My Other Passion, a misc. books fanfic

No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of LaVonne Thompson.

Special Thanks

Special thanks to my grandson, DeVere Peer, for renewing my Microsoft Word skills, as well as for your time and suggestions. Thank you for your collaboration and help.

Thank you to my son-in-law, Louis, for your enthusiastic, in-depth ideas, which get me even more motivated. What stage is beyond a passion for writing?!

Thank you to my precious daughter, Michelle, for your ideas and general critiquing.

Thanks and Devotion

My grateful thanks to God, who gave me the talent to write and the commitment and determination to follow it through. Thank you for blessing my work with two new stories per week!

Acknowledgment

Heartfelt thanks to illustrator/graphic designer, Damith Perera (Damith9393), for your wonderful cover formatting and design. Your work was fast and professional.

Acknowledgment

To FirstEditing, for your help and editing expertise. I appreciate your personal touch and friendliness.

Acknowledgment

In gratitude to Writing Coach, Jerry Jenkins, (publisher, editor and author of Left Behind from which a movie was made) for your mentoring and guidance through your Writers Guild.

Prologue

My Other Passion" is a story based on true events, while other facts and circumstances are purely fictional. The relationship between Lavender and Andre ' is precarious, due to the complexities of a February / September romance; a difference in beliefs, and other forbidding factors. But love continues to grow until it, inevitably, has to end. Lavender is torn between her love and desire for the young Frenchman and her convictions as a Christian. The situation is further complicated by the fact that, as an older woman, she struggles with the loss of her youth. People never really change inside and continue to experience every facet of deep, romantic love. Readers, of all ages, will make that discovery one day.

We explore the progression of friendship turning to love and the emotional turmoil, and grieving process, of finally letting it go. Lavender learns some valuable lessons about self-love, and becomes the strong, confident woman she always thought she was.

My Other Passion

You never outgrow the need to learn lessons about self-love. For years, I suffered with doubts, not knowing my own worth. I looked to others for reinforcement. Speaking in public was not a problem, and I conversed easily, although I never really had a voice until now. I discovered a talent for expressing my thoughts in writing. It became a passion, and the words poured out of me, day and night. I wrote over fifty stories for both adults and children. Life took another turn, unexpectedly. I was about to meet the man of my dreams, who became my other passion. But was I ready for what I found?

I was looking for a representative to edit my stories. I had heard that publishers were more approachable since the sudden popularity of e Books. I mistakenly thought it might apply to editors as well. I contacted them through a chat line and asked for a consultation. It was all done through email until I got a call from André, one of the editorial staff; a stranger with a wonderful voice. After many betrayals, I had developed a strong mistrust of men. So, his tender reassurance manner meant a lot.

We talked for 40 minutes, mostly about whatever popped into my head. I found myself telling him things I didn't intend to say. I wondered how he could devote that much time to a potential client. I was intrigued by how personable he was . "Oh well, he's probably not at all like he sounds. I'm sure he's married, with six kids, and is fat and bald" I told myself.

It was unexpected when he complimented my young-sounding voice and personality and said he liked my name, Lavender. In conclusion, he said, "I am better for having talked with you." I took it to heart, as though he hadn't probably said it to so many others before me. I found his demeanor delightful, and we even shared a little humor. (Some people bring out my comical side.) We covered so many subjects that I finally said, "If I do get to New York and meet you, we won't have anything else to talk about!"

I'd heard about a so-called slush pile, a black hole that many manuscripts fall into, sometimes without being read. So, while I could not afford editor's fees, I knew I needed his help. Some editors review story ideas and determine which manuscripts the public might like. They can also coordinate and plan material for stories. Story editors, or content editors, focus more on correcting grammar and making suggestions for improvement and flow.

The process of contacting various publishers and magazine editors, individual guidelines, submitting queries and cover letters, emailing literary agents, etc., was so tedious, I decided to research digital e Books online instead. But I didn't know if it would effect my connection with André. Working relationships between authors and their editors can be simple or complex. It is not unheard of for an editor to focus on a budding author who shows promise.

I care about people I work with, like the two illustrators/graphic designers, who do the artwork for my books. Natharie and Diyon are very sweet. I consider them gifts from God, and my ability to show them love was an extension of God's love to me. We've related to each other on a human level and conquered any differences in language and culture.

