Monday, February 14, 2011

when love is Trust

All hearts and flowers and chocolate. Pinks, reds, blush, and beautiful. Shy smiles, butterfly kisses, hearts aflutter. Passion, deep-knowing, ring-bearing, promise love.

The Fall has consequences. Something, not love, but masked in the name, tears and breaks. Trusting hearts rend... and retreat. And hide. The wounded child, broken and weeping, clutches the heart close. Bewildered.

The bride, stunned and shattered into a thousand pieces, cries a million tears for promise broken.

And they both ask, "What is love? Is it real?" And that place is dark, foreboding. The questions mystify and remain unanswered without Light. And the journey is valley. Mountaintop glimpses leave wounded hearts questioning the reality of peaks at all. They wander. They search. Paths threaten destruction and the core of hurt remains.

... yet there is Seed. He planted it there. It was, It is. Though the valley is dry, dew presents in Manna sweet. Wounded-ness, gazes upon the sheen. The vision of it pulls, tugs. "But can It be trusted?" child and bride plead for the answer. Eat. But they close rent hearts, clasp bleeding hands, and pass by. They walk long in the day and crawl in the dark.

... and the glistening never fails. Each day it is new, fresh. And the vision of it pulls, tugs. "Is It safe?" child and bride plea with One unseen. "Is It good?" Taste and see that I am good... And finally, the broken child reaches tentative. Unsure. She brushes a fingertip lightly against It. She smiles. "It's warm." And He smiles. She reaches again, and gently lifts dew from the parched ground. It glimmers in her hand.

The bride watches hesitant...

Small fingers hold tenderly the Manna, and slowly the child raises it to her lips. The fragrance sweet sharpens her long-deceived senses. She inhales long, drinks the aroma deep. And her tongue touches radiance. She slips her hand from the grip of the shattered bride. Hand healed, she reaches for the One whose Hand is scarred. And He holds fast and gentle.

The bride longs... Taste. Tarnished gold-wrapped fingered hand reaches. "It's warm." She smiles. And He smiles. She reaches and tenderly lifts Manna from parched ground. Oh, how It shines! And the fragrance sweet sharpens long-deceived senses. She inhales long. And she tastes... and eats. And reaches healed hand to the One Who is scarred.

"We can trust You?" And His embrace is all peace, all warm. The wounded child, restored, the shattered bride, whole dance on the mountaintops with He Who loves them eternal.

... and covenant.

I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness. (Jeremiah 31:3)


Donna said...

How very beautiful and fitting for today. Loved lingering with you here... :)

Sharen Watson said...

Donna... I so enjoy it when you visit here. Thank you. Sisters who have been there, survived that, right?

Robbie Iobst said...

You are a poet, Sharen. Such beautiful, beautiful words. And so full of truth. Thank you!

Sharen Watson said...

Thank you, Robbie... One: for visiting me here, and two: for your encouraging words. This, believe it or not, is my original writing voice. It got lost for awhile. But I'm grateful to have it back, you know?

tonya said...

Beautiful, Sharen just beautiful. Only those that have had to walk that path understand the brokenness, the dryness, and pain. Beautifully written, my friend.

Annette O'Hare said...

Beautiful post Sharen.

Sharen Watson said...

Tonya... Yes. But I'm reminded that ALL of that is used as a pumice to scrape away the secular, moving us into the sacred. Ah... I think I have my next post...

Annette... Thank you so much for Linger-ing here. I love seeing your beautiful self moving through this blog "door."