Sweet Whispers from The Lover of My Soul

The frustration wells up in my throat as the words longing to be said are stuffed down yet again. I can't seem to feel the wind like I did this afternoon when the kittens were frolicking in the sunshine and all was well with the world. The temperature rises in the light blue room as the Rolling Stones T-shirt sticks to the sweat of my chest and my head begins to pound. I attempt to produce an Athena to get the throbbing to stop, but the pounding continues. I am reminded of the numerous references to the beating of tom-toms from African American Literature class as the invisible nymphs drum on my brain, and I decide that I hate tom-toms if this is what they feel like.

It is during these moments that I begin to long for someone to lie against, someone to play with my hair and tell me everything will work out. I want a warm body to hold me, comfort me, make me feel complete. But it is also during these moments of utter frustration and anger that I feel God the most. It is as if He knows when I want a physical body to hold me, and He gives me a feeling that distracts me from this desire. Instead of muscle and bone, I feel my spirit begin to leap despite my terrible mood. The Comforter has come yet again, and in these moments I get a glimpse of what it means to have a consuming fire inside of you.

I hate that tonight brought so much pain, but I love knowing that I have a God who comforts me more than any arms of steel or soft heart beat ever could. I have been told numerous times this past year that calling God my lover and helper is inappropriate. While I understand that God indeed is referring to the church when he speaks of His bride, I can't help but feel on nights like tonight that He is just about the best and most affectionate lover I could ever had. I can't even imagine feeling as complete as He makes me feel when I one day lie down with my husband. When I fall to my knees in disappointment, He gently whispers encouragement in my ear. While a husband could play with my hair, he couldn't number every strand. And while a physical being could dry my tears, he couldn't catch them all and place them in a bottle. God paints pictures of his love for Israel through the prophet Hosea and tells us in II Timothy that we are to be lovers of Him rather than lovers of pleasure and the world.

When the Psalms talk about God, they scream passion. David writes Psalm 63 to God and cries, "my souls thirsts for you, my body longs for you." If that does not describe a love affair, I don't know what does. An Affair to Remember and Casablanca can't hold a candle to the passion and fervor we should have when approaching God. I have tried to listen to reason from friends who tell me to look at God as father and not a lover, but I have failed and gratefully so. God is my father, but limiting Him to this role is placing Him in a box. I am very grateful that I serve a God who can be my everything. He can be my father, brother, sister, mother, and yes, He can be my lover too. On nights like this when the moon is barely visible and I feel much more anger than I should, I am glad to have a God who whispers sweet not-so-nothings in my ear and tells me that life is still worth living.