~A sneak peek from my upcoming book, At The Time For Love, inspired by Ezekiel 16
I curled up on the couch and drew back the curtains. Powdery white snow flaked down like glinting pearl dust. I leaned my head against the plush sofa and my eyes drifted toward the heavy ivory clouds. I noticed how the tree branches gently swayed and how the few leaves they had left, rustled. I pulled my hands into my fuzzy sleeves and secured them under my arm pits. Just gazing outside gave me the illusion of a chill. Perhaps I was still weak from yesterday? Everything was so white, my eyes got lost and sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference between land and sky. The earth…all the mud was completely covered over. A sweet scripture came softly to my mind like the taste of syrup on my heart’s soft palate. “Come now, let us settle the matter,” says the LORD. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. (Isaiah 1:18 NIV)
My arms slowly uncurled and I felt warmth from the inside. I inhaled physical air even as my soul inhaled the grace that had already washed away all my stains.
My Autumn, unlike the dirt that is caked underneath the snow outside…you are not muddled underneath my righteousness. You have become my righteousness in my Son. You are all snow white. Stainless beauty. Living proof of the glories of my grace. Proof of my Son’s accomplishments. You never have need to be ashamed.
Like an infant yawning at dawn’s first light, my heart exhaled hidden shame. I felt as innocent as a new born babe. My body shivered from what was taking place and suddenly the warmth that I had begun to feel intensified. I dropped my arms to my side and let my robe open up at the center. I felt my heart glow like a miniature sun. How could God be so good? How could I have not known He was this good? What more of His love was there to be explored? I smiled without effort and thought of all the things Jesus had already done for me. Things, I was only now discovering thousands of years later. I wiggled my hands free from my sleeves and kissed my fingertips…pretending they were the toes of Christ.
“I love you, I love you,” I whispered affectionately. I hugged my chest, pretending that I was holding onto Jesus, “I love you, I love you my Lord.”
I chortled gaily and stood up before closing my eyes. I took imaginary hands and pretended I was slow dancing with Jesus. I dreamed that the carpet turned into a glass ballroom floor. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and snatched up my journal. I wrote on the couch for almost two hours. Sometimes the noise from my sisters cleaning and chatting upstairs would distract me. However, the sweetness of God’s love easily captivated my attentions. I wrote out a prayer of thanksgiving and then a sonnet of love to God:
I love Your presence.
Your warm embrace melts me inside, and implants seeds of joy in my heart that grow into suns, melting me even more.
I love worshipping You, and love the feel of Your Spirit rushing within, stirring me, and embracing my skin.
I love the joy You bring.
It is true that in Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
You are my greatest love.
My holy, relentless Lover.
My David, slaying all my Goliaths.
My Romancer, spoiling me with the keepsakes of Heaven, with gifts extravagant, with pleasures far greater than any on earth, and with intimacy that awakens the deepest parts of me.
I love Your arms—they hold me like a Father’s: pulling me closer to Your chest and letting me listen to Your heartbeat.
Your breaths fall on me like a waterfall, moving tendrils of my hair and sweeping over my face.
I love Your kisses.
The feel of Your lips on my head.
Like hot coal it burns me within, tingling every inch inside me, and causing the hairs on my body to prick up with goose bumps.
Oh, how I love worshipping You!
It is my greatest joy!
My highest honor!
I think I see why the angels love worshipping You.
I’ve tasted something so divinely sweet in the act and life of worship that I cannot go back to plain food.
The pleasure draws me.
It lulls my heart, calling me more and more.
You are my greatest desire.
My highest joy. My perfect peace.
My best comforter.
My only real and true Friend.
My Creator.
You are the Prince Charming who ran after my heart.
You fought every foe, and captured my affection slowly, as your love patiently captivated my heart.
You romanced me until I melted away into You.
I crumbled in Your strong arms that caressed me tenderly.
I evaporated in Your chest.
I dissolved in Your tears.
I floated in Your laughter.
You entranced me in every way.
The brightness of Your face fascinated my eyes.
You are my El Shaddai.
You’re my Rapha.
I am my Beloved’s and His desire is for me.
I love living with You.
Sharing life with You.
Awakening to find You smiling upon me by the side of the bed.
I love the feeling of Your fingers trailing my face, cupping my chin.
I love You so much that I even love Your rules!
I love Your beautiful holiness.
Your righteousness is life.
I love You.
I love You.
I love You.
You first loved me.
