Dear Jim,
Last night you pleaded with me to prove my love for you.
You said that when two people love each other as much as we do, it's only natural to share that love completely.
You were very persuasive. And because of the deep feelings I have for you, it was hard to deny you.
For hours after I left, I was afraid of losing you, afraid that I had made a terrible mistake.
But today I am thankful from the depths of my heart that I did not give in to you. I am so relieved that I don't have to bear the terrible burden of having lost my virtue.
In the middle of the night, I got up and opened the B. of M. to a verse that I somehow remembered where Mormon is writing to his son Moroni. I could really feel his horror and sorrow as he told of the terrible cruelty of the Nephite soldiers to the Lamanite maidens. Many of the daughters of the Lamanites had been taken prisoner, he said, and deprived of that which is most dear and precious above all things--which is chastity and virtue. These words of Mormon "that which is most dear and precious above all things--which is chastity and virtue" came powerfully into my mind last night. I read them over and over again.
I wonder if I could help you understand just a little what you were asking.
You are so proud of your new car. What would you say if someone asked you to give up your car as proof of your affection for her? You would think she was joking. If she persisted, you might question her motive or her sincerity--yet you could get another car.
But how could either of us ever know if we would be willing to pay the price, the terrible cost of restoring virtue, yours as well as mine.
Last night you asked me to surrender my purity and self-respect for a few minutes of excitement and pleasure for yourself. Your talk of my proving my love for you was a bitter mockery.
If you really love me, you'll have to prove to me that virtue means more to you than pleasure, that you think more of "us" than you do of yourself.
Elizabeth