For an editor, I was surprised André's English wasn't perfect. It was broken at times, with a delightful French accent. French is said to be the language of love, the most romantic language in the world. I was never fond of France's sentiment toward other nations though. I saw the country as snooty and anti-American. I read somewhere that France was the oldest enemy among America's friends. The opinion was not against individual Americans, but was deep-seated in their culture. They seemed to think our country is a little barbaric. So, when I met André, I was pleasantly surprised at his warmth. The downfall of bigotry is over-generalization, so I should have known better.

While living in Germany, I would take walks along the French border every day. I never wanted to cross into France. One time, I heard a German guard yelling: "Halt, Halt!" He was in a little guardhouse on stilts. He wanted me to stop and show identification. I said, "No problemo." I hadn't learned German yet and had recently taken Spanish in college. Why not speak Spanish to a French-German guard? I giggled to myself as I walked away.

One time, I saw a close association between the two languages during a trip to bordering Belgium. Because of past occupations by Germany and France, part of Belgium speaks German, the other part French.

At one point, I confided in André that I was a born-again Christian who had accepted Jesus as Lord of my life. He said he was an atheist. I thought, so far, we were batting a thousand; "unequally yoked", with very different beliefs. Yet, we were already forming mutual affection. I learned he was only 29, and I was … well, older.

I was involved in my church, as a prayer partner, standing for a half hour, each Sunday, praying for people's needs or prayer requests, while our music team led songs. I also wrote letters to some of those who had the most serious needs on the Prayer Request List. I had seen miracles happen that I wished I could share with Andre'. Jesus is our present-day miracle worker, but Andre' had no concept of such things.

Then, he said it—he had a girlfriend. By the time I learned that, I was already personally attached and was feeling a special fondness. I had opened myself up to an emotional connection but was surprised to feel my first twinge of jealousy. Perhaps he was reluctant to tell me there was a girlfriend involved, since we had already admitted an affection toward each other (as friends, we thought).

In the meantime, he was having daily arguments with the girl about building a house, before they could marry, a house he could not afford. He said the battles made his head hurt. He didn't contact me for a long time, while trying to deal with his situation. I took the silence personally and began to feel offended and confused.

If he didn't care about me as a client and friend, he was fond of, I might have to leave. That was the last thing I wanted! I asked him, repeatedly, not to let that happen, not understanding what the silence was about or if he had simply disappeared.

Time went by, and he finally called. He asked, "How can I leave a woman like you?" I was happy and relieved but asked him why he worried me all that time. Once he told me about his situation, I assured him that I understood, and could even empathize. I'd once lost a job because of crying at work (over a divorce). He asked for another chance to make it up to me, and I enthusiastically agreed. He worked diligently to keep his word. I was grateful and impressed by his efforts. He thanked me for being understanding and patient and said I had a very good heart.

(Later, he told me he never forgot me throughout the time he had been away.)

Declaring an engagement would normally have been a red flag, a deal-breaker. But in the course of our conversations we agreed that, under the right circumstances, we could become close "friends." That seemed harmless enough. After all, if things progressed between us, we could always discuss boundaries and not crossing a line or going too far. But I noticed I didn't want to refer to his girlfriend by name, because it would make her seem more real. I had convinced myself that, at my age, I was NO threat to her. But was I?

He supported his older sister and their parents, renting a house together. I didn't want to call the girl materialistic. Maybe it was a cultural thing, something I shouldn't judge. But to support his position, I told him I had been married for 20 years and followed my ex-husband's Air Force career. That meant moving 26 times into rental houses and apartments, each time making them a home.

I wondered if he would eventually see her as superficial, or if she would get tired of waiting for him to change careers, get a second job, or win a lottery. I just knew that I didn't want our affection to be the catalyst for her to leave him. He might have resented and hated me for it later. I tried to be supportive of their situation but, secretly, my heart wasn't in it. She had HIM, who was quickly becoming my heart's desire.

Andre' and I went from friendliness, to friendship, to becoming confidants, then admitting an attraction, all while insisting we were only friends. Then, it happened, in spite of my years of

wisdom, concerning men, we fell in love. I was head over heels, crazy in love! HE LOVED ME TOO. I had stopped looking for it, but there it was in living color. When we first came to terms with it, I had spontaneously blurted out, "I think we both know we are more than friends." That is when, through an untitled Word document, he declared his love for the first time. We tried to pretend otherwise, because he was involved. But, our hearts knew the truth.

