Thinkin' About Love

Thinkin’ About Love                

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Some feel that love is simply an emotion. A feeling that people acquire that comes along and sometimes disappears.  Something intangible that may be driven by hormones. The fortunate, they say, are those who have that affection aimed at another that shares the same intensity of feelings. Love is an emotion...

Love is that but it is not ONLY that, at least not from my perspective. It’s OK to disagree with me, I’m no expert. I see love through a much wider lens. I am, presently, writing a standalone novel titled, “Severed Ties”. One of the threads that I have woven within that story is the cord of love. A binding that is more than a chosen feeling.

You see I know that GOD is love. The terms are not necessarily interchangeable but it is an important link of the concept of what GOD is in relation to HIS creation...in relation to us. One of my characters tells the primary character as they part for the last time, “God loves you (Mike) and no matter what or where you go you have that love.” Greg laid both palms on the faded roof of his car. “And one more thing. Love is a cord that is stronger than anything. It is a binding that cannot be broken by distance or circumstance.” 

You see, my character, Rev. Gregory Mainstay is trying to convince his new friend that love is more than an emotion. It is a force that binds everything together. But even after Michael, the main character, has been told those words, he is not ready to take the concept at its full value. No, he had been cut off from his family as a child. Death has taken most of those that helped raise him. Which to him is the ultimate separation. He questions his personal value, surely he is unlovable. He has been damaged by experiences of his youth, and those wounds have not fully healed.

Only the love he shares with his wife and their children seems the exception. Yet he feels that even those cords are frail and can fail him at any time.

How many of us feel as Mike? How many of us feel that we are unworthy...undeserving and that love’s fleeting connection is temporary? Probably most of us to one degree or another. And if love is only a feeling, then surely that feeling can pass to memory.

But I say love is more than just some emotional intangible. Love is an unexplainable force so grand and powerful that it binds EVERYTHING together. Love is the only thing that makes EVERYTHING worthwhile. Love can overcome adversity. And Love binds US all TOGETHER in ways we are unable to understand. Yes, “Love is a cord that is stronger than anything. It is a binding that cannot be broken by distance or circumstance.” Even death is unable to destroy love’s connection.

Though love surrounds us, we must be open to it. I believe that hate doesn’t really exist. Hate is just the absence of love. Just as cold is the lack of heat, and darkness is the absence of light.

GOD is love!

And GOD can lift us, through love, to places higher and grander than our imaginings are able to create. GOD’s love can displace the emptiness of hate that resides in each of our hearts, as darkness is replaced by light.

Those are my thoughts about love and it drives me to try harder, see deeper, and care more. I hope God’s love pushes you forward as well...

 (605 Words) 7-30-2020

 

 

Thirty Years

Thirty Years

 

By John W. Vander Velden

 

There are mileposts in our lives. Things that stand out. Some we recognize in the distance and gladly await, feeling certain of the changes that will come. Becoming a teenager, perhaps, or the day we leave out teen years behind. Some stand out as an award on their own. A powerful statement of accomplishment. Surely none of us will forget our graduation(s) and what we thought that mile marker meant. There are other things that come upon us, some happy others not so much, but they are significant moments in our lives. Some revealed as public celebrations others marks of private sorrow. In truth we share those as well; it is just parts of life.

For me there is a mile marker that comes each year. In the hectic-ness of my days I can appreciate the significance of the marker that picks up a bit of value with each passing. On Monday I meet that signpost for the thirtieth time, and find myself bit surprised. Not by the fact that Jackie and I are still married, but rather that somehow thirty years have passed since that snowy afternoon I committed my life to hers. Or more accurately we committed our lives to each other.

Thirty years. In a world when we witness too many throwaway relationships, somehow Jackie and I have ridden out the storms and become stronger in the process. I have no secret to share. We move forward…together. I guess that says it all. It seems to me that love is an intangible. You can’t measure it with a ruler, or measuring cup, or weigh it on a balance. You can’t reach out and pluck it out of the air and hold it. It isn’t like that…it’s so much more. Those that experience love, real love, are fortunate. But love is more than just the intangible force that can sweep a person away…it is a commitment. It is deciding to love someone, to give each day not expecting anything in return. That is real love. And to find someone that feels the same way about you, someone that has decided to love you in that same way, without keeping score, just loving, is the most wonderful thing that can happen to any of us.

