He slips into bed and moves in close, gently rubbing my head. And whispers. His song is a lullaby. His love for me. My beauty to him. The delight of these sixteen years. And I melt deeper into the pillow, dozing off into sweet sleep. Secure. Content. In his love.
I never realize how much I need these words until they wash over me unexpected. How much more I need His love lullaby echoing into the chaos of my days, into the drowning cacophony of contrary words that question my Lover's intentions and feelings and my beauty to Him. As I listen to the anti-songs, I rush to fashion myself into their demands. The frenetic pace set by their tune leaves me weary and in need of intimate bedroom whisperings.
I grope amid the storm. He takes my hand and silences the day, the noise, the chaos, my soul with His whisper. He is my hold fast. He holds me fast. Only when I feel the strength of His grip, do I melt into rest and take hold of Him, secure and content in His love while He gently works on drawing me deeper into love with Him.
Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.
By day the Lord directs His love,
at night his song is with me
a prayer to the God of my life.