Most of our communication stayed professional. In our conversations, we discussed editorial revisions and what was promising. We were in constant contact, but we wanted more. We agreed to send private emails so we could express our love in a way that we couldn't by regular business communication.

I sent him a picture of myself at 18, dressed in my WAF (Women's Air Force) uniform. He thought it was so beautiful! I had previously sent a very recent photography studio picture, by way of introduction. A friend _ who is a makeup artist_ offered to do my makeup for the photo as a gift. He said that was beautiful too. I received his photo after sending mine; he was so very handsome! That was the moment I fell in love with his face.

The more we related as people, the stronger our bond became. He brought out my sense of humor, and we would have sweet, humorous exchanges. One time, I said his compliment deserved two computerized emoji hearts, not one. He returned with three. I asked, "Is it my move? Am I supposed to give you four?"

He said, "Yes, of course." I did, and he came back with four red hearts and four flowers. I asked if we were competing, or was this just his sweet self. He said it was his SWEET SELF!

André and I had several things in common, including our passion for the creative process (and later, for each other). We were both people pleasers and romantics. We enjoyed sweet talk and exclamation marks.

One time, I joked that I had tried to pick one of his computer-generated flowers, but it didn't work. I said he had given me fake flowers. Of course, he laughingly denied it. I said I was looking for a pretty flower to send back to him, but I only had happy faces, hearts, animals, and vegetables. So, I sent an avocado, telling him, "Have an avocado, they're good for you. But, don't try to eat it, it's fake." Simple little banter that came to mean so much.

He began to call me "Lovey." Besides its regular meaning, I claimed it to be short for my name. I joked with André, telling him my books were calling me back to work: "Lovey, Lovey, Lovey," to which I replied, "I'm coming; These books are SO NEEDY!"

We discussed mostly business but, at times, we talked about personal things. I said we had an advantage, speaking fluent heart-to-heart talk. I told André about singing in harmony with my sisters for weddings, baby showers, and parties, as a girl. One day, we were approached by a talent scout who offered us a contract to sing on the radio every week. Our mother was pleased but told them we wouldn't be able to attend three rehearsals a week, with all of the homework we had from school. André told me he was proud of me.

I also referred to when I was a teenager and was in the American Air Force. I jokingly asked:"Remember? That was when I was stationed in France and met the man of my dreams." (Of course, I was never in France.) I found a beautiful small bouquet of red roses online and attached them to an email to André. I had read that red roses symbolize love, passion, and confidentiality. That seemed appropriate.

We related to each other as human beings, despite different backgrounds and all of the years between us. A euphoria overtook us. We began to share all of the wonderful sweet names, I love yous, and adjectives we could find. I called him my love, the one I adore, my handsome prince. And I was my darling, my love, and my sweet madame.

In my heart and emotions, I was that teenager in the military, not wanting to miss Mr. Right. I wore my feelings on my sleeve, along with my rank. My reactions and overreactions were like a high schooler. I had been in many relationships, some of which I sabotaged within a month, leaving them before they could leave me. I also found so many men to be jerks. But André was different. I saw him as the love of my life. He awakened an intense love and a sexual passion I had not felt in all those years. I emailed a picture of five jets (with jet streams), soaring skyward, and told him that was what he did to me. I said no one had turned my world upside down like he did!

Concerned that the regular author-to-editor mail might be monitored, I reopened a seldom-used email account and inundated him with personal emails. He assured me I was never a bother to him. But as my messages increased, he asked me to give him time to work. I apologized profusely but did it again, trying to clarify my messages, instead adding many more words to plow through. He said I was very intelligent. Out of embarrassment, I said: "For a smart woman, I acted stupidly."

I wrote a love sonnet for him. It read:

My precious darling, my precious love,

My heart takes flight to heights above;

It sings a love song on its way,

With words so sweet I cannot say;

I take my rest, perchance to dream,

Are all things real and how they seem;

My heart says yes, my mind says no,

Please let it be, our love is so

So that André wouldn't think I was doubting him, I explained that the line "my heart says yes, my mind says no" meant that sometimes I questioned if it was possible our love was a dream… only a dream. Could I believe it was real and rest my mind? Could I be so happy? He assured me it was real." He said: "I love you so much, and I promise to make you happy." His words were comforting, despite the circumstances.

