Tall grasses move in the breeze, whispering His name, brushing like kisses across my hands. Water-brooks murmur with every ripple, every bubble, effervescing wonders of His countenance. Wafting in dream-like essence across corridors of my heart, visions dance a dance of wooing love, enticing me.
My face darkened by days spent in rejection, in hate. My soul shriveled, given to onslaughts of immorality and wickedness, wasted away among evil men. Hands worn from fields of my own toil, my own making – tremble. My mirror, it does not lie, yet under canopies of cedar, He calls to me – beckons me: “Come to My still waters and green pastures. Gently, He pulls me from shadowy, darkened visions of my own reflection.
My King-lover! He rises among my meadow in stately form, unafraid, unconcerned by my shame, my scorn. He drapes me. He adorns me. His presence absorbs me, infusing cold and unbelieving places with aromatic oils. My heart softens under His administrations, daring to hope. I smell Him. Ah, I breathe Him. My pores assimilate Him. I can not turn away. I am compelled. My darkness, my image, is fading into…into what? Fading into Him…Selah
His song wafts across my heart singing “Arise My fair and beautiful one with eyes like a dove, My blossom among valley pools. Come My little lamb, My dove. Come and see.” He touches me, calls me His beloved, pulls me from my seclusion into His habitation. He lifts my head. I am unafraid of what I will see. Is that me? Am I the fairest of all? I have captured His heart! I am ravished for Him.
Tall grasses moving in the breeze, whispering His name, brushing kisses across my soul. Water-brooks murmuring with every ripple, every bubble, cascading intrinsic wonders of my awakened love…our love. Wafting in dream-like essence across corridors of my heart, visions dance a dance of ravished devotion. No longer broken, bowed in scorn or shame, I arise and run with Him, for when He is near me I emanate His fragrance. I am like Him. I am new. I can see.
A face illuminated by days spent in His presence, His embrace. My soul, a three stranded cord, wasted on a fragrant, intoxicating love of His own wooing – His own making. My hands tremble in worship, in awe – given to His toil. He takes my breath away. My mirror, it does not lie. He has captured my heart, transformed my image – my sight. With His vision, I shall never perish.
“Come, My shy and modest dove — leave your seclusion, come out in the open. Let Me see your face, let Me hear your voice. For your voice is soothing and your face is ravishing”(Son 2:13 MSG)
Brenda Craig Copyright 2006