Pierce and Dispel

Hi Friend,

In his book, The New Man, Thomas Merton writes: “In the old days, on Easter night, the Russian peasants used to carry the blessed fire home from church. The light would scatter and travel in all directions through the darkness, and the desolation of the night would be pierced and dispelled as lamps came on in the windows of the farmhouses, one by one.”

In a similar way, we hope Scattered Love Letters will travel in all directions piercing and dispelling the darkness, loneliness and hostility that seem to be crowding the day.

We hope you enjoy reading these letters and we thank you for submitting many of them yourselves. As we share our hearts with each other may good portions – packed down, firmly shaken, and overflowing – fall into our laps and lives.

Loving You,

Holding In Light


Hi Darling:

I am sorry you’re not feeling well. The Quakers have a practice called holding someone in the Light. For them, it’s a kind of visual prayer, in which with mind and heart you place someone dear in the Eternal’s love and illuminating presence.

I’m doing this for you. I picture you being bathed in a warm, restorative light. Your body moves freely in this sparkle and spirit and in my heart I sense you will feel better soon. It may not happen suddenly and miraculously, but it will happen, I’m sure.

And when you rise from bed, I’ll be there to help you stand, to make you hot soup and cornbread, to run your bath, and dry and oil your back. I’ll stay with you as long as you need because I want you well again.

My, you look lovely surrounded in this celestial light, as lovely as an angel.

Loving you deeply,


Walking in the Rain

Rain on Silos

Dear J:

The walk was wet, with a steady Washington-like drizzle overhead. In my mind I tried counting cracks in the sidewalks beneath my feet, recalling old song lyrics I’d heard decades ago, while reciting all of the ingredients I could remember for pecan pie, but in my heart all I could do was imagine you and the way your blonde hair tumbles off your shoulders in the late afternoons.

I thought of your slender body, your willowy fingers, your intense eyes and your unforgettable smile, and I felt very far away from where I really want to be, which, as you know, is close beside you.

Try as I might, I couldn’t stop replaying looped images of all the precious moments I must be missing living separately from you. I love you more than you will ever know, my dearest. It is hard remaining here without you at hand.

Yours, C



Hey J,

In your last letter you said your spirits rose when, in the light of day, you saw yourself heading east toward me. It’s as clear as a Louisiana sky: I got lucky when I met you. You are one of a kind.

Selena Gomez says it much better:

You are beautiful, like a dream come alive, incredible, a centerfold, magical, lyrical, beautiful. There’s no way to describe what you do to me.

I know how Mr. and Mrs. Albert F. Briles of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, felt the day they drove to a weekend convention in New Orleans. A thief stole their new station wagon eighteen hours after they bought it. Luckily it was recovered, and guess what. They went on to win a second station wagon in a drawing at the same convention (©️ 2002 Ripley Entertainment Inc).

Lucky—you know it.

And that’s how I feel each time I see you. You are a chance find, my dear, or maybe my destiny. William Jennings Bryan said, “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice.” If that’s true, I choose you!