Love
- The Split Prayer
- Sep 27
- 5 min read
It’s 5:13. I’m leaving the house and headed up the mountain. I’m destined for Our Lady of the Sierras. I have got to get this letter finished so I can put this to rest. I have to say everything. Tell you everything. Leave nothing unsaid.
So when it’s done, and you read it, you’ll know everything.
It’s just barely becoming light as I sit up here underneath this 50-foot cross. I’m not sure at what point I latched onto this, but I do associate you with the sunrise. Maybe it was always the sun emojis. Maybe it was just how excited I was when you would message me first thing.
As if I were the first thing you thought of that day.
I need you to know how much I love you. I need you to know that you have become my sun and I would revolve around you forever if you would let me.
There is something about your gravity that year after year, time after time, pulls me back. It’s unexplainable but so beautiful.
There are so many things I could say I love about you and the person you are—the woman you have become since I met you at 19. It’s been incredible to watch you grow over the years. Only getting glimpses from time to time. But nevertheless, incredible.
You somehow managed to go from the very cute cashier to such a stunningly beautiful woman. Inside and out. You’ve turned into this incredible woman who takes chances and has ambitions, but also stands as firm as she can in her faith and values.
I hope you see some of the same things in me.
Before the sun crests up and over the mountain, I also need you to know that I’m well aware we made some mistakes along the way this time. We didn’t always stick to the values we say we have, but they are still there. And hopefully we’ve learned from them.
All I can say is I was so in love with you and wanted to do anything I could to show you. Right or wrong, that’s all I wanted.
The way you looked at me—in person or on video—I’ve never felt that before. I’ve never felt so seen or understood.
There is a gentleness in you that I love.
It comes out of your eyes, and when I look in them, all I can think is, that’s what I want. Now and forever.
Ahhh, there’s the sun. Up and over the mountains and through the clouds. It’s so beautiful.
I wish you could see it with me.
This letter is about hope. It’s about hope for a love to come back. A love I know is real because I felt it. A love I know is real because I gave it back just as hard.
I know we’ve said this many times over the last months, but I do hope God brings you back to me. That’s where the split prayer comes from. It’s a genuine hope and prayer that you get exactly what you need and ever hoped for out of your marriage.
I love you so much and want that for you—never wanting you to go through any more pain.
But it’s also the silent prayers that I can’t help but selfishly pray hoping you come back.
Wishing with all my might that I could love you the way you deserve.
I love that you gave me the freedom to be expressive. Something about you allowed me to open up in ways I haven’t ever done. I felt comfortable having my heart an open book for you and I’ve never felt that way. It allowed me to dig deeper than I ever have.
I know it sounds silly, but I am an artist at heart. I long for the opportunity. You gave me freedom to do that—to be creative, whether it was walls of text in the middle of it all, or poorly played songs in voice notes, or this blog.
I haven’t used any of that creativity in so long and you drew it out of me.
I wish I could write you love letters and play you songs until the end of time.
I know they would get better and more happy as time went on.
Thank you for allowing me that freedom of expression and for listening to or reading my words—at least giving them the time of day.
The sun is fully up now. I’ve been up here quite a while. I’m going to end with something intensely beautiful and then that will be it. Maybe we’ll see each other again, and if we do then this won’t be the end. But if not, at least it’s a picture of the love and hope I saw.
I hope I paint the picture correctly.
I wish so badly you could have been there.
Again, the other morning I was in the garage working out. It was early and the sun wasn’t quite up yet. But like I do most mornings, I opened the garage door and peeked out at the coming sunrise. I could tell by the low clouds that it was going to be stunning.
Little did I know my son was also up early and had been watching it from inside, waiting for it to come up. I went back to my workout for a bit when he popped his head out of the door and said, “Daddy! Let’s look at the sunrise.”
Without hesitation I picked him up and held him in my arms. We looked out at that sunrise as it unfolded, never putting him down.
We saw all the beautiful shades of pink, yellow, and orange coming through the clouds and rain off in the distance.
We stared at it together for a long while and just as the sun began to peak over the mountains I turned to him and said, “There’s the sun!”
And in that moment I saw him, my beautiful boy — and through him, I saw you.
Your sunlight reflected in his blue eyes.
A wave of pure love hit me and the tears welled in my eyes. He continued to stare at the sun as I kept my eyes fixed on his.
There I was, staring at the two things I love most in this world.
The future I have desperately wanted—him and you.
You were there in his eyes, carried in the reflection of the sunrise. A vision of everything I could ever want or hope for.
For the last time, this time, I love you.
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