We wondered why we felt so inexplicably drawn together from the beginning. André thought we were together in another life. As a Christian, I believed in only one life, one spirit. But, I could appreciate what he meant; that we had a special connection. I wondered if we were kindred spirits. I read online that when people find that, they should hold onto it; that it can last a lifetime. (Unfortunately, after learning more about the concept, it seemed rather mystical.)

I told him, "Being in love, against all odds, is like winning a lottery and not being able to tell anyone." I joked: "But then my family might have to kill me!" (I asked if he knew when someone wins a large amount of money, sometimes their relatives kill them for it.) He laughed at my suggestion. Well … I had fallen in love, but couldn't share it with family and friends, at least not yet.

He told me that his parents were retired farmers, so I elaborated on my being from the farm state of Wisconsin, seeing small corn and wheat farms and, sometimes, thousands of acres of crops. My family lived in the city but owned land in the country, where we rented pasture land for cattle. I sent a picture of the famous Mississippi River (in a winter scene at sunset) flowing past my hometown. Still flowing, despite the cold temperatures and snow-capped trees.

One day, I told André about a dream I'd had. We conversed by phone and emails, so we had not met in person. In the dream ,we were together for the first time. I was looking thoughtful, because I was concerned that I might look a little older than my recent picture (or that he might look younger than his). He gently touched my face and read my mind. He whispered, "It doesn't matter, my love." I wanted to cry; my heart was melting. I turned to him, and we flew into each other's arms.

We kissed passionately, as if to satisfy a hunger. Then I sighed his name "André, André." "Mon amour," he whispered. I gazed into his beautiful eyes, losing myself in them. My concerns about the changes in my appearance were gone. I felt beautiful and ageless. As our time progressed, it all became more intimate.

In the quiet of my room, I pictured André's handsome face, having memorized each perfect feature. I relived every moment of our imagined time together, over and over again. But, my thoughts were suddenly challenged by a feeling of remorse. My strong Christian beliefs reminded me that if you lust in your heart, you have already committed the sin. André and I had not yet been intimate—but for our thoughts. When I told him the dream, he said it was wonderful and would be a dream for him too. So, the sexual desire was there.

Neither of us wanted to hurt the girl in his life; He, because he had wanted to marry her, and I, because I had been in her shoes. Even if he and I could have been together, I would never have felt secure, especially as more years were added.

Age had seemed like a strange concept I couldn't relate to, until my I was thinking of Andre' and my granddaughter came to visit, bringing her infant daughter. Suddenly, I became aware of how many years had passed, and as the baby began to cry, I cried too. I mourned the loss of my youth, and the man I could never have.

Not only had we met at the wrong time in his life but in the wrong decade in mine. We had to back out of our involvement almost before it began. But, love had taken on an added strength, or so in seemed when I found it impossible to let it go.

I longed to be that young Air Woman again; to have André in my life before I ran the race of time; before the girlfriend existed. But she did exist. She became bigger than life. I felt a definite jealousy but not resentment. After all, I was the other woman. Aside from their relationship, there were the decades I had lived without André. A future together would have been impossible. It was all a dream, a vivid, engulfing fantasy! Nevertheless, love grew in our hearts until we could no longer deny it. Yet, it was just a matter of time before it would have to end.

André had said my recent picture, one that I confidently put on the back cover of my books, was beautiful. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as they say, and time stands still for no one. He insisted that, "Love knows no age." I believed it; I counted on it. Perhaps is was possible in our hearts, where fantasies abide. Our emotional attachment were real. The way our love grew out of friendship was real. But, so it was, with countless others. Every word, feeling, and gesture were shared by couples everywhere in one form or another.

The beauty and romance of our relationship was called an "emotional affair". Were we simply selfish, or the target of cupid's arrows? The fact was, we made a choice to venture outside the boundaries we had set. They say, "It is better to have loved and lost, than … " Well, you've heard it. But, did that give us the right?

Much has also been said about the complications of the May/December romance. Ours was more like February/September, but too many years had passed. He continued to call me madame, then my sweet madame, and my lovely madame. The word madame seemed a little formal to me, but I knew it was a term of respect, particularly to an older woman. It was used to address nobility and meant my lady. In time, it became simply, my lovely (and eventually, my baby). We related to each other as people, not with seniority or a client/editor relationship. It was on a human level, so tender and wonderful. We were the SAME.

