She waits at her gate,
patient with the silence,
yet sensing the cooler, more dusky air
filling the empty places
of the waning afternoon sun.
Then, a small orchestra of crickets
begin to tune up their tiny fine instruments.
Uncomfortable in body,
her mind wanders to memories
now behind her.
How she should have never entertained it,
when her heart was saying no.
And how that thing that appears good,
so easily becomes enemy to the best.
Oh how long it’s been now,
and how hard to get back!
A sensible decision – (so she thought)
to take the heat off.
But with no heat, is no joy,
and to live a slave life is drudgery.
“Oh my garden, my garden, how precious you were!”
Suddenly from inside her garden,
she hears a familiar voice respond,
”No, my Bride, how precious you are!”
The Voice of Perfect Love casts out all fear of punishment.
And His gentleness makes me strong again.
~ from 1 John 4:18 & Psa.18:35