Dear future husband,
You remember the day I first met you, in my daydreams, filling our house with your large love and tugging me from gloom’s chilly arms. The day after which I realized you won’t be God to me and so I grew up. Well, we meet again.
Husband, I am writing to throw off some heavy loads from my heart’s cargo and make it light enough to pass when you do come. And then again, I remembered I had a tag on my conscience from Mandy waiting its day of solemn fulfillment. So here we are. I thought to write to you as I stood under the shower and the contemplations of you rained on me.
Few days ago, I realized how I have missed you: how bad I wanted the slow days to pass so we soon stand face to face. I wanted beards to pull and another body to hide in so I would have some minutes of escape. How funny I remember you may come when I need you so bad. I hardly do when I’m alone laughing hard. Selfish of me. But I know when you come, my heart’s corridors will echo with your loud laughter. I know we’ll laugh hardest together. So I’ve been training.
Husband, last time I wrote a poem. It sits discontent in my book, waiting for a revision – a big deal for poets to do as I learnt from a class – so I’d have the courage to pluck it out for an audience. Perhaps my first ever audience. I said in the poem I am not waiting for you. I hope when you come, you’d be proud of me. I hope you’d be proud as I waited for you, I didn’t live life to wait for you. I hope you’ll sweep me into your arms and throw me up and down as congratulations. If you’re not, well, we’ll have to call a session to hold the discussions. And then maybe that’ll show me you’re not husband because husband will understand I’m striving to live life for only one man, Christ. And husband will come alongside to lead me on that life, that journey to Calvary.
Talking of Calvary, I’ve been dreaming of when we’ll tour the world together doing spoken word. Never mind I haven’t coughed before an audience and I have a peculiar discomfort with travelling. I just know we’ll be that good together. So plan that tour. Perhaps after baby three, we’d hit the road and forget all that lies behind. Or we’ll just do it in our talk, teasing over large glasses of smoothie. I know my imagination runs wild: that’s why you’ll marry me.
And Dear husband, I’ve been praying all these prayers for you. I know you’ll lead my heart into peaceful rest into that of my heavenly Father’s. I pray I’ll be your life’s cheerleader. But when you do come, you should know I’m not all pretty inside. I still have in me deadness daily becoming life because of He who lives within me. I have fears I am afraid to let any human be too intimate to see because, well because, I’ve lived this long life without a man like You…*wink. You should know I come rough and hard rather than smooth curves in places when you trace your fine hands over the body of my soul. You should know I’m striving to die daily and to live fully for our King.
So sweetheart, as you come, I won’t be living life waiting for you and when you come, we will be living life waiting for Him. But I promise to give you a ride to live for. And I promise if you come with that bald chin, I already have the beard oil to turn it into a forest that brush against mine and make me want to bath.
I love you.
Your not-waiting wife.
If you liked this, you may like the You Poem Series.
©M’afua Awo Twumwaah 2017.