Most love songs remind me of my husband.
There are a few songs for old boyfriends (either I don’t really listen to those, or they talk about what I don’t miss — and point the way to true love instead).
Then there are some that I love to sing for my sister (do you know how many ‘sister’ songs there are out there???) or my dog (I don’t have a dog but I’ve always loved Benji… cue Dolly Parton… “Roll over Beethoven, I’ll be your Beethoven!”)… le SIGH.
So, here’s a thought…. while all those points of love (and pain) are real and right on, I also love thinking of a lot of love songs as the perfect expression between the LORD and myself.
Ew, YUCK! Some of y’all might think. Love songs aren’t for Jesus! How can you even relate the bedroom to God? Uh…. yeah, that’s EXACTLY what I’m doing. Complete nastiness is only a worldly twist on the passion we can experience in the bedroom — which, in itself, is an expression of the intimacy we can have with God. Therefore, IMHO, all that love-song passion is a perfect expression of what I feel for God (and He for me). Bends the mind, doesn’t it?
After all, who has loved me the most perfectly? Who has REALLY held me when I was otherwise completely alone? Who held my head over the toilet when I was throwing up while I was pregnant and helped me wash it all off when I was done? (Okay, so my husband did that last one, when he could. But still, God does that with the state of my heart, all the time…)
I love God. I love Him so much, I can’t wait to rest at his feet daily. Sometimes this is figurative, in my heart or my emotions: coming to Him about it all. Sometimes this is literal: sitting outside and just resting in body, and letting His love be the soft blanket of quiet for a few moments.
I remember when, before I was married, a man I liked had dragged me through one very deep heartache: chasing another girl after flirting with me all weekend at a church retreat. I went outside, sat down under a beautiful pink oleander in the Texas heat, and stared up at the sky, waiting for the Lord. My hurts were big, but I had begun to learn how to ask Him to meet me there.
The quiet subdued me, and I felt a song begin to drift into my heart: “You are beautiful, my sweet, sweet song.” The Lord was making love to me! I mean that in the purest, yet the most sweetly romantic, heavenly, passionate way. God himself has outdone even the tenderest of moments that anyone has ever created for me. This is not to say that humans aren’t part of his outreach to us (husbands, friends, and families included), yet I must say that I am forever besotted with the Most High God.
His love only hurts when I can’t take it all in. He forgives me so deeply where someone else (usually me) wouldn’t or can’t. He helps me in ways that only He and I can see. He teaches me patiently. He encourages me tirelessly. How can I possibly return that love? I am so dependent on his mercy for my often faithless and fickle heart.
Even doing my best, I minimize his power and love. Feeling the deepest about him one day, I can wake up unhappy the next. This is not doubt, it is just my variance in attitudes, my own peevish moods that want things the way I want them. I forget whatever lesson he has already taught me, three times already (or thirty). Anyone hear a rooster crowing? Or, wait — do I hear mercy falling???
So yeah… I love taking a moment with the love songs on the radio or in my playlist, and dedicating them to My Truest Love: that Man, that great Counselor, and that intimate God who is near me always.
Sing it again, Sam. Whoops, wrong context. Oh well. You know what I mean!
Thanks for reading, Friends.