My Husband?

I used to scoff at the exhortations from Christian writers and leaders regarding satisfaction in God's love alone— to crown Christ the "Prince" of my heart instead of a human Prince Charming, to make God my first love, to apply that seemingly sacrilegious verse in Isaiah about my "Maker being [my] husband" (54:5). Yes, it was nice in theory to be satisfied in God's love and not in a man's. But how unrealistic. I can't see God. I can't feel his arms around me. I've never received a bouquet of wildflowers with a "Love, Jesus" tag written in cursive. He can't sit next to me and watch the ducks at the pond.

Yet lately the cliches have met reality. No, I haven't literally seen the face of God. But I see more and more of his incomparable beauty in my morning quiet times. No, I haven't physically felt his arms. But I leaned on the everlasting arms (Deuteronomy 33:27) when I had to have a difficult confrontation with someone at church. No, a bouquet hasn't mysteriously appeared at my doorstep. But I've yet to find a guy that can create anything close to the beauty of the Milky Way stretched across the vast night sky, complete with shooting stars. And the rest of the world might not have seen him, but Jesus was at Community Park the other day. I know because we were having a discussion about his justice and mercy.

It's not so much that Jesus is "my boyfriend" or "the love of my life" that gives me butterflies and mushy feelings when I think about him; it's that knowing and seeking and loving him makes everything in this world that I longed for and believed would give my life significance pale in comparison to his unrivaled beauty.

Why was I so impressed with men again? Oh yeah, I'm probably going to marry one someday. Well until then, I'm content to be the "unmarried woman that cares about the things of the Lord" (1 Corinthians 7:34).

Annoying

Today some friends and I were discussing annoying things done by the opposite sex. The discussion quickly became a fierce debate. Later I was trying to think of what males do that I appreciate.

1. Men tend to keep short accounts in that they will confront a friend about a problem face-to-face rather than use a go-between. Girls like having a defense team ready to fire because they fear confrontation. Guys are up-front and honest about relational problems.
2. Guys are decisive. Girls like indecision because it precludes failure and typically doesn't offend people. Decisions are necessary to carry a project, a team, a company forward. Men do this well.
3. They speak frankly without an agenda. Women make comments specifically to make someone jealous, to advance their image. Men don't have such an agenda.

Pedestal

He spoke. He was young; he was pure; he was knowledgeable; he was witty; he was decisive. She thirsted for his wisdom like a lamb longing to suckle its mother's milk. There was no question he didn't have an answer for. He explained why the earth revolved around the sun; why the Framers did not create a democracy; why tragedies were cathartic; why injustice exists. In him was truth, beauty, understanding, goodness. He was the solution to global hunger, the Grail that knights perished for, the Alpha and the Omega. He was a man.

She stared into his eyes, captivated like teenage Miranda gazing upon the male body for the first time. Oh Heaven, that has showered me with such blessed beauty! Oh Justice, that has delivered me from these shackles of confusion to the freedom of knowing! Called out of weakness, succumbing to the glory of this man's marvelous might! Oh God!

But when tempests talked, he replied; when temptation said hello, he conversed; when sin smiled, he laughed. The decadent pleasure of lust he devoured. Oh, discreetly, of course. But his short happy life he could not forever conceal. She heard. She wept the salty tears of revelation and false hope. What hope, without the god she once adored? Oh save her, call her from the cyclical abyss she knows too well.

Fairest of Them All

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Attention and flirting don't satisfy.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Last week Justin pulled his hands through my hair.

He asked, if I'm free that night, to stop by.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Tod's smart; classics he hasn't read are rare.

He writes me sonnets that publishers buy.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

My ex bought me tops he thought I should wear.

In Juicy Couture, his trophy was I.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

But He saw my heart, died to make life fair.

Betrayed with a kiss to suffer and die.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.

Profess your love; pursue me, if you dare.

Death, not words nor touch, no one can deny.

To be known as pretty gets you nowhere.

Men speak about your beauty; they don't care.