When it came to letting go, he was more mature than I. Emotionally, I was still that young WAF, searching for her Prince Charming. In a fantasy world, could he have been a young foreign exchange student from France? Aside from my military service, I attended school at the state university where an exchange program had started that exact year. Would it have been possible for us to meet? In my imagination, thoughts became reality.

But the day came when he said something that made me doubt his sincerity. I was used to kidding with André to make him laugh. He didn't often initiate a joke. So, when he did, I thought he was completely serious, and I reacted accordingly. He said, "I might marry you instead, Lavender. You are pretty well off; you could afford to support me." My mind went immediately to my ex-fiancé, John, whom I practically did support. In return, John drained me emotionally, mentally, and financially.

My feelings exploded, and I measured André with the same yardstick as all the others. I asked him if he had been planning, all along, to make a fool of me. I asked, accusingly: "Was I some kind of easy mark? " All of the past hurts, by men, culminated in that moment. I was feeling foolish and betrayed, fearing he was no better than the others who had hurt me.

He felt offended and misunderstood, thinking I had mistrusted him from the beginning. If André had been serious, my response would not have been an overreaction. We both understood, but the sadness remained. I swore I could NOT lose him over a misunderstanding. We struggled to get past the pain.

Our special communication was crumbling. I called it heart-to-heart talk, because it was between two hearts and had normally allowed us to read between the lines. He'd seen me as prolific and expressive. I saw him as possessing insight and maturity beyond his age. But, now we were faltering, misunderstanding each other's verbal intents and motives. The more complicated the misunderstanding, the more author's words I used to try to unscramble it. Sometimes my speech got so flowery, I wondered if it rang true and sounded sincere. But I was feeling every word. All I knew was that I was a woman in love … deeply, wildly, and hopelessly in love! He was now such a part of me that I felt I would not be "me" without my André.

But now, if he had any questions or criticism of my work, I took it as a personal rejection. I admitted I was being insecure and a little paranoid about the possibility of losing him, so it made me overreact. My emotions ran the gamut, from pride over a young, super-looking, talented, intelligent man loving and desiring me, to being threatened by younger women. I was considered pretty for my age, but that was different from the constant attention I had received all my adult life as a beautiful woman. I'd had a figure to match; a tiny waist and large breast. I was only eighteen in my Air Force photo but looked and felt like an adult. I told André to WATCH OUT; that if we had both been about that age, and living in the same city, I would have pursued him (with marriage in mind)! His reply was that what I said was "all true"; He agreed with the sentiment.

But now. he was backing away, overwhelmed by the avalanche of emails and the sudden miscommunication. I reached out to him, but I allowed the pain to talk for me. I couldn't deal with my frustration over the riff and was resisting a possible end to our relationship. My heart refused to face reality. I held on tighter as I felt it all slipping away. I knew our alliance was hurting God's heart, after many years of walking in loving harmony with him. I knew I had no right to have André, let alone keep him.

Because our emotional attachment began almost immediately, we felt that God himself had brought us together. But God couldn't bless us with an unholy union, one that included taking another woman's man. I desperately wanted her not to be hurt by us. Not only would that be wrong, but with more than three decades between us, André and I could not be together anyway. Our families would never accept us as a couple.

I typed what I thought would be my last email. I wanted him back in my life, but knew I would only suffer heartache all over again, later, if we continued. Still, my heart yearned. The only regrets I had were risking his girlfriend knowing about us, and the mistakes I had made with André. I couldn't make myself regret falling in love. Breaking up is always hard, usually for both sides. In our case, it was letting go of a beautiful dream.

He told his mother about us at last. She scolded him like a child. As a woman, she might have thought, "Not only are you jeopardizing your present relationship, now you could hurt two women!" Or maybe she was simply disapproved. It bothered me to think she probably saw me as the older woman who lured him away when, in fact, the feelings were mutual.

I had kept the affair from my daughter for several weeks. I had always told her everything before. I thought she might lecture me on the lack of wisdom in compromising my morality. I also did not want to disappoint her. She surprised me by saying she was glad I had opened myself up to love again. It had been almost 14 years since my engagement to John. I had denounced the very thought of needing a man again.

