I never would have guessed that my manual for life, my handbook on God, would be tucked away in the Old Testament, in a little book I once thought was just a poetic love story between a man and a woman. Years later, the most worn pages of my bible are that 8-chapter book called Song of Solomon. It is here that I first discovered the complexity of the God I spent years trying to codify.
To continue on with my newly-established, weekly free-skate, here are some of my reflections from chapter 5 of that frequently visited book:
He is excellent as the cedars.
When my world was winter, the smell of cedar overwhelmed my senses and drew my attention away from winter’s sting. Towering overhead, they broke the sky and formed a hedge around me. Their canopy, my hiding place. Their strength and history became my tent. This patch of forest, though only known to me because of my long-resisted walk through the wilderness, became a homestead. My wayward spirit encountered the permanence of an evergreen. He is excellent as the cedars.
He is chief among ten thousand.
Directionless and lost amid the hustle I had made of life. My facade of strength had long faded, its weak beams now exposed. Invisible to the eye of any leader who pursues only like-minded proteges, I shrunk back.
But He noticed me. His upside-down power, a boom off of beauty’s ship, offering me a lifeline. And offering me His leadership. I was under new management. And I was given a seat at a round table better than that known to kings. His counsel was perfect. His leadership, safe. He is chief among ten thousand.
His eyes are like doves, by the rivers of waters.
As I panned the river bank for some sign of life, I caught glimpse of His gaze that made my being shudder. One look of His eye, likened to the glance of a bird limited by its lack of peripheral vision, and I was discovered. He pierced through layers of my insecurity and uncertainty to find the soul He created. I was made in His image and He was enraptured by His likeness.
Where the exhaustion of the rapid’s toss and turn left me limp, His eyes spoke of hope. The river from which I emerged, easily forgotten in light of the Man whose eyes beckoned me out. I was known. His eyes are like doves, by the rivers of waters.
This is my beloved.
Your still, small movements are my opportunity for discovery. Your voice like many waters. Your head like the finest of gold. Your lips dripping with liquid myrrh.
To reside in love is to know both the lines which define Your face and the outline of Your character. Take me on the pursuit that requires more of me than remembering Your shape and form but invites me to become acquainted with the intricacies of Your features.
At the end of my days, when the starting point for the next leg of my journey is the platform I built here, may I be one who, when finally face-to-face with you, can say This is my beloved.
For I want to know You when I see You.