My Lover Speaks

Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come . . . let me see you, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet and you are lovely. // Song of Songs 2:13-14

My husband comes home for lunch every day; it’s like a little mini-date for us. A few days ago we sat together on the couch, cozied up, facing our “reading chairs.” We have two reading chairs, one for him and one for me, cushy and comfy, with matching reading lamps situated right next to the fireplace. We have spent countless hours there, quietly reading or saying the Rosary together in the evenings. It’s a little bit of Heaven in my living room.

He said, “Pretty soon we’ll be sipping hot tea by the fire and reading and saying our prayers.” We talked about which books we wanted to read this winter, about our prayer intentions, and I thought, Has any woman ever had it so good?

For years—decades, sisters—I had printed out the above verses from Songs and had them taped under my keyboard at work. I read them often, nearly wore out that page in my bible: “Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come . . . You have ravished my heart” (Song of Songs 4:9). How I longed to be so loved.

The truth is, I have always been so loved, always. It simply took the love of my husband to help me to see it most fully. His has been the most healing love I have ever known. It penetrates most deeply into my heart. I sometimes have to fight against disbelieving it.

Like when I put on a lot of weight in illness and lamented this before him, his reply was, “There’s simply more of you to love.” I can scarce believe him.

I did a lot of stupid, often self-deprecating things just trying to get loved when I was younger. What a relief it is to understand, the problem wasn’t that I was asking for too much. No, I was asking way too little.

Would you allow God to be your true lover, to give you His passionate love as a Christmas present this year? Would you allow Him to speak to your heart of just how enraptured He is with you, His beautiful one?

I was asking way too little. // Liz Kelly Click to tweet

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