John was my Abelard. He was a lover, friend and teacher.
His language of expressing love was touch; he withholds words and saves it for last. He watches time and makes plans but gives this up when needed. He is passionate and intense, but balances it with gentleness, and thoughtfulness. He loves the mystery of romance, the thrill of solving puzzles and chasing after his beloved.
He was my best friend, ally and cheerleader. I can call him anytime for support and prayer. He is honest when he sees flaws. He counsels and corrects listens and respects.
He has taught my heart to be open and prepared me to meet other knights. Yes, he was often jealous but is aware that friendship with them can contribute to my growth. He taught me to dance by following his steps, keeping the right posture and swaying to music. He provoked my thoughts with intellectual words and saturated my heart with his stories.
Yes, I remember his stories. Here are some which we shared.
I was travelling the road to unknown when I encountered a traveller who looked familiar.
“Do I know you, Mr. Familiar?” I approached the guy who was busy with his map, figuring out which direction to take like myself.
He flashed a smile. Folded his map and kept it in his pocket, grabbed my hand to walk with him to the North. “Well yes, My Lady. I’m your guide to where you’re going.”
I was surprised with his confidence to hold my hand, yet let him do so. I walked in the same direction as he took while he kept talking about where he’s from and what he used to do for a living. Same with me, he was travelling to unknown and I felt like I can keep his company. He seemed fun, and carefree, and light hearted – not a burden to walk with at all. I noticed his heavy footsteps though, which I think can slow me down when I want to dash off. But unlike me who carries a handbag full of personal necessities, he travels light just carrying his map. All other things he seemed to need was in his head – and that consists of all his experiences from previous journeys.
I never told him why he looks exactly familiar. The truth is, he looked very much like the prince.
We passed by a garden one day and I saw a beautiful flower. I asked him to stop and appreciate it for a moment. I just loved flowers, and I can name them from acorn to zinnia! A random question then came to mind when gazing at that precious sight: “Will you pick up the flower, John? Or leave it to grow there for others to see?” To my surprise, he looked for clay to make a pot, and put a soil there. He uprooted the flower and moved it to the pot. That was a good move, I thought! Now we had something to look after in the journey. That little flower gave us a break when we’re tired; watering it gave us reason to pause.
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I had to dash off, scout if where we’re going is the right direction. He preferred to stay behind and set-up a tent. His wings we’re still recovering, he said. He gave me a feather instead and asked me to keep it. It should remind me to pray before I even think about calling for him. He looked cool despite what I mentioned that I may not come back. But I felt in his embrace how he would miss me. I know for a fact that I will, too.
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To be continued…
Related story from the blog: His Name is Luke.