Love. . . a few excerpts

Love so beautiful, sunsets only hint to it.

Love so deep, the oceans depths cannot hide it.

Love so rich, all the money in the world could not purchase it.

In pursuit of man without hesitation, leaping over every hill and skirting desert boundaries to be with them, the object, the unworthy focus of undying dedication.

What is it about love?
Love that is so dedicated and passionate that the world tries to rise up against it. Love that should never be, but is breathtaking. Love willing to die, willing to sacrifice, willing to move all the mountains in the world to just be. What is it about love? Perfect, strong, sure, deep, forbidden, against sense, against reason . . . What is it about love that makes you hold on with both hands, through pain and fire, for the chance to be expressed. What is this love that stirs my heart, deeper still and threatens to overtake me - with one move too quickly I'd be gone. What is it about this beautiful, painful love that I cannot let go of, nor find relief from? It is truth in my bones, truth that does not fit in this body. It is too strong to contain - purity at war with the dirt of humanity. Love that cries from the pits hidden inside me - how can I feel this way about something so beautiful? How can it cause me to cry as I crave it?


I prayed, and there he came, on the wing of the wind to respond to my prayer. I cried and He stepped from His throne, a jar in His hand, and caught every tear I shed. He spoke so that I could breathe. He died so my blood would flow and here I stand . . . heart of hearts beat for Him, heart of hearts, long for Him, in desert and draught there is one water.


May my drumbeat, though different,
Sound loud and clear as I walk,
Nay march,
To its beautiful rhythm -
Neverending as a source of strength
Play something for me, God
To stir and awaken my heart.
I am restless to discover you.


It is hard to believe there is a river of living water inside me when I feel like this. I feel like there is nothing - emptiness deep inside - but just under my skin is something great, imprisoned. I don't even feel real, like I am looking at everything from outside . . .