Exceptional The letters continue. To My Secret Admirer #4 by Sally Law

~**~  “Love is not about how many days, weeks or months you’ve been together, it’s all about how much you love each other every day.” – Unknown ~**~ Katharine Hepburn in Me : Stories of My Life~ Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get — only with what you are expecting to give — which is everything. Dear Will, I am elated with pure joy! You have more self-control than I do, my good man. I can't believe you didn't wake me tonight. I must've just missed you, as I can smell your heavenly cologne still lingering in my room. I melted when I saw your name at the bottom of the letter. How did I not know it was you? I think you were voted the most eligible bachelor at Southside just recently. I'm glad to hear you have had me in your sights and in your heart for some time. Sweetest man, I love you so much! Nothing about your past makes me want to run away from you, only towards you. How I ached for you as I read how hurt and ashamed you felt when your wife left. I'm confident your shame was more resembling embarrassment. You did nothing shameful, Dr. William Fisher. Please know, I would never do that to you. God put you in my path that day in the spinal rehabilitation clinic, and I do remember how depressed you looked when I first laid eyes on you. (I knew I could coax a smile out of you sooner or later.) Honestly, I don't know if I would have ever recovered from such tragedy. Your faith in God surely played a big part. Now, by your example, you motivate me and so many others with our physical challenges. You're in a wheelchair right now, and it doesn't seem to bother you one iota. You move around the physical therapy gym like a ballet dancer on wheels. After hearing your story, I can appreciate why you gave me your soulish offering first, your deepest true self. Your capacity to love has already transcended the guarded walls of my heart. I surrendered to you early on, lest we forget. You won me with your words and thoughtful gifts--all of your love tokens so precious to me. Is this impossible love even heard of anymore?  The answer to your question is--yes! I accept you, Will--all of you. I kiss your wounds and sorrows, and take them as my own. You don't have to carry those things alone anymore. Lay all your fears aside. I don't know what the future holds for us; but I know for a fact, God keeps us in His care. If you are in my future, that's all I need to be content. I'm not a fussy girl who needs anything more than to take your hand and go into an obliging field and speak our vows.  As soon as I see you, could we please venture outside to the solarium, so that I may tell you these things in private? I certainly hope you have some free time today. I want us to keep writing love letters and create a book of love. Maybe our children, whether adopted or biological, will sit and read these letters and think how corny we were. But, my hope is that they will walk through life secure in the fact of our mutual love and how it overflowed to them. For I do love you, so very much. Yours forever, Kristin xoxoxoxo {Redeemable today.} PS~ The rose painting is stunning!  How talented you are. Hmm... it reminds me of the mural in the hospital lobby. I love the chocolates--or correctly stated, loved the chocolates. I shared them with my nurse. Really-- I did! *************** Captain John Lewis slept soundly in the hospital bed that night, his heart satisfied. His only son, Will, was in love and had found his soul mate at last. Today was to be an important day. His Navy dress uniform was neatly hung and freshly pressed, his cream-polished shoes sitting in his closet. Two boxes were secured in his drawer safe, and had been waiting for this occasion. One was his most cherished possession--a hand-carved box containing love letters between him and his wife, Sarah. He had won her heart with these; and at times when he re-read them, he felt her presence once again. He imagined her watching their son with misting eyes. The other box was velvet, and much smaller. To be continued . . . . Recognized Author Notes

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