Faith, Love, and and Sacred Farewell

                                             The Sacrifice of Isaac, c. 1598 - 1603, Caravaggio

This is a letter from Jacob to Rachel, the girl he met at church—the girl who made his heart race in quiet moments of shared faith, the girl he loved in whispers and unspoken prayers. Their souls had found each other in fleeting glances, in late-night reflections, in the warmth of belief, but in the end, love was not enough.

Rachel chose a path that did not lead to him. She chose the Lord, her family’s wishes, and the man they deemed right for her— Nathan.

When Jacob learned of her decision, the pain was sharp, an ache that settled deep in his bones. At first, he mourned for himself, for the love lost, for the dreams that would never unfold. But then, his sorrow turned to her—wondering what it must feel like to wake up beside someone the world had chosen for you, not your heart. He questioned what kind of courage it took to walk away from one’s truest desires in the name of faith, in the name of obedience.
And so, Jacob wrote to Rachel—not to ask her to change her mind, not to beg for what was already lost, but simply to let his heart speak one final time. To tell her he would love her from afar, that he wished her happiness, and that in another life, perhaps, love would have been enough.

Provo, Utah

December 13 2024

Dear Rachel,

I don’t know if these words will ever reach you, but I need to write them anyway. Maybe for you, maybe for myself—maybe just to give my heart a place to rest.

When I learned of your decision, my first feeling was heartbreak. Not just because you chose someone else, but because I had hoped—deeply, foolishly—that love would be enough. That what we shared, however brief, would be strong enough to stand against the expectations placed upon you. But I see now that love, no matter how true, sometimes isn’t the loudest voice in the room.

 

And yet, beyond the pain, I feel gratitude. I wanted to take a moment to thank you for everything—for the time we spent together, for the lessons you shared, for simply being who you are. It was an absolute blessing to have crossed paths with you.

 

I’ll always remember the gathering we had with Ruth in the garden behind the church. Your words on how much the Savior meant to you that day touched my heart deeply. I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost in that serene moment, and for that, I will always be grateful. Though I may have declined some of your invitations to meet even just as friends, please know it was never out of a lack of appreciation for your efforts. But how could I say yes when, whenever I read the scriptures, I kept thinking of you? Your kindness, your faith, and your dedication have cast a spell on me—like the way Ruth's heart clung to Naomi, knowing that where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay.

 

Now, as you step forward into this new chapter, I want to share something I’ve learned along the way. Life, faith, and love—they are never as simple as they seem. It takes immense courage to embrace who we truly are, without fear or shame. I sometimes wonder if you ever struggled with that—if your heart ever whispered one thing while the world around you demanded another.

I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt to think of the life you’ve chosen, that you have chosen Jediah. But more than that, I hope it brings you peace. I hope you wake up each day knowing you are loved—not just by those around you, but by God, and by the quiet, distant love I will always hold for you.

 

In the words of our favorite singer, Taylor Swift, "You've got no reason to be afraid. You're on your own, kid. Yeah, you can face this." And with God by our side, there’s no mountain too high to reach.

May the Lord bless you abundantly, Rachel. You are a beacon of light, and no matter where life takes you, I have no doubt you will shine.

With love, gratitude, and a quiet goodbye,

 

Truly yours,

Jacob

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." – John 13:34 (NIV)

 

 
Epilogue

Rachel held the letter in trembling hands, her eyes tracing each word as if she could hear Jacob’s voice whispering between the lines. She felt the weight of his love, the sorrow woven into his every sentence, the quiet longing that stretched beyond what could ever be.
Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest. Her heart ached—not just for Jacob, but for the part of herself she had silenced.

She took a deep breath and, with a heavy heart, folded the letter once more. Slowly, she walked to the small wooden box by her bedside, lifted the lid—and then stopped. No. She couldn’t keep it.
With one final glance, she stepped outside, where the cold wind nipped at her skin. She held the letter over the firepit, hesitating only for a second before letting it fall. The paper curled, darkened, and turned to embers, carrying Jacob’s love into the night.

“I hope you can forgive me,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the crackling flames. “But I’m doing this for myself.”
She wiped away the last of her tears, turned on her heel, and ran—ran towards Nathan, towards the life she had chosen. Without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms, letting his warmth surround her, grounding herself in the choice she had made.

And just like that, Jacob’s love became a memory, a quiet echo of what once was, now lost to the wind.

Image source: Wikipedia