It is already tomorrow that I have come to bed, to lie in the dark of a July night, to court sleep, if I can. The moon still hangs in a window corner. I want no covering but my memory of the deep, warm voice of my Beloved.
"Tell yourself, 'I am Paige, and David loves me.'"
I am! I am Paige, and for the first time of my life, to be Paige means, to be that woman who is known for what I am, and to be wanted because of it. Perhaps there will be days, as we grow, when he will know that he wants me even in spite of the living, pensive, intensely expressive ball of passion that I am. I trust that he will lean into the capacity I have, to study him, to learn and anticipate his needs. I pray he will revel in that love in action being directed at him.
David loves me. That part will always be miracle, mystery, and relief to me. It will always be unique, and never-before. David will always be to me, a light who burst upon me in the dark of coping, alone, being strong while hollowed. I was not expecting him, you see. Even after I saw him, I said hello wistfully, expecting that beautiful man to float on by, discouraged and maybe even released by the distance.
Wonder of God, that he turned to look!
And he said he found himself drawn to me, that we could keep talking, were I willing, to see how we might really feel about each other. I was tingling and frightened, to have this man of all of them, talk for three days and then fade away, too. But, he kept wanting to say more, to give more, to know more.
David loves me. Across distance, through the time we have left here. He affirms me, admires me, and, most precious of all, communicates in my own heart's language.
David's love given to me, Paige, wears away the specter of miles and recreates them as an adventure. It is living, electric, sustaining. It is a guide and a deposit of hope, for todays and tomorrows faced with joy.
I am Paige, and my David loves me.
Thursday, July 13, 2017
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
He touches me
Hands, and how we use them, and just as much how we are used by them, are what make us human.
The hands are the foremost instruments of God's commission to us, to subdue and rule over the earth, to be good stewards to all its inhabitants. Because of this, the hands often bear the most scars and show the greatest reshaping. The hands receive hurt, in giving care. But they remain, through burning and scraping and stinging cuts and bruising and breaking, the best means of completing the circuit of ministry.
The hands of my Beloved are a study to me. Larger than mine, harder-surfaced, they have been mightily surrendered in the raising of a son and in the business of keeping cars in good repair. Holding his hand so that it overshadows mine, palm to palm, the grooves over the knuckles and the hints of fine, white line scars speak volumes. In his hand I can see David, holding the fretting infant son in his hands, quieting him. I can see him bent over the sickle bar that has broken, concentrating and patient. I know he won't smash an inanimate thing for being a problem, nor will he willingly harm a living one.
His hands are strong and large and capable, they are knowing hands, they are loving, Christlike hands.
These are the hands I wish to hold and help and solace me through the rest of my life. The touch of his hands has the power to calm and to enrapture, for his soul is in the fingertips.
"Something happened, and now I know, he touched me, and made me whole."
The hands are the foremost instruments of God's commission to us, to subdue and rule over the earth, to be good stewards to all its inhabitants. Because of this, the hands often bear the most scars and show the greatest reshaping. The hands receive hurt, in giving care. But they remain, through burning and scraping and stinging cuts and bruising and breaking, the best means of completing the circuit of ministry.
The hands of my Beloved are a study to me. Larger than mine, harder-surfaced, they have been mightily surrendered in the raising of a son and in the business of keeping cars in good repair. Holding his hand so that it overshadows mine, palm to palm, the grooves over the knuckles and the hints of fine, white line scars speak volumes. In his hand I can see David, holding the fretting infant son in his hands, quieting him. I can see him bent over the sickle bar that has broken, concentrating and patient. I know he won't smash an inanimate thing for being a problem, nor will he willingly harm a living one.
His hands are strong and large and capable, they are knowing hands, they are loving, Christlike hands.
These are the hands I wish to hold and help and solace me through the rest of my life. The touch of his hands has the power to calm and to enrapture, for his soul is in the fingertips.
"Something happened, and now I know, he touched me, and made me whole."
Saturday, July 8, 2017
We are together, and we are right, standing before God
"He gave me beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, that we might be trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified." --Isaiah 61:3
The first glimpse I had of my David, was a photograph that floated by in the dating website roll. I paused, as he had paused, and floated as he was floating, in a canoe midstream. I thought him beautiful, and I believed him out of my reach, more than eighty miles away. But I looked at the relaxed, genuine smile, the solidity of his form, the grip of capable hands on a paddle. I couldn't guess who was sitting in the other end, receiving that beam, but with all my heart I wanted to be in that place.
David's words were of writing a new chapter in his life. They revealed that he had a son between my sons' ages. His only stated vision for a first date was
"anything that ends with both of us thinking, I'm so glad we went out."
It could not be so simple, but I could not pass by in silence, so I sent him a message. I said his profile was written very originally, that he sounded very pleasant to know, but that unfortunately the distance between us must prevent a connection.
He answered me. He found my profile elegant and honest. Which fluttered me just a little bit, the perception in the combination he saw. I looked at him two more days, I think, before attempting to express, that to talk with him would only lead to difficulty.
Instead, it has led to life after death.
From the moment, he assured me, "it will be okay," and I sensed he was asking me not to turn away without trying, I was home. I now like to describe what took place, when I stopped in midstream, as a moment of recognition. There he was, the missing part of me.
His voice on the phone enwraps me as a blanket: I am covered, held together, protected and penetrated through every pore with a purity of loving kindness that is of Christ himself.
"I have found him, whom my soul loveth."
The first glimpse I had of my David, was a photograph that floated by in the dating website roll. I paused, as he had paused, and floated as he was floating, in a canoe midstream. I thought him beautiful, and I believed him out of my reach, more than eighty miles away. But I looked at the relaxed, genuine smile, the solidity of his form, the grip of capable hands on a paddle. I couldn't guess who was sitting in the other end, receiving that beam, but with all my heart I wanted to be in that place.
David's words were of writing a new chapter in his life. They revealed that he had a son between my sons' ages. His only stated vision for a first date was
"anything that ends with both of us thinking, I'm so glad we went out."
It could not be so simple, but I could not pass by in silence, so I sent him a message. I said his profile was written very originally, that he sounded very pleasant to know, but that unfortunately the distance between us must prevent a connection.
He answered me. He found my profile elegant and honest. Which fluttered me just a little bit, the perception in the combination he saw. I looked at him two more days, I think, before attempting to express, that to talk with him would only lead to difficulty.
Instead, it has led to life after death.
From the moment, he assured me, "it will be okay," and I sensed he was asking me not to turn away without trying, I was home. I now like to describe what took place, when I stopped in midstream, as a moment of recognition. There he was, the missing part of me.
His voice on the phone enwraps me as a blanket: I am covered, held together, protected and penetrated through every pore with a purity of loving kindness that is of Christ himself.
"I have found him, whom my soul loveth."
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