So thirty years is a mark I will savor. I will not wonder about the number of years that lay before us, for I did not begin this shared journey as a young man. But I will take a bit of time and look back at a frightened couple that stood before their family and friends, that stood before God Almighty, daring to pledge themselves to each other…forever…no matter what, and how I feared myself insufficient for the task.

You see, I never doubted Jackie, I doubted myself.

They were not thirty years of only butterflies and rainbows. They were thirty years of life, of highs and lows, of laughter and tears, of joys and pains. Together we have grown, and growing we have learned, and learning we became a bit wiser, and through that small touch of wisdom we understood each other better, and with that understanding we became bound in ways I could never have imagined.

It is love. More than infatuation, more than romance, though romance is necessary, it is more than passion, even though passion is an important ingredient. Love is all those things and so much more. It is reaching the place where you cannot imagine your life without your soul mate.

That is love, and that is where I find myself now after thirty years 

 

(602 Words) 3-15-2019

 

 

Thirty

Thirty      

By John W. Vander Velden 

As Alex lies in the predawn dimness he considers.  To others thirty years is a long time but as he watches the rhythmic rise and fall of the blankets beside him; it seems only a few blinks.  He listens to the symphony of quiet breaths and wonders how he reached this place.  The memories come -- memories of walks on quiet pathways -- memories of their first kiss -- memories of the time she revealed she loved him.  Alex draws a breath, closes his eyes and goes to those times, relives thousands of special moments.  He sees his beloved, dressed in white, coming -- coming to him.  He sees the trembling lip beneath the vail, and remembers that he was afraid as well.  That Saturday he doubted himself – knew he was unworthy – and yet…  The remainder of that day a blur, but it was the beginning – and yet not.

His mind filled with images of so many moments.  In the flood of the past Alex pushes aside the times of heartache.  He understands that everyone faces dark times and hurtful words.  They are but stepping stones to better places and need to be crossed but once.  In the grand scale, those insignificant, for the good outweigh them many times over. He swallows and wonders why.  Why would the woman bind herself to him?  What did she see that he could not? 

Watching as the morning light grows stronger he smiles.  With a gentle touch she would awaken, share this special time – another special instant.  But Alex does not wake his beloved, no, he knows himself fortunate.  For he shares his life with his bestest of bestest friends – his hero – his confidant – the one that saved him – the only one that could.  When the world’s craziness came and it had come often, her arms returned the stability to the chaos.  In her words hope could be found.  Together they faced storms.  Together they raised three enthusiastic boys.  Together they faced loss – together…

And today it would be thirty years – and it was only the beginning!

(343 Words)         1-11-2015

  

 

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Eight

By John W. Vander Velden

In life, most of us would like things to stay as they are.  But life is not stagnant.  For if life remained puddled and un-changing then perhaps after a time it too, like a pool of standing water, would lose the very vibrancy we need. 

There are the changes most profound in our lives, and the binding of my life to another ranks high on that list.  But looking back…and remembering…I can still see that day clearly.  A snowy cold March day.  I remember the snow blowing across US 6, thin white wisps skittering from left to right as Jim and I drove to the church.  The hours standing in a small noisy Sunday School room, the excitement and tension that filled the space I shared with family members and Gerrit, my closest friend.  Strange that on that afternoon someone else would become my closest friend.  Not that I don’t think the world of Gerrit, but he would understand, it’s the way it should be.  Like I said life’s changes.

Much of that day is a blur of hours and events.  But I remember how I felt then…how seriously I took the significance of that day.  To me the vows taken then were forever… Frightening isn’t it.  I think it should be.  I remember waiting at the front of the church for a beautiful woman.  A woman that for whatever reason, foolishly agreed to tie her life to mine.  I remember her trembling lips and all I wanted to do was let her know everything would be alright.  But I was not so young or naïve that I could, in all honesty, make such a promise.  For I understood that in life things change, and no one could guarantee the perfection of smooth sailing in our future.  All I could do was promise that no matter what, we would face…the whatever…together.

That was the promise I made that day.  That is the promise I make each day.  That one plus one is so much more than two.  And a truly bound couple is a force to be reckoned with.

But today I must convince myself it has been twenty-eight years.  Surely it cannot be. 

Wasn’t it just....

Well, no….I guess it wasn’t…

But when I allow myself to think about all the things we faced, all the challenges, all the problems overcome, all the wonderful times, all the things we have done and seen together…well then…I guess…yes, it has.

