It is a love story across continents. I’ve never been this publicly passionate about it. Today I am. I have come forward because of your sweet nagging. For you said if I truly love you, then I should declare it publicly. Dear, what I want you to know is that, I truly love you and no one else comes between us. I am not afraid to let people know. I am not ashamed either. I must say however, that I’ve never even talked to my family about you. I am not sure, at least not yet, how they will react to it; that I am in love with a foreigner, a Jew. I remember how your family reacted when you told them you were in love with me, an African. To them, a Jew should have nothing to do with a Gentile. But your determination and persistence finally won some of them to your side. Until now, very few were pleased with the union. Whilst thinking about how to disclose our love story, I still sometimes wonder why an amazing beauty like you has chosen to love a wretched, disobedient person like me. I have to admit; sometimes I still think it’s a dream. Thinking of the first time we met; that gloomy Friday morning in Jerusalem. The circumstances under which we met and how you did not care who I was, what I had or what I did. You saw in me what I’d never seen in myself. When I told you I was from Africa, you seemed the more interested in me. You told me you had been to Africa before; how your parents took you here when you were still very young. Even though you did not remember anything about Africa, coming here again, to you, was a must. I still remember your last words to me before I left Jerusalem, “I am with you in spirit, till we meet again”. They almost made me cry. Ever since I fell in love with you, I’ve been lamenting over what I had been missing, all the years before. Being in love with you opens my eyes to certain responsibilities. I try to do certain things, in fact, everything with you in mind. I always ask myself, if you were around, would you like what I’m doing? Would you join me? What part would you be working on? The more I get to such responsibilities, the more I feel protected, even in your physical absence. Indeed, we are meant to be together. Dear, how soon will it be, before we meet again? You promised me that you will come again, but you could not tell me when. All you said was, “very soon”. I’m always tidying my house because of that, trying to change those parts of my life you frowned on, trying to pretend as if I’m worthy of having a wonderful friend like you, trying to… oh, I’m trying. I told you I was in Jerusalem to witness the execution of two of my friends. That didn’t scare you. You however told me to try not to be like them; and that’s all you wanted of me. I do not know when you are coming, but I’m working hard not to disappoint you, when you finally do. I do not want you to be surprised, that even my closest friends have never heard about you. I do not want you to frown at the places I go to, on Friday night. I do not want you to close your eyes at the things I watch. I do not want you to be left out of the kind of conversations I have with my friends. I do not want you to want to burn the cloths I wear. I do not want you to want to change what I do for daily bread. I do not want you to wonder at what I do on Sunday morning. I do not want you to find me unfit to go back with you. But until you come again, I shall be yours and yours forever. I love you, Lord Jesus. I truly do.