When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a farmer’s wife. I wanted to emulate the lady in the apron who came swinging cheerfully through the kitchen doors carrying a steaming hot platter of roast ham and new potatoes for the kids whose adventures I loved to read about in the Famous Five.
The Farmer’s Wife was always happy. She was everyone’s favorite. You just had to love her. She was popular; she was treasured; she was special. And I wanted to be her.
But it didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t cook. And all farmers’ wives can cook. I couldn’t grow vegetables either. And all farmers’ wives grow vegetables.
When I was a young teenager, I wore my skirts short and etched my eyes in deepest kohl. I wanted to be like my friend…the one who always had a boy holding her hand. The one who was chosen; the one who was beautiful; the one who was loved. I wanted to be chosen, and loved, and beautiful too.
But no amount of makeup could mask my pimples; no high heels could make me as tall as her; no expensive conditioner could make my hair as smooth.
And even though I was raised in a Christian home, the voice of the world was always louder than the Voice of the Word. I just couldn’t hear when God tried to whisper hope into my heart.
And even though I had a Bible, and knew all the exciting stories it contained, I somehow missed all the wonderful promises that were just waiting to be discovered within its pages.
And I wish, when I was that long-ago girl, I could have read a book like Love Letters from God. Because maybe if I had, I might have heard God whisper:
You will be my special treasure!
Maybe then I would have known that I do not have to be a good cook or grow vegetables to be popular or special or treasured in God’s eyes.
And if that book had been mine, I would surely have cherished every letter that bore my name, and claimed every promise when God told me:
I have chosen you!
I will hold your hand!
I have loved you with an everlasting love!
And maybe if I had truly believed those wonderful words, I would not have needed to strive to be beautiful in the eyes of the world. Because surely then I would have understood that I am chosen by One whose enormous love for me would last beyond all my time; whose strong hand would always hold on to mine; and in whose eyes I am beautiful indeed.
But it is never too late. And that is why I wrote the book—so God’s letters could be read, so God’s promises could be claimed, so God could gently whisper hope into our hearts.