Life continues to change, and we continue to grow with those changes.  I still cannot promise that everything will be alright, that the future is all blue skies and songbirds.  But I cannot imagine facing… the whatever…without Jackie at my side and am grateful I don’t have to.

So I wish my beloved, Happy Anniversary, and state here and now, that she is the best thing that has entered into my changing life.  Together, my love, together we have all the years that God gives us.  Together we can face any changes that lie ahead.  Together we can look past storm clouds to the rainbow that will come.  For twenty-eight is but the beginning…

(534 Words)  3-16-2017

  

August 27th

August 27th

By John W. Vander Velden

There are those dates that, for whatever reason, are etched into our soul. The month of August has two of those days.  Today is one of them.

So in the crazy busyness of today I take a moment to remember.  Remembering is a good thing…usually.  It honors those who touched our lives but have moved on to better things.  But darkness’ shadow passes over me today once again.  Just a few minutes…just a few.  It is all I will allow myself.  I am surrounded by sunshine and will not dwell long within the shadow.  I push myself to happier memories…effort needed…effort worthwhile.  I allow the shadow to pass over me like the shade of a summer’s cloud.  I have seen it come…I know it will pass…and I remember…wounded once again but not weakened…much.

Mom would have been the last person on earth to admit that she lived an amazing life.  It was not like her to notice…she had things to do.  She didn’t notice things like that.  She noticed the dust that had dared to settle in her living room.  She noticed the weeds that invaded her garden.  She noticed the sniffles of her children…even when they were full grown.  She never noticed how old she had become…never…well almost never.

So I celebrate the life of Nel Vander Velden…and I remember.  And all of you that knew her she was just mom…and that was enough...

 

8-27-2016

Marty Should Have Known

Marty Should Have Known                             

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Marty should have known.  He really should have known that he could never build a relationship with Dannielle.  After all she had been Stanbury High School’s head cheerleader and homecoming queen.  But Marty always loved her, well not always.  Not when he strode around growling in kindergarten with his hands chest high and fingers curled.  Godzilla had its effect on his childhood. Or when he was in third grade playing ball tag with Joey and Steven at recess.  But Marty had loved her since the fifth grade when he was overpowered by golden curls and mystical overwhelming feelings he had not understood then.  Honestly he did not understand those feelings now.  All he knew was that he was in love.

That’s why he was attending Tollen College.  He had the grades and test scores to go anywhere he pleased, but Dannielle was going to Tollen, and Marty was in love.  This first year he had seen her on campus four times, said hi as they passed, once.  He knew she noticed…probably noticed…might have noticed.   Surly she had for Dannielle called him in March.  Imagine that Dannielle calling him.  Well actually, she did not know his cell’s number so she called his mother who passed along the message.

Oh, but the world changed then.  They spent nearly every evening together, well three times each week, studying.  Just to think of those hours took his breath away.  And when he handed her the term paper he had done for her on “The Rise of Nationalism in 19^th Century Europe” she kissed him.  It wasn’t on the lips you understand, but the left cheek is close, isn’t it?  Marty nearly swooned.  Even now the thought sent his pulse racing.  How sweet she was those special days always smiling, laughing at his comments.  But after finals, well, it was …over…kaput…don’t bother me…just who do you think you are?

Yes, Marty should have known.  He really should have known, but he couldn’t help it he still loved Dannielle.  Well, maybe next semester…

(340 Words)                2-9-2016

Christmas is More Than a Day

Christmas is More Than a Day

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Each approach Christmas in their own way.  Our memories are among the many things that shape how we view Christmas.  Happy and sad times seem to come to the forefront this time of the year.  We tie events to the unavoidable date and doing so place December 25^th in unrealistic sunshine or bury it beneath dark ominous skies.

But Christmas is more than a day…present…future…or past. 

I had the wonderful good fortune to know Richard.  He was more than my pastor, he became a dear friend.  Richard hammered that Christmas was more than a day.  Beginning on December 25^th, Christmas was twelve days.  You heard the song.  But it meant more to Richard than drummers drumming, and all the symbolism that song contains.  The incredible events that sparked Christmas cannot be confined to twenty-four hours.  Celebrating God’s gift, Jesus Christ’s birth, is a big deal, but that event seems to lie buried beneath a pile of all the things we are told the season means.

But Christmas is more than a day…more than gifts…more than food…more than football…it is just plain more!!!