You will always love me.
You have secured me as your own.
I am your own.
Nothing brings me greater joy than knowing that I belong to You.
By the time I was done scribbling, my journal was stained with tears. I sniffled and swiftly wiped at my eyes. “Will I ever stop crying?” I questioned hoarsely, my voice rough with emotion. “It seems all I do lately is cry.” Just as quick as my pondering came, the answer came right behind it. It’s a softening of your heart. Your tears are proof of my rain in the garden of your heart. I chewed on my bottom lip. “Okay…” I said resolved not to fight God anymore. I thought of how God must cry tears of joy often.
A clanking noise caught my attention and I looked over my shoulder. Mama had lingered out of her library and was now in the kitchen. She was bending over and deciding on which pot she would use. After retrieving the crock pot, she stood. She went to the sink where some chicken had thawed. She took out tomato paste, creamy tomato soup, chicken broth, three cheese tortellini noodles, savory spices, onions, garlic, and a few other choice ingredients. I watched her pour ingredients into the crock pot and then dice up vegetables. I thought to ask her if she needed help but then decided against it. I knew she would say no. Plus, I didn’t want to intrude and risk a scolding. She seemed focused and I knew how she didn’t like to be interrupted when cooking. After putting everything in the crock pot, she started shaking spices in it. I always wondered how she could do that without ever measuring and yet come out with perfectly seasoned meals! I imagined only food in heaven could surpass hers. No chef in the world could rival my mother…. although I hadn’t ever traveled out of the country, I was sure of my conviction.
When she was finished Mama washed her hands and cleaned up the counters. She glanced up at me and I averted my eyes, pretending that I had been studying the fireless hearth the whole time.
“Autumn, why haven’t you washed and combed out your hair?”
“Huh?” I asked and turned my body toward her.
“Your hair?”
I almost slapped my hand against my face, “oh gosh. I’m sorry. I completely spaced.”
Mama remained tight lipped for a few seconds, then her eyes gentled, “you were catching up on your writing?” she asked pointing to my journal that laid on my lap.
I nodded and she sighed before the corner of her lips lifted slightly.
“That’s good dear. Your father always encouraged you with your writing.”
I nodded again, thinking fondly of Papa. Mama slowly made her way toward me. I tensed but then relaxed when I saw her demeanor.
She touched my shoulder and sat on the coffee table in front of me. “I’m glad you are able to relax and do something that you love today.”
“Thanks mama,” I said smiling.
Her eyes flickered, a soft shimmer welling them, “and I’m sorry that I didn’t encourage you in your gifting like your father.”
My fingers tightened on my journal before becoming sweaty, “it’s okay mama” I said, thinking of no other suitable response.
She shook her head, “no it’s not dear.” Her bottom lip quivered slightly and she rested a hand on my knee, her fingertips brushing my knuckles.
Her gaze drifted to the words in my journal. At first, I thought to hide them out of routine fear, but I realized I had nothing to hide, least of all from her. I turned my journal with a hand so she could read the words without tilting her head. She accepted my invitation bravely and even picked up my journal. She read quietly and I could feel my pulse in my neck.
I played with the wooly fabric on my sleeves and kept my gaze in my lap. Several moments went by and I wondered how long it would take her to finish. Jittery, I began to comb my fingers through the knots in my hair. When mama was finished, she softly placed my journal beside her. She curled her pointer finger under my chin and guided my face up so I could see her.
“God has given you an anointing to write dear.”
A huge smile stretched my lips upward. “Do you really think so?”
She nodded her head.
“Thank you, Mama!” I sang.
“You have words for the world dear,” she encouraged and then played with the damaged ends of my hair, “now go wash this please.”
I chortled and stood up to go shower. I took a step forward and then retreated and bent down to wrap my arms around her neck. Mama embraced me tightly and kissed my cheek, “my Autumn. I’m so proud of the woman you are becoming.”
I pulled my face away to look her in the eyes, “thank you Mama.” I whispered hoarsely and retreated away before I teared up.
For the first time in my life, mama had complimented my writing. I didn’t realize how starved I was of her approval before, until now. The want in my heart had been met and it was profounder than I realized. Hidden places were watered.
~If you enjoyed this sneak peek, you may also enjoy my book Romantic Rendezvous for the Soul. It’s based on the sacred romance between Christ and his Church. The short stories are designed to be like healing dates with Jesus…the lover of the human soul. You can purchase an ebook copy by clicking here.
