I Started a Journal for Him

It kept showing up on my FYP—videos of women writing letters to their future husbands, journaling for someone they hadn’t met yet. I’d scroll past them, smiling a little, but also thinking, that’s cute… just not for me. I felt too old for it. Too realistic. Too… tired, honestly. But something kept pulling at me. Not out of desperation or loneliness, but from this place that felt deeper, more rooted. Almost like God was nudging me, like He was saying, “You have something to say. Write it.”

So I did.

I sat down last night with a journal I hadn’t used in months and started writing to the man I haven’t met yet—or maybe I have, and I just don’t know it. It felt strange at first, like I was trying on someone else’s shoes, stepping into a version of myself I wasn’t sure I was allowed to be. But once the pen hit the page, something in me settled. I felt grounded. Soft. Open. Like I had finally made space for the kind of love I’ve been praying for. Not begging for. Not obsessing over. Just praying for, with open hands.

I wrote him a letter. I told him about my day. About how my dad is recovering from surgery, and I’ve been helping around the house, doing things I don’t normally do—mowing the lawn, catching up on laundry, going through old boxes in storage. I told him how it made me realize the kind of life I want to build. A peaceful one. One with shared rhythms and quiet joy. I told him I don’t know where or when we’ll find each other, but I already pray for him like he’s real. Because I know he is.

I told him about my son. About how he’s starting to talk more and make me laugh in the most unexpected moments. I told him that being a single mom has made me more patient, more resilient, and also more in tune with what love is supposed to feel like. Safe. Steady. Sacred. I wrote to him from a place I don’t always show the world—the part of me that has so much love to give it spills out in the middle of the night. The part of me that still believes in tenderness and choosing each other over and over again. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

And I prayed for him. That he’s healthy. That he’s healing too. That God is shaping him into a man who knows how to lead with gentleness, not ego. That wherever he is, he’s starting to feel the stirrings in his spirit too—that quiet knowing that someone is being prepared for him.

It reminded me of this verse, one I’ve read a dozen times but hits different lately: “Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desires.” (Psalm 37:4, NLT). I used to read that like it was a transaction—love God, get what you want. But now I see it differently. I think when we align ourselves with God, He plants desires in our hearts on purpose. I don’t think I’m silly for wanting this anymore. I think I’m responding to something He wrote into me from the beginning.

So yeah, I started a journal for a man I haven’t met yet. And no, I don’t know what’s going to happen or how this will unfold. But I do know this: love is worth preparing for. And I want to meet him with my heart already softened. Already open. Already writing.