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On love, loss, and longing
Saturday 1 August 2026 at 19:10
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Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday 3 August 2026 at 13:58
On love, loss, and longing.
On Sunday morning my wife and I set off for breakfast at the Duck Bay Hotel. We always aim to arrive for 9 a.m., before the tourists fill the dining room and the peaceful atmosphere gives way to the bustle of the day. It has become something of a ritual for us. With my immune system weakened by chemotherapy, these early outings allow me to enjoy the beauty of the world while avoiding the infections that crowded places can so easily bring.
After breakfast we wandered around Luss, a village I never grow tired of visiting. No matter how many times I walk its narrow streets or stand by the shores of Loch Lomond, it always seems to offer something new to notice or ponder. This time, after chatting with a delightful young couple from Malta, my thoughts drifted towards the wonderfully expressive words that exist in some languages but have no direct English equivalent.
Before I get to that, though, something else caught my eye.
Along the beach stood metal railings covered with padlocks. Hopes hung from its branches of lockets, each one placed there by a couple who had wanted to declare their love permanent. It reminded me of a young man I once met who had an anchor tattoo on his leg.
"Were you a sailor?" I asked.
"No," he smiled. "It used to be my girlfriend's name. When we split up, I had an anchor tattooed over it."
Curious, I pointed to the tattoo on his other leg.
"Same story," he laughed. "Another relationship. Another name covered up."
As amusing as his answer was, there is a quiet lesson hidden within it.
Those locks on the railings are much the same. Each one was fastened with hope, with promises of forever, perhaps with laughter and dreams of a future together. Yet how many of those couples have since gone their separate ways? The locks remain, silent witnesses to love that once burned brightly but eventually faded. They have become monuments, not only to romance, but to the fragile nature of human affection.
Then my thoughts returned to Malta and to a beautiful Maltese word xoqqa.
There is no simple English translation. It speaks of a deep longing or yearning for someone or something absent. It is more than ordinary missing; it carries emotional, even spiritual, overtones. It is the ache that lingers when the heart still reaches for what is no longer there.
How many of those who once fastened a lock on the bonny banks of Loch Lomond now carry a xoqqa within them? How many young people today live with that same quiet yearning for someone they loved, someone who gradually grew distant, until love turned cold and only memories remained?
Perhaps that is why places like Luss never fail to make me think. Amid beautiful scenery and peaceful waters, they gently remind us that while landscapes endure, human hearts are forever learning the difficult lessons of love, loss, and longing.
"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." — Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)
On love, loss, and longing
On love, loss, and longing.
On Sunday morning my wife and I set off for breakfast at the Duck Bay Hotel. We always aim to arrive for 9 a.m., before the tourists fill the dining room and the peaceful atmosphere gives way to the bustle of the day. It has become something of a ritual for us. With my immune system weakened by chemotherapy, these early outings allow me to enjoy the beauty of the world while avoiding the infections that crowded places can so easily bring.
After breakfast we wandered around Luss, a village I never grow tired of visiting. No matter how many times I walk its narrow streets or stand by the shores of Loch Lomond, it always seems to offer something new to notice or ponder. This time, after chatting with a delightful young couple from Malta, my thoughts drifted towards the wonderfully expressive words that exist in some languages but have no direct English equivalent.
Before I get to that, though, something else caught my eye.
Along the beach stood metal railings covered with padlocks. Hopes hung from its branches of lockets, each one placed there by a couple who had wanted to declare their love permanent. It reminded me of a young man I once met who had an anchor tattoo on his leg.
"Were you a sailor?" I asked.
"No," he smiled. "It used to be my girlfriend's name. When we split up, I had an anchor tattooed over it."
Curious, I pointed to the tattoo on his other leg.
"Same story," he laughed. "Another relationship. Another name covered up."
As amusing as his answer was, there is a quiet lesson hidden within it.
Those locks on the railings are much the same. Each one was fastened with hope, with promises of forever, perhaps with laughter and dreams of a future together. Yet how many of those couples have since gone their separate ways? The locks remain, silent witnesses to love that once burned brightly but eventually faded. They have become monuments, not only to romance, but to the fragile nature of human affection.
Then my thoughts returned to Malta and to a beautiful Maltese word xoqqa.
There is no simple English translation. It speaks of a deep longing or yearning for someone or something absent. It is more than ordinary missing; it carries emotional, even spiritual, overtones. It is the ache that lingers when the heart still reaches for what is no longer there.
How many of those who once fastened a lock on the bonny banks of Loch Lomond now carry a xoqqa within them? How many young people today live with that same quiet yearning for someone they loved, someone who gradually grew distant, until love turned cold and only memories remained?
Perhaps that is why places like Luss never fail to make me think. Amid beautiful scenery and peaceful waters, they gently remind us that while landscapes endure, human hearts are forever learning the difficult lessons of love, loss, and longing.
"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."
— Proverbs 4:23 (NIV)