Some might overlook that Christmas is a Christian holiday.  As Christians we are pleased to share it.  But we cannot share what we do not possess.  We need to grab hold of Christmas…to feel it in our hands…to roll it over and look more closely…to understand what Christmas is.  How can we minimize that God so loved the world…us…that he sent Jesus to go through all the things you and I must face, to be born in the humblest surroundings.  Christmas…God poured His love into the world.  Shouldn’t that change us?  Shouldn’t we stand breathless at the thought…of God, Master of the Universe, reaching down to touch us?

But Christmas is more than a day…more than 12 days…more than a month…it is forever!!!

December 25^th is arbitrary, for the number on the calendar is irrelevant, no one knows precisely the day of Jesus’s birth.  But the world changed that day.  No, it is not perfect, but in a world filled with imperfect people, without Christ, it would be far less perfect.  For in the darkness there came a light…Christ!  There is plenty of darkness, sometimes we feel surrounded, but darkness cannot make the light less light, but even the smallest of candles makes the darkness less dark.

But Christmas is more than a day…it is a state of mind…

How can we, that believe, not be changed?  How can those that know the story not allow it to shape their lives?  Too easy we just move on, Christmas is in December and next month…well, it’s next month.  If December 25^th is the day between the 24^th and the 26^th, then no matter how special those twenty-four hours might be, our mind quickly moves to more common thoughts.  Any effect Christmas has on us will diminish…until next year.  You’ve heard, “people are nicer around Christmas…”  Why?  What about the season fuels compassion, caring, understanding, patience?  Can’t we carry a bit of those qualities every day?  Imagine the world where every day was Christmas.  A place where people care about not just friends and family…but “others”, those on the fringe, those hurting, those hungry, those lost, those lonely, those we walk passed on the sidewalks.  Christmas…Christ…expects us to care…to really care. 

Because Christmas is more than a day…it is about love…about the ultimate love God gives you…about the love we can share…today, tomorrow, and every day. 

For Christmas is more than a day…

(603 Words)                       12-24-2015

 

Scars

Scars                      

By John W. Vander Velden

There are times when I do repairs, whether it is on my farm equipment or on my home, I scuff a knuckle or something.  I look at my hands and I see scars.  But my hands are not the only part, of this body that carries me about, to have marks.  Surgeries have left their traces along with life’s injuries.  It would be impossible to have reached this point in my life unscarred.

Yet not all scars can be seen.  As we tread on life’s way we have been cut many times.  Cut by others in ways they themselves might not have realized, but those wounds often leave scars.  We are social animals moving among so many others, and not all our interactions have been positive.  Just as we cannot travel through life without bumps and bruises, cuts and scrapes of our flesh, we are unable to live without being cut in the invisible places.  Places deep within our heart.  Often those hidden marks take longer to heal than a busted knuckle.  Sometimes those injuries require years to scab over and become the scars we can live around.

But those thoughtless acts, or deliberate cruelties need not define us.  It takes time and effort to prevent those pains from making us damaged goods.  To prevent deep cuts to our hearts from becoming long festering wounds that affect who we become.  We must not allow the words or actions of others to shape how we value ourselves or how we deal with those around us.

Too easy to lash out, to treat others as we feel we have been treated.  So difficult to reach inside to find the strength to forgive, but only forgiveness can cut out the rotting infected parts of our hearts.  We understand the freedom of the forgiven, but there is the other side, the side most often unrecognized, that is healing of the forgiver.

Each of us carry many scars.  But just as the old wound mark on my foot does not prevent me from walking, a forgiven wound, that has scarred my heart, should not prevent me from caring.  You see I believe those scarred most deeply can, with God’s help, understand and love others more completely.  You see scars are part of life…part of the growing…part of the learning.  Marks seen and unseen that make us who we are.  Each scar a bit of our own personal history…things common yet unique.

As I consider my scars, I do not dwell upon the time of injury’s pain, but place my thoughts on how I have been changed…hopefully for the better.  Healing may leave scars…but scars are a symbol of healing.  They may not be pretty, but we should not be ashamed of them either.  For we are all scarred, cut in so many different ways.  Let us thank God for scars…the healed wounds…and do our best to notice and help others recover from the cuts they may have received. That with our aid and understanding their wounds heal completely and in the end be only scars.

