When my love and I first met
He wrote to me
Poetry, letters, songs of passion
His handwriting drew me
As the trickle of a rolling river
That somehow brings peace in constant movement
intertwining fingers of anticipation and repose
Each bend of the river was new
Each rock gently changing its flow
Redirecting the path to new revelation.
I ran to the mailbox, expecting, hoping,
Yearning for more of his words, his thoughts, his love
I never knew such love.
But I did . . .
You were there.
Your love letters sat on a high shelf
In a dusty cover with pages stuck together
That smelled new from lack of use.
Or sometimes in a drawer
With papers I never needed,
Pictures I never placed in an album,
Paper clips, rubber bands, and rusty scissors.
Your love letters
Your Song of Solomon
Your Psalms
Your Mathew Mark, Luke, and John
Your Genesis, Your Exodus
Your Romans and Jeremiah.
But now ancient words come alive like the morning paper
To run to the Book, expecting, hoping,
Yearning for more of Your Word, Your thoughts, Your Love
I never knew such love.
But I did . . .
“Your promises to me are hope. They give me strength in all my troubles; how they refresh and revive me!” Psalm 119:49
“Your words are what sustain me . . . They bring joy to my sorrowing heart and delight me.” Jeremiah 15:16
