My Outer Sanctuary

Message: Read this "HATE letter". It is so funny and creative. This is a love letter from a boy to a girl... However, the girl's father does not like him and wants them to stop their relationship......and so....the boy wrote this letter to the girl....... He knows that the girl's father will definitely read this letter...

1 "The great love that I have for you
2 is gone, and I find my dislike for you
3 grows every day. When I see you,
4 I do not even like your face;
5 the one thing that I want to do is to
6 look at other girls. I never wanted to
7 marry you. Our last conversation
8 was very boring and has not
9 made me look forward to seeing you again.
10 You think only of yourself.
11 If we were married, I know that I would find
12 life very difficult, and I would have no
13 pleasure in living with you. I have a heart
14 to give, but it is not something that
15 I want to give to you. No one is more
16 foolish and selfish than you, and you are not
17 able to care for me and help me.
18 I sincerely want you to understand that
19 I speak the truth. You will do me a favor
20 if you think this is the end. Do not try
21 to answer this. Your letters are full of
22 things that do not interest me. You have no
23 true love for me. Good-bye! Believe me,
24 I do not care for you. Please do not think that
25 I am still your BOYFRIEND."

So bad!! However, before handing over the letter to the girl....the boy told the girl to "READ BETWEEN THE LINES", meaning-only to read 1.3.5.7.9.11.13 (Odd Nos.)

So... please try reading it again! It's so smart & sweet.... It is better to laugh about your problems than to cry about them.

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive-and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding-this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy-a little boy!"

I am afraid I have visualised you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much, yet given too little of myself. Promise me, as I teach you to have the manners of a man, that you will remind me how to have the loving spirit of a child.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Wednesday, August 16, 2006