(516 Words)                9-14-2015

 

To Walk Together

To Walk Together         

By John W. Vander Velden

A person does not know the “metal” that makes them, until life demands its proving.  My heart aches for a friend, whose “metal” has been tested over and over again.  When a beloved becomes ill, and the illness severe, actions show strength and strain.  Long hours can become endless days, and endless days can drag on to months, even years.  But real love will not abandon.  Real love bears the burden.  Real love is the walk together, on the hard trails, as well as the easy.  Some face the ultimate challenge, when an ending grows near, confident that the passing does not mark the ceasing but rather a change.  Yet even with that confidence, the pain grows.  For though we understand that it is a walk to the door, a portal to grand newness, to a place where pain and suffering does not exist, it is the door that separates, for one crosses and the other remains behind.  The truest love is shown when two choose, on that difficult journey, to walk together. 

(173 Words)    3-10-2015

In Words Unspoken

In Words Unspoken                                   

By John W. Vander Velden 

I had the joy of knowing a couple, let’s call them “Mary” and “John”, in what some might call their “Golden Years”.  Any that knew the delightful couple understood how they felt about each other.  Actions often speak and we knew just how much love they shared.  However even those blind to the obvious, saw “Mary’s” devastation at her husband’s passing. 

I wrote “Mary” a short note, sharing how I had met “John” and the kindness he had always shown.  You see “John” changed my life.  Each of us have those people – those people that just by living, lift those around them.  “John” was a kind caring individual, a person we would all hope to meet one day.  Later “Mary” approached me, telling how grateful she felt at my kind words.  She had no idea that “John” had touched my life in that way, but not really surprised.  “It’s just the kind of man he was,” she had said.

Years later “Mary” told me a story, of a couple early in their marriage.  Their lives were hard then, as many newlyweds can attest.  And the woman felt things more difficult than it should have been.  She abandoned her husband for another man.  Just left him.  With time’s passing she realized how great a mistake she had made.  Returning to her husband, she pleaded for forgiveness, certain that reconciliation beyond possibility.  But her husband took her back, and told her, they would never speak of it again.  With damp eyes “Mary” said, “And John never did.”

Except for the names this is a true story.

I believe that we should tell those around us how we feel about them.  I believe that, “I love you,” is the most powerful phrase in the English language.  But “Mary’s” story – a story of her life, shows that love – real love – can best be revealed in the words unspoken.

(314 Words)

No Tears

No Tears              1-11-2015

By John W. Vander Velden

He spends each day in the darkened room.  Greg doesn’t need the lamps to see for each curve – each wrinkle – every detail etched upon his heart.  The morning’s drive gives time to think – but these hours are for remembering.  Too young they were told over and again, yet they were not deterred.  The ladder at night’s mid and a race across the county line.  The waking of the Justice of the Peace, words and witnesses, papers signed.  Could that have been sixty-three years ago?  On these days – here as he sat in the shadows – he does not believe.  But grandchildren grown with children of their own speaks volumes.  And yet a lifetime shared – a world built – their world.  Together through the good times.  Together through the hard times.  Yes, always together. 

Greg sits and waits, knowing the facts.  Many times words told of little hope.  Many times told of slimmest of chance.  He will be here – when she awakes -- if she awakes.  He hopes his face the first she sees, and so he waits.

Others come, others go.  The time passes.  Observers might consider the vigil excessive, but Greg knows the truth.  Greg knows the journey shared.  He understands that these hours part of that journey.  Lilly would not demand.  Truth, if she knew, she would send Greg home.  But Greg wishes to share this part of the road, and so he waits in the dimness and the silence – waits for the ending of this ordeal, and to be part of the ending.

He arrives the moment visitors are permitted.  Greg remains until they shoo him out the door.  And each day he goes over the conversation shared.  The day Lilly begged, that no matter what there would be no tears.

(292 Words)

Rectangles in the Grass

Rectangles in the Grass                          

By John W. Vander Velden

I can still see the difference in the grass, for there is a part of the lawn where rectangles are visible even today.  You see, mom loved her garden, and at one time it took up a large portion of the side lawn.  Once a place where many kinds of food stuff – potatoes, cabbages, beans, corn, cucumbers, and so many other things grew, all in straight, though not necessarily parallel, rows.  Dad would rib her how the row spacing narrowed at the far end.  Mom did not always take those gibes with a smile.

Mom’s world had been different than what we know today.  Born across the sea, a child of nine, the harsh realities of the depression and maturing in an occupied country, shaped the woman she became.  She understood the “need”.  Her family would not go hungry.  Though the farm provided the milk and meat, she grew most of the rest.

