Tell her…I am lovesick - Journaling by Debra Guthrie

Mark Virkler's picture


The room is hushed.

I tiptoe in

                around

                the slightly

                ajar door

And stand quietly…

                waiting…

 

I see

                His handsome silhouette—

A chiseled cheekbone

                and the back

                of a head.

He is watching

                out the window.

 

I don’t mind waiting.

Just His presence             

                is overwhelming.

I am struck again

                with awe

                at His majesty,

Overcome

                with the harmonious,

                brilliant glory

                of Truth

And the energizing,

                sustaining power

                of Life.

 

Heart and soul

                fall to the floor—

Face down

                in worship,

Hands raised

                in praise.

My spirit pours forth

                adulation

                and adoration

                in cascading flow.

But my head

                merely bows

                in reverence,

While my body

                remains still—

Limbs limp

                in calculated quiet.

Even my respiration

                carefully regulates

                sustained silence

So as not disturb

                His contemplation.

 

He knows I am here.

I know He knows I am here.

When He is ready,

He will speak…

                and I will scribe.

 

The atmosphere

                is pregnant

                with beating desire.

The curtains flutter

                with Holy Breeze.

And finally,

                He turns.

 

My breath

                catches abruptly.

Tears are streaming

                down His cheeks,

Dripping crystal paths

                into His beard

And sparkling water gems

                onto His robes!

His eyes

                are flooded

                with feeling—

                love,

                kindness,

                deep compassion,

And overwhelming

                longing.

 

For a moment,

                eternity

                stands

                motionless

                from the onslaught

                of emotion.

 

I stagger,

                overcome.

Mute groans of anguish

                envelop my breast—

Wave after wave

                of captive sobs

                overtake

                my trapped throat,

                choking my chest.

 

“Oh child, come…”

His tender tone invites

                and His strong arms

                open wide.

I rush in

                and He receives me

                with expansive

                embrace.

We cling tightly,

                pulling in close,

Consoling our hearts

                in each other’s arms.

He busies Himself

                patting my head,

                stroking my hair,

                and murmuring

                calm reassurances

                for my comfort.

And though

                I am awkward

                with wordless response,

I perceive that

                somehow

                my presence

                reciprocates,

And so,

                I squeeze

                hard and fast

                 with devotion,

Hoping

                my tenacious hug

                is enough.

 

Finally,

                His grip softens

And He leans back,

                stretching me out

                to arms’ length,

His hands

                holding mine.

I can sense His gaze

                upon my face,

But I am too bewildered

                to raise my sights.

 

“Look at Me,

                Little One.”

The sound

                of His soothing voice

                fills me with strength.

And I lift my ken

                to discover

                His eyes

                twinkling

                 and dancing

                with joy.

His countenance

                is peaceful;

And His acceptance

                unequivocally

                complete.

 

“There, there, My Child!

                All is well.

                You are well.”

 

“I did not mean

                to interrupt…”

 

He waves away

                my embarrassment.

 

“I am glad you are here.

I love having you here.”

He clasps my palms,

                His words

                caressing

                my soul.

Then,

                with intense intent,

He leans in

                and whispers,

“I want you here.”

 

His gracious gesture

                settles my heart,

And His gentle words

                calm all fears.

But…I am still confused.

 

“What is it?”

The query flows speechlessly

                from my spirit

                to His.

 

He turns back

                toward the open window.

Pulling me close

                to His side,

His eyes

                scan the horizon.

A heavy sigh

                slowly raises

                His shoulders,

Then lowers them again

                exhaling its escape

                through parted lips.

 

“I am lovesick.

I am lovesick

                for my Bride.”

 

His fingers tighten.

I can feel

                ancient engravings

                carving fresh prints

                into our pressing palms.

 

“I yearn for her—

                her company,

                affection,

                companionship…

 

“I long for her

                every minute.

I look for her

                every hour.

I count the days

                that we are apart.

 

“Tell her

                I am waiting for her,

                watching for her,

                eagerly anticipating

                the return

                of her

                absent

                attentions.”

 

He pivots—

His hands

                resting upon my shoulders,

His eyes

                searching my face.

I remain still.

I sense

                He is looking

                beyond my face…

                past the horizon…

                into faraway hearts…

 

Slowly,

                He turns again

                toward the window.

 

“My Bride…

                my beautiful Bride…

Come back to me!”

 

I stir slightly

                and the reverie

                is broken.

 

His fingertips

                brush softly

                across my cheek

                scattering kisses.

Then…

                delicately…

He cups my chin,

                His eyes meeting mine.

 

“You will tell her,

                won’t you?”

 

I nod,

                and He smiles.

 

His hand coaxes

                my head

                to His shoulder,

And we rock softly—

                connected,

                entwined,

Standing

                together,

Discerning

                the distance,

Watching

                out the window.              

 

“Yes!”

                His lips

                whisper

                in my ear.

“Tell her

I am lovesick.”


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