My family advised me to put the relationship behind me, but my heart would not give up hope. At the same time, I knew if I couldn't let André go, I would be hopelessly bonded to a man I could never have. When we tried to end it, he asked me if I could go on with business as usual. At first, I said I couldn't; it would hurt too much. But then I reconsidered, realizing I needed to be strong and mature about it. Also, I craved some kind of contact, even if it was only business. Nevertheless, I dreaded the thought of being treated like just another author, as though we didn't have a past together. I felt the need to confirm his love for me.

The last person I thought I could have related to, about the situation, was my grandson, who was almost André's age. He knew my email password, from setting up the account, and in the process of signing in on one of our home computers, he read some surprising message lines from me to André. He told me he had been in a similar situation, so he understood, firsthand, my inability to let André go. But, he cautioned me that our relationship could eventually end badly. He loved me, and was naturally concerned for my welfare.

He tried to take a soft approach to reach me with logic. When my love and devotion for André was unshakable, my grandson became harsh. He called me a "damn home-wrecker." Of course, that made me cry. He then asked me if I didn't care that I was hurting the heart of God. I had walked closely with the Lord almost all my life, and I couldn't take anymore condemnation _ never from God _ but from myself. God saved me many times throughout the years, from an actual drowning at age three, to surviving a near-fatal car accident and long recovery. God's protection is like the humpback whale that tucked a diver under his fin to protect her from a killer whale and sharks that were in the area.

I knew my grandson's remarks were true. He was walking back into his bedroom when the DAM BURST! I sobbed and sobbed, as the realization hit me. Then, I began to cry even harder, rocking forcefully in my computer chair. My grandson stroked my back for comfort, but I was inconsolable. He had never seen me cry, much less writhing in agony! I turned to him and wrapped my arms around him, crying against his chest as he knelt beside my chair. I cried, "It hurts, it hurts!" Love knows no age, and age knows no escape from pain. I called André, and he said he was sorry and that my tears hurt him. Again, letting my pain talk for me, I said, "Not as much hurt as leaving our relationship has caused me!" The next day, I apologized for comparing his hurt to my own. And, he was right to leave.

As people get older, they say life gets simpler. Maybe it is less complicated, since some people settle into routines. But, with every experience we have, I think we become more complex and add more petals to the rose. Sometimes, the result is wisdom, but sometimes, raw emotions. In any case, experience counts, and we are changed.

André allowed me the time I needed to sort through my feelings in emails, to explain misunderstandings, and even to verbalize my frustrations about losing him. It gave me a measure of closure. Part of me argued, "So you made some mistakes; beg him to come back!" But that would have just prolonged the inevitable and maybe hurt the girl in the meantime. I had experienced life from both sides now. I couldn't pass my pain onto someone else.

Losing him brought tears, day and night, with almost sleepless nights for well over a week. André was aware that I was exhausted from lack of sleep, and I was so distraught that it made me physically ill. He tried to release me from it (for my sake) by asking me to forget him and to think of him as a child (to stop the hurting). That hurt even more! He was my love, my prince, my best friend, my confidant, my lover, and even my husband in my fantasies. His request cut like a knife! It felt like rejection, not for my sake at all.

Twice, he saw my pain and tried to save me from myself. I would never harm myself, but was struggling to cope. I wondered if his way was to deal with emotional problems by not dealing. Yet, wasn't that what I was doing, by not letting go? Many times, I had experienced loss_ relationships and the death of loved ones_ and God helped me through. This time, I refused to be comforted. I clung to a dream that wasn't meant to be. My poor, foolish heart.

The more emotional I became, the more I saw rejection around every corner. I wanted to believe his unwillingness to confirm his love was because he thought it would keep me bound to him, endlessly, if he told me. But, I needed to hear it! After the breakup, he had the luxury of still feeling loved by me; I had no such assurance. I cried every day and prayed for relief, from what, the very thing I sought after? God knows our needs better than we do. So it is not surprising when our thoughts are confused. Confusion is of our own making when there's conflict.

My daughter rationalized my situation, by suggesting André merely played a part in a life lesson I was meant to learn. She saw life as one long series of lessons that caused us to evolve into the people we were meant to be. But I knew we had a greater God-given purpose to reach out to others with love. I was warned not to get personally involved with business associates. But I cared about people, and wanted a friendly working relationship. (I wrote a book called People Are People, to show that people are the same inside and worth investing in.)

