Letters to My Dearest
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I sit down with a pen, or a pencil instead.
I open my diary and start writing a note,
To a man I know not, and for a long while won't!
I write to My Dearest, my darling, my love,
I write him of hopes, dreams, and the Father above.
"Your Dearest?” you ask, “Pray tell, who is he?”
It is he who one day my husband shall be.
“You write to someone that you don't even know?”
'Tis true and for certain, yet quite of'tn I do so.
I write him in laughter, or I write him in tears,
I write him of joys, or I write him of fears.
I write him to tell him about that very day.
To recount what I've been doing while he is away.
He's somewhere away, just where, I'm not sure.
But I've kept myself for him, in every way pure.
I'm too young to court, and far too young to wed.
Yet like every young maiden, sometimes I would like to have said,
“Goodnight now, My Dearest, I love you so!”
Yet there's no one to say it to, for I don't have a beau!
Nor do I want one, at least not 'til I'm older,
And God's timing is perfect, as He touches my shoulder
And says, “Now he's here dear, Your Dearest, so faithful.
Go now, and marry! I know he'll be thankful
That you've kept yourself pure, and have waited on Me.
So here's My perfect choice, for you, and for he.”
So until then, I continue writing letters and praying.
Telling him that I love him, so I'm patiently waiting.
The next few years will probably fill pages and pages
With longings and questions as I go through life's stages.
So, until I am married, I'll wait for God's best,
And continue writing more letters, to my own Dearest.
*By Anna Naomi Lofgren, April 26, 2006*