The love in my comb

Gently he pulled the brush through my hair as if each stroke was a special salve for my soul.  You could hear nothing in the silence, not even his breath or mine.  The darkness fell between us.  The moment hung there in time.  We had just witnessed so much . . . there was no need for words.  Only love moved from his hand to me, gently freeing the hairs once tangled in the madness that had just gone before us.  You might see this as an act of romance I suppose.  But this night no romance would explain this kind of tenderness that now drifted between us.  We simply enjoyed the silence, the calm, the love lain there slightly wounded just up from the floor.

That love was near me that night alright, well within my grasp.  Oh I felt it with each stroke of the brush that was the tool he could reach first in the awkward darkness.  I felt it from his warmth standing closely behind me as I sat with my legs uncomfortably collapsed underneath me on the hard tiled floor.  The rug, marred with uneven loops from the dogs paws underfoot where she slept each night, gave little warmth.  My hair was wet and so were my shoulders.  The stuggle that came with forcing myself to wash my hair in the tub at the tail end of a convulsive episode had subsided into a senseless stupor.  With my broken sentence my beloved found my grooming basket under the sink.  It made no difference what implement he chose.  His love would find its way to me with soothing swiftness followed by the tempo we might take one fine day, walking along a seashore somewhere beautiful.

Oh that I should have such an opportunity again!  Will his capable hands finger their way through my auburn hair blowing in the warm sunshine of a summer day?  Would he tighten the drawstring clasp beneath my chin of the paddling hat matched with our tandem outrigger canoe as we headed out onto the glistening lake?  Or when his arm slips around my waist as we laugh at our pup racing along the stream of a wooded path, will I forget that our tender moments were once matched with sorrow so deep?  I do hope so, Gentle Reader.  For all of us who suffer what we ought not to endure, I do pray that restoration, healing, and mercy will cover what was once ugly with that which is lovely again and again.

Until that glorious day for me, I shall keep my eyes fixed on the sunshine streaming through my bedroom window.  I know by Whose creation it shines and that one day all will bow and marvel in His glory, fully well, fully at peace.  The love of our Lord, Jesus Christ will comfort and redeem our suffering beyond what the ones we cherish could ever do for us.  And yet their heartache for sharing this journey with us shall be rewarded too.  The darkness shall fade away forever for all of us one fine day.  Only His light will reign and the darkness shall be no more.  In that day my friend, we will comb the heavens never finding an end to joy for all who believe, for all who hold out for the hope of heaven.  Together we will dwell in the presence of the King of Glory!  Yes, indeed.

Sigh.  That day is not here yet.  What is here is the love of my life holding my comb in the shadow of night.  He lifts me gently into bed and covers me with love that I could never imagine in the past.  He is my Jesus with skin on when I need them both.  I am so blessed.  How could I ask for more?

3 thoughts on “The love in my comb

  1. I’m speechless. Your writing is so beautiful. I also suffer from Lyme disease and “attempt” to always see the bright side of things, although it’s difficult at times. I will absolutely be following your posts and praying for recovery — as well as strength for our Heavenly Husbands!

    • Dearest Lisa:
      Thank you for your generous words. I will pray for you as well. Dealing with illness ain’t for the faint of heart so please hang in there with me k? We got this. Take care lady, Just Julie

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