This blog entry is part of an on-going series of prayer in response a study of the Song of Solomon. If you’d like to read more, just look for blog titles that start with SOS. You can also read devotionals on this topic by visiting my “Bride” archives at Soulscents.

(Heather, this one is for your heart and mine.)

Prayer Response to Song of Solomon 1:12-17

“While the king is at his table, my spikenard sends forth its fragrance. A bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me, that lies all night between my breasts. My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blooms in the vineyards of En Gedi. Behold you are fair, my love! Behold you are fair! You have dove’s eyes. Behold you are handsome, my beloved! Yes, pleasant! Also our bed is green. The beams of our houses are cedar and our rafters of fir.”
Song of Solomon 1:12-17

My King,

You’ve set a beautiful table, full of every good thing. My eyes take in the beauty of the centerpiece, white lilies surrounding a cross, and the foods whose rich colors form a living piece of art. All I need you provide. Your stretch your arm before me, offering a platter full of fresh delights. You take a blood red strawberry, ripened to perfection, and place it into my mouth. Oh, how sweet the taste. Purple grapes quench my thirst and raspberries delight my palate. The fruit refreshes and cleanses, washing away the rock in the pit of my stomach that has come from less desirable meals.

Your food—salvation, love, and forgiveness, are in sharp contrast to my old diet of fear, guilt, and performing. I love it that you nourish me with such good things. . I need to feed here more consistently, for it is YOU who fills my hunger.

As I feast on your provision, the stench of legalism and religious striving is replaced by the fragrance of grace. Bathe me in it. Let my life be a pleasing aroma, full of spontaneous, genuine, natural worship. I know as I take in your refreshment, this perfume, this essence of you, will cling to me. As I am bathed in your grace I am joyful, filled with love for you. I trust you to change me from the inside out. I linger at your table, resting in your salvation, leaning against the Lord my rock, believing in the provision you give my soul.

You were bathed in myrrh at the time of your sacrifice for me. You chose expensive, abundant suffering even to death that I might have these gifts. In weakness and in strength I cling to the provision of the cross. Like a bundle of myrrh between my breasts I hold your cross close to my heart, letting its truth change my reality. What a joyous delight to finally understand that because of Your cross I am completely and perfectly and totally accepted. For so many years I lived in fear of rejection, striving to please you, pushing you farther away in my frenzy of self-driven performance. Forgive me for wasting those years with such emotional turmoil. I didn’t understand, Dear One. I didn’t mean to squander the gift of your cross.

You cross, your chosen path of suffering to bring an imperfect, sinful person like me into your provision of grace and unconditional love is something I hold close in my intimate places. As the bride wore a bundle of myrrh between her breasts, I keep your death close to me at all times. It’s fragrances lives in my heart as unconditional love.

I am overwhelmed with the scent of your love. Like the henna blossoms, the most fragrant flower of Israel’s gardens, permeates the air with its scent, your smell surrounds me, empowering me to worship in the sweet aroma of you. I jump to my feet and find I am clothed in a long, flowing white skirt. I raise clear eyes to you, no longer shrouded by unworthiness and I begin to dance. My movements are no longer unsteady and awkward. They glide, blending together in a continuous movement. As I step and twirl, my skirt billowing around me, I realize the fear of stumbling is swept away. I can dance in fullness. As I raise my hands to you they are filled with expanding grace.

You smile at me and take my hand. We dance together with the tender intimacy of lovers. You pull me close and whisper in my ear that I am beautiful. For a moment, I have two left feet. Suddenly all my flaws confront my joy, trying to dispel your words. You lean back and place your hand under my chin and mutter, “you have the eyes of a dove.”

A dove? The bird that mates only once, even if her mate is gone? The bird that has no peripheral vision, but only single-hearted devotion? The creature that symbolizes purity, innocence and loyalty?

My heart races. You see me like that?

You chuckle a little and pull me so close I can barely breathe. With a contented sigh you say softly. “My sweet dove.”

The tears flow now, but my feet are no longer clumsy and heavy. In fact, I believe they barely touch the ground as I am swept away in your grace-filled arms.

“Help me never forget,” I whisper as we move in perfect oneness.

“I won’t, my fair one.”

We dance a while. “Jesus?”

“Yes?”

“I think you are beautiful, too.” My voice is a little shy, almost a whisper.

You throw your head back. A wonderful, full, vibrating laugh swallows us. Your smile is so wide that I can’t help myself. I stop dancing and say with confidence, “You’re the most handsome of all, Jesus. Everything about you is pleasant and strong and perfect.”

You tip your head, a delighted expression in your eyes.

I reach for both of your hands and we stand there, wrapping our fingers together, swinging our arms just a bit. “You grow more handsome as the days go by. You once seemed a distant Savior, but now I know your friendship, your joyful spirit, and your lover’s heart. I want to keep discovering all the glorious, gorgeous things about you.”

He smiles, drops one of my hands, and beckons me into a strong house of cedar. The rafters are of fir and as I enter I feel safe and secure. Everything about this place is strong, comforting, and permanent. The manly scent of the wood adds a tang of organic purity to room we enter. The luxurious green couch in the middle of the room reminds me of a green field, bursting with nourishment and life.

You recline on the couch and pull me to yourself. We snuggle there, fitting perfectly together like two spoons. I am a peace. Safety. Belonging. A complete letting go of fear and worry. All these emotions fill my soul with a deep, stable rest. You stroke my hair as I drift off to dream of flowers, fruit, leafy green trees, and fresh, alive, growing places.

Written in response to a study on the Song of Songs by Mike Bickle