Dear John Letter

Dear John,

For more than 40 years, that sneaky move you made on me has plagued me. We haven't seen one another for many decades, but the agony has not gone away. Were we to meet and talk, you would probably have no memory of that, but my trajectory changed permanently, and not for the better.

Recall the old Suburban? Floorboard holes, no heat, blankets to cover us for warmth on the road to school? We laughed and joked over the roar of that Chevy beast. No one could hear us. No one knew what was up. You used that to your advantage. Do you remember?

After fourth grade, we went to separate schools, and the bus no longer ran for yours. My new school was too small for all that, plus my mom was a teacher there, so my transport to school was set. Your mom asked us to take you to yours, and because someone else from my home attended there, that arrangement worked. We got to see each other, at least some of the day. That made me happy because you were my best pal.

School was rough when you weren't there. Mom told me that was true for you, too. However, to share the car to school was better than no contact. That was my thought. Then that cold autumn day you got sneaky. Not long after that, you weren't part of our school transport anymore. Do you recall that?

Except for my parents and others at home, my trust for you was stronger than for any other pals. You have never told me why that bad event happened or where you learned that. You had known that some classmates treated me poorly, and you had stood up for me to them. That made my trust for you grow. You played sports, and you were strong. But the cold day you entered the Suburban, covered us under a blanket, and touched me where you shouldn't, all of that trust, regard, and even the type of love pals have for one another, ended.

Do you recall my words at the moment? "Stop! Stop! Please stop!" Never had an orgasm before, and that one was dry, but none of that helped my fear of, "Gonna pee my pants!" You just laughed and told me to relax and enjoy myself. When you stopped, the sense was powerful. Enjoyed? Yes, but wrong, and you knew that would be my thought. You should not have done that to me, John. We were ten years old! Who taught you? Always wanted to know that, but never had the courage to ask. Never had the courage to confront you, partly for lack of knowledge of how that event affected so much for me.

John, why you acted that way toward me puzzled me. You knew my parents sheltered me. Were you jealous? You took my asexual respect and regard for stronger, tougher male pals and connected those to sex, and that has never stopped. From age ten, for four-and-a-half decades, your act that was not asked for, led me to have same-sex urges for any guy who was handsome and had a good body. What made that worse, though, do you know? Yes. My love for Jesus. People don't agree, but for me, they cannot both be acceptable.

Many people have told me that Jesus "loves you the way you are," but we must agree not to agree about that. They have many other statements about that, but the way my heart understands God's Word does not allow me to pursue the lust you unlocked that day. What? You don't want to be blamed? Sorry, but you started my dormant hormones, John, then you left me to comprehend what had happened, and for countless years my heart was torn between God and that lust.

Mom, who operated the Suburban that day, passed from cancer before my courage grew enough to address the problems your act caused for me or whether she ever knew about that day. Whatever. You stopped as our passenger soon after. You drank alcohol and smoked and ran around to any party you could. Then you caught trouble for supposed assault on a female. You had to leave your school. Later, word reached me that she told untruths about you, and your record was cleared. As you grew up, you eventually got your stuff together.

Were we connected after that? Not often. That sharp, hurtful memory stays clear, and the good ones before that awful day, but not any of the ones after that day. Have you ever thought back to those days, John? Have you ever remembered how you touched me? Have you ever had regrets about that?

For years and through therapy by many counselors, my urge has been to contact you for that knowledge. They tell me not to, but my heart often becomes restless to know what you recall. "Perhaps," my heart says to me, "to remember those days together would cause John to make an apology, and my tug-of-war between the lust and my thoughts about God could end at last."

A fellow can dream, but that talk won't happen. However, the moment has come for that grudge to stop. You don't even know about the grudge, so only my heart feels the sadness and anger from these years. We were best pals once, John. Now, we don't even talk, text, or FB anymore.

Here goes:

Dear John, you once told me that your early years would have been unbearable had we not been pals. Frankly, school was unbearable for me before you started there in second grade. We had many good years. Then you made a bad move on me, whether you recall that or not. Although that began decades of trouble for my heart and thoughts and acts, you are not to blame for what comes from my own heart. God's Word says that, too. My wrongs come from my own heart. By prayer, my unholy deeds, thoughts, and acts go to Jesus. Jesus forgave my wrongs and unholy heart by the blood of the cross.

To say that makes many people uncomfortable, but my cleansed heart tells me that's how God's Word works. When Jesus arose from the dead on Easter, that proved that Death was defeated by Jesus. He makes me a new creature that does not have to be unholy anymore, John. Even when tempted, as a new creature, my prayer can be for God to be Emmanuel for me. My struggle goes on as a battle day by day, but my sure hope for the future, of a heart that stays clean by Jesus, tells me to let go of my anger toward you. God forgave me, and my turn has come to do the same for you. That must happen.

That has happened now. That happens every day from now on. No more blame on you for my problem.

Thank you, dear John, for the good years, and though we are no longer best pals or even pals at all, be well.

Yours,

Mack