André and I continued a professional working relationship. One memorable moment, at exactly 1:17 a. m., my phone signaled that I had received an email. It was from André, finally admitting he still loved me! That acknowledgment gave me the reassurance to go on working together. I continued to address him as honey and sweetie as I did even as a friend. For me, it maintained a certain level of familiarity that I needed.

André asked me if I could accept loving each other only in our hearts. I reluctantly said I would try. We had to stop the emails before his girlfriend could ever be hurt by them. It was so difficult closing that chapter of private communication. But she became our top priority and motivation.

My daughter advised me to take part of my love for André and put it back onto myself. In college I majored in psychology, but was lacking in self-awareness. I didn't feel love from my father, so I looked for it outside myself. It was a daily struggle to keep the tears away and force myself to keep from contacting André with countless emails. He remained patient and kind.

Some people say to make a clean cut and stop a relationship all at once (the band aid effect). In my experience, that was cruel and didn't work for me. I always felt I needed men to lovingly help me through the loss and grief. Only one did (a psychologist) until André. But, no one had caused me to yearn and long for him like André.

It was easier for us to "be there" for each other, because we weren't connecting face-to-face. It allowed more room to be noble. In cases like ours, the third party always lookeed better because of a shorter history of faults.

I loved my first husband through twenty years of his multiple affairs. After the first one, he asked me the question: "How do I know it won't happen again?" I took that as my cue to leave. It took two years for me to stop packing my suitcase after every argument. I remembered shattering our wedding picture on the floor and throwing my rings on top of it.

Experiences like that_ and our own moral codes_were the reason André and I had to back away from the affair so soon. We've continued to conduct business, no longer risking heartache for the girlfriend. (I knew her name and had even seen her picture, which I complimented. But, even while he and I were just "friends," I realized it hurt me to talk about her.)

Now, he began to sound distant on the phone. I became painfully aware of how wrong I was to flood his email. When I faced my well-intended mistake, I suddenly realized that IT WAS ALL MY FAULT! I had smothered him with affection and attention; he couldn't work or breathe! The revelation caused me to became completely overwhelmed by regret. My only defense was that I thought it was all for him; that added to the fact that, for many writers, emotions flow like the mighty Mississippi.

I lamented over driving him away. Talking so much about my life was meant to impress him, so he would love me all the more. That was selfish and short-sighted. I felt like screaming from the frustration. I cried, "I didn't deserve you, and now you're gone"! Because I loved him more than anyone before, my heart was more easily broken.

In an attempt to feel close again, and to have a deeper communication, I went to the internet for translations from English to French. I meticulously copied the exact words in French, thinking he would be complimented and pleased by the gesture. He was so glad to hear me speak his language, he wrote sentences back to me in French hoping I would understand. He was confused about why I hadn't used it sooner. It was enjoyable for me to experience him in his former culture and hear him speak his native tongue. I felt like a part of his world.

I carefully wrote the words, "Je t'aime tellement (I love you so much); tu es l'homme de mes rêves (You are the man of my dreams); tu es l'amour de ma vie (You're the love of my life)." I was thrilled to have him be himself and let me see him in a different light. It was authentic and sexually exciting.

Now that I knew he still loved me (and wouldn't revert back to seeing me as a mere acquaintance), I was able to discuss business as usual. God was helping to heal my broken heart. I knew I could count on that, once I was willing to "let go and let God," as we say. Sexual desire is a natural part of God's plan for his creation, but it was designed for marriage, not outside it. Yet, the love and desire continued. Knowing what was right didn't put out the fire!

The girl, he once loved, lied to him about something and made unreasonable financial demands. They argued and suddenly parted ways. He turned to me for emotional support and advice. He said I was the only one he could trust, the only one he had left. I didn't want to be there for him as a spare, a convenient alternative. He loved her a lot, but had grown to love me too. Would I be chosen for myself or as the one who didn't leave him? Life is a process and, eventually, we find our way. It's a journey of self-discovery. We must love ourselves, before we can love others. I had expressed deep love for André often, meaning every word, each one full of adoration.

Sometimes, humor played a part, but not always at opportune times. After sending a flattering picture of myself, he romantically requested a kiss. I, unfortunately, replied: "Sweetheart, in front of God and everybody?"

