of fiction that I talked about previously. In addition to writing her a letter every day she was away. Since she’s been back, I’ve tried some writing, but it’s not the same. And I never could figure out why, because there weren’t many times we were apart for any length of time.

So here’s the “AH-HA!” part. Suddenly, she’s gone for a week or so, and my friend’s statement suddenly starts to make sense, as I get the urge to write my pain out using a word processing program! I feel the need to write when I am really bummed! I understand now! So what does this new understanding do for me? Not much. Basically, I need to be happy that I don’t have much occasion to write, because I really am a wreck without Kim. All of this says, “I love my wife, and I wish she was here, because the ability to write is no substitute for holding her in my arms, kissing her, and telling her to her face that I love her, and even though she’s going to call me tonight, and I’ll get to hear her beautiful voice, I’m still sad, because she’s not here NOW.” I know, I really dragged that on for a long time. But hey, I feel like writing, ok?