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?
One of the great things about Facebook is that it is timeless. Your event lives on after it is posted and no one knows what happened before or afterward just that you were there online at one moment in time.
The wedding of my husband’s son, Daniel, is a great example. I am delighted to have worn a gorgeous dress to the outdoor ceremony at the Lakeside Rosegarden downtown near where we live in Indiana. The weather was idyllic: sunny and 80 degrees with a slight breeze in the abundant shade. The nuptials were exchanged in front of the fountain and reflecting pools: the groom dressed impressively in his Marine blues and the bride aptly adorned in white chiffon and satin. The red roses in her hair were a lovely touch in the regal garden setting. A small contingent was invited to witness the event early in the afternoon and an even larger one would attend the reception 5 hours later. In the interim we snapped a myriad of photos then headed off to various restaurants in the area. A few crashed at their hotel rooms in anticipation of the reception at a restored train station called Baker’s Street. Surely there would be dancing, eating of gourmet finger sandwiches and cake: festivities that are the hallmark of American wedding traditions.
You wouldn’t know that the reception is happening right now and I am not there. I am sitting here in a Polartec sweater, pajama bottoms and my evening dress shoes (as the daytime slides have already made their showing in the soft grass around the park nearly landing me into a wardrobe malfunction!). This was my comfort garb I selected for a short rest before I redressed for the evening. Yeah well you can probably guessed what happened instead: the tic attacks that had begun at the quiet restaurant I selected and enjoyed with select family members escalated into a continuous episode as soon as I lain on the bed at home. Nope. No nap just some more shakes. Crap. Crap. Crap.
Just because we have hosted 2 gatherings (doubling the wretched symptoms over these past 4 days), got Skyped into a bridal shower (to minimize exposures to 2 dozen ladies wearing fragrances of all sorts), and attended one of the most lovely outdoor rehearsal-style receptions followed by an equally lovely wedding the next day, why would I be too weak to go to a reception? “Why” indeed. All of this celebrating was way too much for me a few days ago! Such is the nature of Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (CIRS): a complication of Lyme disease and biotoxin illness. The fact that I made it this far is a miracle for me. I am grateful. And I am also sad that I could not finish the festivities with everyone, dancing the night away in the arms of my beloved. So my beloved and I did something else instead.
Just before Steve left to join his family for the wedding reception back downtown, I asked him for 5 minutes.
That’s when I put on my other pair of dress shoes so we could dance. Oh how I love my Stevers. (We played this song at our own wedding DURING the ceremony, before the Lord and all of our guests 6 1/2 years ago.) Afterwards with a kiss more passionate than many of late, we parted this evening. Later I looked at the photos we had downloaded from the wedding and posted a bunch on Facebook. Clearly there are more memories being created at the reception as I typed. Oh well. I had the most romantic dance of the evening right here in our living room. My beloved will return and all will be right with the world. Have I said that I love Steve so very much? My heart broke and the tears came easily as he prepared to leave. Rest assured I needed to be left behind in the comfort of our home tonight to rest for the eighth large gathering of the week that is tomorrow night: the wedding of a son of some dear friends of ours. This evening Steve will have danced with his lovely daughters and mother (here from California). Tonight it will be his turn to sit alone while his ex-wife dances with her new husband. So much not the way it should be. I’m sure Steve will be fine.
Perhaps another one of those great kisses will be coming my way a little later? Hope so. We each do what the Lord calls us to do on a night like this. At least the pictures are really nice, eh? Thank you Lord. How could I ask for more?