I wrote many things in French, translated from the internet. Because I used to speak German and Spanish, I wrote, "I love you!" in four languages. I hoped André would see my emails as loving devotion. I realized too late that, instead of bringing us closer, they were pulling us apart. He was so patient and gracious about it, until he became overwhelmed. My messages were filled with compliments;. "Who wouldn't want to hear that?" But, it was like a room full of roses; beautiful and fragrant, but OVERPOWERING. Most men would not have been so patient with my neediness and insecurities (some age-related, but he didn't know that). More than anyone else, God knew my heart. He cares about every aspect of our lives. There are no secrets from him.

In time, André's ex-girlfriend called, still holding the demands for a house over his head. She said she would come back to him if he would build that house for her after all. I finally admitted how I felt concerning her proposition. I called it "emotional blackmail." I had previously seen her as a pawn for her parents' wishes. But, a new house was her expectation as well. I told André I saw it as self-serving and selfish on her part and totally unrealistic.

I asked André to share more of his life with me. He obliged by telling me his sister's name, the foods he preferred, and his favorite color. We each had three dogs and exchanged pictures of them. One of his dogs was a larger version of one of mine. Since his favorite color was dark blue and mine was royal blue, I found an internet flower we could share, one that had both shades of blue. He wanted to see my siblings and parents, so I sent photos. He remarked that I look just like Mom (a definite compliment). Later, I added a 2-way photo of myself, one image being a profile. He loved the picture, and said I looked "yummy." I was thrilled by the word!

One of us buying a plane ticket was not the problem. It was my insecurity about the changes in my appearance. Being attractive for my age didn't equip me to compete with younger women. Even if André didn't respond to them, I would continually compare myself (and worry that André would also). Could it ever last? God only knew.

Unfortunately, as this story ends, so has my relationship with HIM. The reason is clear. There are those who would judge, who would condemn. No one can take what's in our hearts. With truth comes freedom, the freedom to live our lives. But, to most observers, our love was called unwise. I had to go on without him.

Yet, if anyone reading this, finds peace, let them follow their dreams and passion. Some things aren't meant to be (another truth). Having searched my heart for reasons to still be with him, I knew we had to say goodbye. The years had sometimes been unkind because of wrong diet and stress. And I knew, as a Christian, I needed a Christian man. I hoped it would be Andre'. He had not accepted Christ as Savior, but he had expressed a desire to have the relationship I have with Jesus, to have more of what I've found.

Our first breakup, to end the emotional affair, was difficult. Without God's help, this one would have been worse, the grieving process that is similar to death. But, I have grown with renewed strength. I won't, again, sink to the depths of my soul, and cry so uncontrollably as before. It took a year and a half to recover from the car accident that almost took my life. He gave me the strength then, and many times since. His love is beyond man's capacity to love. And now, I love myself!

To find a man, I couldn't have, was not a game for me,

And tasting sweet forbidden fruit was not the plan you see;

I've learned to love, yes love myself, through all the tears and pain,

But, I survived, because I learned, with sunshine comes the rain;

So, love has come to Lavender, the little girl inside,

I couldn't find it, without God, no matter how I tried;

My child within, once fragile, gained power and strength and pride,

And though it was not easy, no longer do I hide;

The name itself means "all grown up", yet seldom could we see,

the hindrance of a broken heart, that now has been set free;

I'll always love my special man; My life won't be the same,

But now, it seems the time has come, to live up to my name.

LaVonne Thompson

The author is LaVonne Thompson, born in Dubuque, Iowa. Ms. Thompson attended Auburn University of Alabama and University of New Mexico–Albuquerque. She is a veteran, and moved 26 times in 20 years as an Air Force wife, including eight years in Germany. She is a former professional marionette puppeteer and performed in Hello Dolly in community theater, playing the second female role.

Included in some of her non-fiction books are bona fide miracles she has experienced. She also has written fictional stories and many children's books.

LaVonne is a Christian and writes letters to those who have serious prayer requests, for instance, a debilitating mental or physical disease or the loss of a loved one) to give them hope and encouragement.

Her favorite Scripture to encourage people is Jeremiah 29:11 (New International Version): "I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, to prosper you, not to harm you, but to give you hope and a future." Those are words she lives by.