I had a dream last night that I did not recall until I was chatting comfortably with my husband this morning. I do not remember much of this dream, just one little scene and a whisper that there was quite a bit before. In this dream, I was in love - in the most pure, holy, wonderful, gentle way - with a man who was pure, holy, wonderful and gentle. He was beautiful of face and lovely of soul, and the yearning that I felt for him was of a sort that epic stories and fairy tale daydreams have only hinted at.
But the great tragedy of my dream was that despite what seemed to be a mutual admiration of the sort that could lead to the most original and pure kind of love, a love that cares not for itself but sacrifices unendingly, bursts open with renewal of new love, a love that is not afraid, the greatest potential for the purest human love that is born from the very heart of God, despite these things, he reserved himself from me.
I cried when I remembered the longing unfulfilled.
I believe that the biggest hindrance of purest love is fear. We are fearful that we will mess up, chose the wrong person, end up embroiled in the sticky tentacles of repulsion, or sadder yet, numbed by uncaring whose days march on into the infinite.
But what if...?
What if we were courageous enough to forget the hurts of the past? What if we embraced hope as the handmaiden of love? What if we believed that God is eager to give us the same kind of relationship He has with himself, deep and fundamentally fulfilling in its very nature? What if we threw our human wisdom and over-caution to the wind and embraced the great adventure of God like the eager children for which he wrote it? What if we could truly be ourselves, love ourselves? What if we could trust another human being so fundamentally that there was never a question?
What if we gave ourselves permission to try?
The great love is worth the cost.
"My lover spoke and said to me, 'Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.'"
-Song of Solomon 2:10-13