A lovely place, indeed.

I want to speak to you of love, because that is the only thing worth the vast expanse of time and the short portion of this life that is mine. I have bonded to Christ in the Song of Solomon way. Instead of doubting His affection, I know it well and where once before I ran away, being frightened of the demands of that bond, I now run toward Him. Even on hard days. Even the ones in which I am angry at God. I will not pretend to agree or remain pleased about everything for He knows my mind and it is changing slowly, but for love's sake I will continue our eternal walk enamored.

You see, before I fell head over heels for my dearest and we became inseparable, I was unwilling to compromise. Our flesh yearns after selfish things because before we find true love, we only love ourselves. But the person who has found undeserved kindness and trust and a patient, lifelong, loving partner WILL yearn to please them. Trust me, when you find the Christ for whom the prostitute was willing to place her lips along His mud streaked feet, you will WANT to make changes for His pleasure.

The body of Christ is like a friend who knows your perfect companion and, because they think fondly of you and wish to see you live your fullest, most glorious life, will go out of their way to set you up on a date. They introduce you to a kindness, a comfort, a security so beautiful it is indescribable. So with bated breath and scarce held joy they wait for love to bloom upon your meeting. With great anticipation they fondly recall the chapters of their own romance in hopes that soon your eyes will also glisten with a contentedness it could never have known otherwise.

Isn't that lovely? Isn't that as it should be? Where then are our fond friends and patient, happy conspirators? Somehow, I believe most have turned bullies ringed around and throwing rocks at the weak kid in class. I am watching the would be bride run headlong in terror from the suitor the mob represents because rather than familiar friends, the pillars of religion are behaving like a pimp's enforcers dragging their master's new conquests into enslavement with beatings and hate filled scare tactics.

Was that harsh? Over the top? Ghastly and frightening and wrath conducing? Have you now the rocks in your hands for me as well?

Love is like a painting. The artist carefully envisions all the wonders they wish to capture. They choose a color palette with the hopes that the finished piece will somehow allow onlookers to feel even a small portion of the limitless fount of inexpressible affection radiating from their own heart. Then, they set to work. The sun and moon cease to be markers of time, each stroke an expression of emotion so deep and full. The artist's hopes, fears, wrestlings of spirit secretly hidden beneath layers of paint soon emerge into a glorious work of art. Our relationship with the living God is much like this work of art. You may look upon mine and be inspired but you will never know the true beauty held therein until you hold the brush in your own hand.

You can stand and critique all the aspects of my painting, submitting my most sincere and personal journey to your philosophy, upbringing, and interpretation of biblical knowledge of good and evil. You can watch my love and I muddy our shoes along the roads of our finding each other out and listen in to the public conversations between us sharing your bag of apples among your circle of well polished, agreeable colleagues. Occasionally, you can come to the conclusion that a representative of your crew should chuck a well meaning rock at me under a sadly veiled guise of love to prevent me from some pitfall you've divined in my future and then return to your safe circle nodding in unison about how it wasn't cruel if it was for my own good and widely agreed upon. But I implore you to STOP watching about like a socially accepted collection of stalkers and loose yourself in your own painting, in your own journey, in your own truest love! Only in that way will you win admirers to the suitor you represent.

Were the gallery of life full of such paintings wouldn't the world be a lovely place, indeed?