But mom loved her garden.  Perhaps she understood it as something she did well.  Perhaps she never realized just how many things she did well.  So as she lived her life, wrapped up in the “each” day, the garden was a link – a link to her past – and her contribution to the future.  Everyone needs a link like that.

Yet her garden grew more than food, for each year rows of beauty could be found there as well.  Merry Golds, Cosmos, and Zinnias made up lines of color between the deep green of healthy plants.  Bouquets found their way into our home, but most often the beauty remained in the lines of contrast among the rows of beans and lettuce.

Mom took pride in her garden.  When family friends or neighbors stopped by, they admired the weed free space, where soil, sun, and water produced.  Few left without some offering of the hours, she had toiled the soil, for mom freely shared the bounty. 

The rectangles I see are in the first earth that was her own.  When the newlywed arrived in this country the soil she worked was on borrowed space.  Tenant housing on tenant farms, yet there had always been space sufficient for a garden.  The garden was the constant in all those very different places.  As was mother hunched between the rows with her hands moving among the plants, doing the work she loved.  Mom was forty-six when we arrived at this farm – their farm, and the ownership of the land fueled her gardening to an all-time high.  

But the garden was not the farm wife’s only duties.  Caring for the family, the endless cleaning our home, and a share of farm labor filled days un-numerable.  Yet she loved her flower beds and the garden, nurturing the plants while eliminating any stray unwanted vegetation that dared to intrude.  Each of us look for that something -- that something we can use to create – and mom’s favorite canvas was the soil.

Years passed, and with that passing, the always busy woman slowly became bent.  She fought each year dad required the garden surrender a bit, for a section on its east end would vanish returning to the yard it had been in the past.  A rectangle in the grass filled the space as the tilled world of my mother shrank.  Dad’s illness reminded him – daily – that there was a time for everything, and that the time and labor mom possessed was no longer infinite.  He understood mom could not, on her own free will, cut back her work load.

Little by little the garden shrank – one rectangle after another.  But the grass – the grass in each square, similar yet not identical, reminds of the past.  You see, from the farmhouse’s kitchen window, I can see those rectangles in the grass…

(625 Words)

Love is More Than Four Letters

Love is More Than Four Letters

By John W. Vander Velden

On a cold Sunday afternoon, I watched as a man, well into his eighties, had the arm of a bent old woman looped through his own.  They moved with care across the parking lot of a restaurant -- together.  Those that took the time to observe, understood a lifetime shared.  You see, love is more than four letters.  It is more than words spoken.  Not that words have no meaning.  Not that words need not be shared.  But real love is revealed by simple acts -- continuously.

There are those that foolishly feel that it takes gifts, large and small, to prove affection.  Some feel cheated when they are not the recipient of some grand thing.  And though the sharing of gifts can bring joy, love is more than diamonds.  The patient listening to a day’s challenges.  A supporting word, when confidence has failed.  Knowing that no matter what, you will never abandon.  These are the gifts that carry the highest value.

Some feel that passion is love's only measure.  That physical desire controls every need of those connected.  That with passions waning, the human bond fades.  Surely intimacy is vital to any that seek connection.  The private sharing -- the quiet times -- the together-aloneness -- needed.  Love is more than any physical act.  It is the knowing -- the believing -- and understanding of another.  Those thing only grow with years.  Sharing time and space -- laughter and tears -- achievements and disasters -- with time, can bind two people tighter. Two living individuals, yet teamed to battle life’s wars together.  Each bringing strengths and weaknesses – complimenting – reinforcing – as they face futures unknown.  Those are the signs of true intimacy – and life is their passion.

That old couple understood.  They knew that love is more than four letters…

 (300 Words)

She Came Smiling

She Came Smiling

by John W. Vander Velden

 

She came smiling,

From far away.

 

Separated by need…

Certainly not her choice.

 

Obligations required…time demanded.

The shearing of hearts bound.

 

Long the days parted seemed.

 

Empty the nights alone.

 

Even his voice…each day heard

Insufficient to fill her heart.

 

Yet a reminder that he too longed

For the parting’s end.

 

Longed the touch of hand…and heart.

That distance vanish.

 

Yet for a time an ocean between.

An expanse un-crossable.

 

So left behind he waited.

While duties separated.

 

Returning…

She came smiling.

 

(85 Words)