Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Correspondence

Becoming Beloved

I want you to know, I am a person who is seeking information, then I act some times “spontaneously” but it’s always grounded on far more than people think.

But there’s no way I think I could have the courage to walk away from the Kingdom Hall if I’d been in.

So, please know while I was asking what you guys thought, and eventually I believe our thoughts will prompt our actions… Right now we’re all thinking. I want to be included in what your family is thinking. You dad and I coincidentally have been stuck with no time, nor income in the moment that is supposed to be the easiest. Oh well. We know our reward is coming. We stored our riches up in heaven, and he presents the most beautiful children I know (suddenly I’ve forgotten the love of my own nieces which seems to pale in light of your wisdom which those babies don’t have) as sacrifices to God, beyond acceptable praise on his spiritual alter.

Your father is my ‘builder’. (Isaiah 62:5) And ‘do you not know that you people are the living stones being built up as the temple of God?’ There’s a scripture, or maybe that’s two blended. (1 Peter 2:4-5)

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I am simply honored to be his wife, and hold a secret that I wish I could have just been “Angela Marie Glass” if things had been different. Your grandma mentioned it, and I don’t want her to turn on your mom for there not having been the ability for me to have just been ‘me’.

Incidentally, it’s so annoying that I have to wait to even get my identity. Your grandma says, as I always expected would be, that we we not really married. I wonder if I can one day finally get my passport + social security card + drivers license updated maybe they would believe? Although the weird part is I don’t think that’s what she means somehow…? Would I be accused of having changed my name, but not married him ‘legally’ some how? And do they mean in God’s eyes or in the eyes of the Law?

Either way, I don’t bow to gossip and coming back into the South my perspective is different than when I left. “Let’s give them something to talk about… how about Love?!” I’m an instigator.

Your dad and I designed our courtship. I think of him as an architect, and I am his designer. We couldn’t figure out a way to have included our family in our relationship without losing the ability to build a relationship. I always worried for your mom finding out in that manner.

However, the peace I have with it is this: at best I would have shown up on your family vacation one year as your dad’s friend, and it would have probably cemented him and I as friends because it would have shown me the family that he told me “I have to recognize is his.”

Honey, please know those words cut to my heart.

Words make it difficult to explain.

First I could say it doesn’t help that given the name/role confusion that sometimes by habit I refer to your mom as your dad’s wife.

When I hiked up and down through four mountains and valleys over four days with nothing but my thoughts and footsteps — sooooooooo glad you guys didn’t do this, I want to ‘with’ you! — I was thinking of you.

I believe I’ve always loved your father. Something of him sparkled, and there’s something that sparkled in me for him.

But the moment that happened I was young and he had just married your mother. They were over at our house, and he remembers me. Apparently I was what would be perceived as ‘flirty’. Back then as young as I would have been, I was still ‘wise beyond my years’ and would never violate God’s law. I would never have been trying to be ‘flirty’. But see that’s the difference of age. He saw a girl who he must have realized he had an affect on. I came to light before his eyes. Meanwhile, I was giddy. I was raised beside the generation above me, looking up and ahead 18 years being more of partner of my mother than her daughter. (I really wish she could be my friend or mother, I can’t wait for paradise to have her for the first time in our proper roles. I never got to have my daddy, and my mother was never a mother; she is a matriarch.) The Glass family were exemplary, and the Glass boys were our local legends. The way that Derrick’s clan feels like just a mass of energy and boyness, it was like that. So I admired and looked up to your dad. He worked at the literature counter, and I think he’s upset that it wasn’t me but my sister who confessed that she used to go back to get literature to talk to him because she had a little girl crush on him.

I first met your mother at her engagement party, or a party to introduce her and your abuelita to the family (in this sense, the congregation, the family of brothers and sisters). She was so pretty, and I now realize that I instantly honored her simply bestowing the respect I had for the Glass family, and specifically your father (he’s always been the one to stand out, for me and others) upon her. If he should marry her, of course she was worthy. (Insert those “ahhhhhhh” halo angels arrived like sounds here!)

Your mother told me about why her name, though she introduced herself as Angela, was actually Maria. All her sisters being named Maria, with their middle name used to identify them each. In recent years given my love of linguistics (by the way, look up Cognitive Science sometime, that’s what I study, and my discipline as an experience/interaction designer falls into that domain. I would love to qualify to be a cognitive scientist, but I’m sure that means having degrees or something) to learn that your mother and I share the same name. Hers is expressed in the Spanish Catholic cultural manner, Maria Angela, and mine in the Latin (French) Catholic, Angela Marie. That the two names are swapped back and forth or translated to one language or another is irrelevant. Its the same exact name.

Thus your mother was also extremely special to me. It felt magical to me, looking up at them with the only fairy tale princess story eyes I ever had. She was marrying a prince, and the prince had chosen the most beautiful and exotic wife, who bore my name! I felt special because of her having my name. She had meaning, so I felt meaningful.

They came over after that, after they were married, and I wasn’t flirting, but I do remember, now.

I’m so glad we were so far apart in age, and that a sparkle of innocence didn’t somehow become some torrid affair. That wasn’t our story.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way than to have you children.

Jamie is someone I have always carried in my heart. It was Jamie’s 18th birthday that broke my heart, and where your father began to build it back up again. I’ve been trying to write because there’s so much you deserve to know, but it will be literally a novel. Here’s the day I posted his letter, and became attached to him romantically without knowing that it’d happened.

We didn’t date. After your dad found me on Facebook (more details in the story later) we talked on the phone a few times (data aggregation required) and our friendship was the most important to me in those critical moments of my life.

I was disfellowshipped and begun feeling a strange feeling. Now I’d call it ‘being taught by holy spirit’. It was a confusing time. The Watchtower had been my only experience and now suddenly I’m learning things from the scriptures as if every third morning there was a new treasure waiting for me in my mind, and little keys which unlocked the treasure in the scriptures when I sought to easily find them. I’d come to ask a question in my mind, three days later I’d have an answer in my hands, and validation in my life (things that felt like confirmation or some might say ‘signs you’re on the right track’, referring to ‘signs’.)

Also, I was in the middle of ‘my story’. The epic which brings he and I inexplicably together as one, as if God planned it himself.

So the short of it, we never even spent any time together until February when we went to Casa Frida in our tiny fishing village south of Zihuatanejo. That’s the first time anyone could ever conceive of us ‘dating’ and if so, that was the first date.

(There’s a night we went to dinner in Charlotte, before, so maybe you’d say second date, but that really wasn’t a date that was simply the first time we got to meet in our friendship. He bought a bottle of wine, and he paid. I told him a few days ago the truth. I met up with him, but knew that I couldn’t afford to. I couldn’t afford to have dinner with your dad, my friend, much less the wine. Oh, how the wine changes things.)

Our first kiss was the last. I was his from the moment our lips touched. No, I’m no hopeless romantic. I’m trying to tell the truth. It’s phenomenal, and it was worth the wait. I’ve never experienced anything like I feel with your dad. Wowzas!

We walked the beach, delirious, hand-in-hand. Then he told me his named meant beloved, like David.

He knew.

==== Gotta run, he’s up. I’m gonna miss the shower!!!

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