The Letter
I found a letter. It began with fond memories derived from her childhood dreams of marrying the man God had chosen especially for her. While hopeful that I was about to read a wonderful love story, it suddenly took a very dark turn. After the first paragraph, I realized it had been written by a very distraught, very broken woman. It felt as if I were intruding and yet, being made privy to the private, deep pain of a woman trapped in an abusive relationship, I felt a connection with her. I felt sorry for her. Who was she? Did she truly feel this man was God’s best for her? She had said as much in the first few words. But how? How could she possibly have felt that way? The actions of this man she described clearly portrayed that he did not love her. As I continued reading her lament, my heart was broken. Here was a woman so clearly in love with a man who could, at any moment, cast her aside without a second thought! As if she were nothing more than an obstacle to his happiness and yet, she was willing to forgive him. I sensed her struggle and confusion as she had also written, several times over, she would let him go, if that is what he truly wanted. Even after 33 years of marriage, she was willing to let him go just to make his life easier. I could feel her agony as she begged him to love her again…if he ever did in the first place. I wanted to wrap my arms around her to somehow bring comfort to a heart that was clearly crushed. What kind of relationship was this? It clearly was not one of mutual love and respect. I cringed as I read her repeated apologies to him for the natural changes that had occurred in her body as she aged, none of which can be controlled. Then for her to volunteer to move into another room in their house just so he doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable when he looks at her? Really? What kind of monster is he? Did he really think she didn’t know how he truly felt? She told of feeling his eyes perusing her body as if he were hoping to find something to judge her for. The letter went on to list her suspicions of his questionable behavior and the stories and excuses that didn’t make sense. The words told of her daily struggle to be everything he desired only to fall short of his ideal every.single.time. She had exhausted every attempt to gain his attention. She told of choosing to knowingly nag him over little things just so he’d acknowledge her existence and engage her in conversation…even if it was negative. What more could she do? Should she do? I wanted to tell her to leave this abusive, controlling man, and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But could she? Did she have a safe place she could run? Could she survive on her own? Would anyone help her? Worse yet, would this man even notice if she were gone? Would he even care? This letter was clearly a desperate cry for help. Did he hear her? Who else could she turn to if not the man she had committed her life to? How could she tell anyone else of her suspicions? Could she even prove them? Did she need to? Perhaps she could go to her pastor? Or a trusted friend? Maybe she could find help through one of them. Yet, if she truly felt she could, wouldn’t she have done so already? WHY don’t you see her? You clearly do not know what a rare treasure she is! Oh, Lord Jesus! Please deliver this woman who is so desperate to be loved and validated that she’s willing to stay with this narcissistic man, for the mere crumbs he’s willing to throw at her feet now and then! Then the questions…oh, the unanswered questions that tormented her mind. I could sense her resolve to want answers and yet, at the same time, her fear to actually know them. She told of patiently waiting in anticipation for him to come home from work each night, only to hear his cold and empty excuses for why he was late…again. I could feel her deep disappointment as she wrote of the few times she’d asked him to sit up with her to talk before going to bed…and the only answer received was his deep sigh of frustration and angst for her having the audacity to even make such a suggestion. I am sure she’s felt all these things before now. She’s had to. Hasn’t she? How could she live like this? I imagine she constantly wondered where he was, who he was with, or what excuse he’d come up with next. Has she ever confronted him face to face? Perhaps she was afraid. Perhaps she’s been down that path before. Did she ever tell anyone how he treated her? Could she? Or was she too ashamed? Did she put on a happy face in the morning before she went out to face the world each day? This letter broke my heart. This woman was trapped with no answers to her questions. I’m sure she had many more but perhaps she’d asked them all before. Would they have made a difference anyway? Would she have received truthful answers? Somehow I seriously doubt it. Her words were ones of surrender but I could feel a quiet strength beneath it all. This letter seemed to be her last attempt to reach out to this man she loved before giving up completely. She clearly stated that she could no longer be his doormat nor could she bear his constant unspoken judgement. You may be surprised to learn that I know this woman. In fact, I am very close to her. I know her heart










