Maybe it’s because our lives have always been so public. Or maybe it's because I'm a hermit at heart. But the times I treasure most are private, intimate moments with those I love. Oh, don't get me wrong. I love a party, and massive "happenings" are fun to plan and a thrill to experience. Bill is the event champion of the world! Show him an arena and his mind will go off like a rocket, planning a celebration to fill it. No one can touch him, in my opinion, at putting together an evening, programming talent, and making everyone "win." It brings him joy to see artists use their gifts in the best possible setting so that no one is the star but the total experience is life-changing for audience and performers alike. It's what he does best.
But when the lights go out and the building is an empty cavern, when the posters are crammed into gray plastic trash bags and the popcorn is swept from the hallways, I long to slip away with Bill someplace where no one knows our name. I want to walk with him beside the sea or climb through the woods at the top of a cliff or simply walk under the archway of willow boughs that weep beside our own creek in a little Indiana town.
I never get enough of times like those, and I can't stop my longing for them. Sometimes I feel selfish. I reprove myself for wanting to leave the throngs and disappear into the desert... together, alone.
Many times in our marriage I have felt guilty for wanting Bill to myself. "Ministry" can be a challenging rival. How could I be jealous of "God's work"? Most of the time it was work we chose and did together. Yet just when I felt our love needing nourishment, the schedule was already set, the concert advertised, and the worship planned; I knew in my heart we were going to be ministering out of our own need, not out of our plenty. Those were the times we simply had to admit our emotional bankruptcy to ourselves and to God and rely on the knowledge that God’s storehouse is always full. Amazingly, we would come away not drained but restored, and we knew the multitudes were fed as well.
We have always loved the Song of Solomon. We love it not just as a metaphor of God's longing for His church, His bride, but as a very passionate and human poem about two lovers who can't get each other off their minds. Even in the marketplace, they search for one fleeting glimpse of the object of their affection. The night breeze carries her perfume to him; the lambs nestled on the hillside remind him of her breasts. Everything she does to make herself beautiful is for him; the sound of footsteps below her window arouses her hope that he is coming to their secret place.
I truly believe that the sweetest of intimacies on earth--the marriage of two lovers--is the nearest we can know of the intimacy God longs for us to experience with Him. On the job, in the street, in the crowds, in the commerce of life, His presence is always hovering on the periphery of our consciousness. He makes no bones about His affection for the beloved of His heart. He is jealous of all other loves; He will have no rivals! And in return He will withhold no good thing--even His own Son--to woo back the affection stolen by lesser gods. When He has our exclusive allegiance, He showers every good and perfect gift on His bride, and He spares no expense to make her perfect and bring her home to His singular presence.
On my finger I wear a ring Bill had made for me of eighteen-carat gold in the land where the Song of Solomon was written. On it is an inscription I will never be able to resist. I don't hear it often enough, and I can't get enough of it.
"Arise, my love, and come away" (see Song 2:13). It says in Hebrew, "I will arise, my Lord, and come.”
Hear The Voice Of My Beloved
Hear the voice of my beloved
Gently call at close of day,
"Come, my love; oh, come and meet me.
Rise, oh rise, and come away."
"Winter's dark will soon be over
And the rains are nearly done;
Flowers bloom and trees are budding
Time for singing has begun."
I have waited through the shadows
For my Lord to call for me.
Now the morning breaks eternal;
In its light, His face I see.
"When you see the fig tree budding,
You will know the summer's near.
When you hear the words I've spoken,
You will know My coming's near.
"Keep on list'ning, my beloved,
For My coming's very near."
Lyric: Gloria Gaither
Music: William J. Gaither and Ron Griffin
Copyright © 1985 Gaither Music Company and Arose Music (admin. by EMI Christian Music Group.) All Rights Reserved.
