In honor of Patricia Rhea (Frey) Ruth - Mom, Mammaw -- we will miss you, but only for now.
Majestic sweetness sits enthroned
Upon the Savior’s brow;
His head with radiant glories crowned,
His lips with grace o’erflow.
She was His Bride:
He reached out His hand and touched hers;
The words He spoke to her were intertwined with love and her name.
His virtue was met with reciprocated deep sorrow and tears that
Would be instantly and celestially bottled,
With those tears in His hands, His Spirit groaned...
Oh that she would cast up her disconnecting anxiety
so that She could see as He truly and actively cared for her.
No mortal can with Him compare
Among the sons of men;
Fairer is He than all the fair
That fill the heavenly train.
She was His desire, His will... Her eyes, O her eyes ... He could not resist.
Her Eyes would overcome Him as He would move in her direction;
though so many times her eyelids would be turned upward in disappointment;
Though her love and faith would be so much smaller than a grain mustard seed;
He would continue to move mountains to get to her,
He would continue to keep all the universe on course for her rescue,
His love would prevail.
To Him I owe my life and breath,
And all the joys I have;
He makes me triumph over death,
And saves me from the grave.
She was rescued from her initial abandonment,
He saw her naked, filthy, and covered with her own birthing fluids,
Dying in her own blood ...His heart was moved, this was her time of Love.
He would take the mess that she was into His everlasting arms,
He would wash, perfume and clothe her with the potential of His Glory.
All the gold, silver and precious gems of eternity would be hers.
She would move forward ... She would move away ... She would wander.
He would watch and wait for the faintest cry for help.
To God, the Father, my abode,
He brings my weary feet;
Shows me the glories of my God,
And makes my joys complete.
In total guilt and shame, her strange lovers would reduce her beauty to ashes,
She would find her costly apparel torn and soiled as rags fit for the trash heap,
She would see her wealth be reduced to a tattered filthy bag with holes in it.
In the mirror, the unfamiliar face staring back at her... Was leathered and worn.
Her dreams were fading ... All but a distant Voice of Love.
Her hope was waning ... All but for the strange sense of still being loved.
He would move closer ... for now she could not move away, no more wandering
He would hold her close, and whisper love songs so sublime.
Since from His bounty I receive
Such proofs of love divine,
Had I a thousand hearts to give,
Lord, they should all be Thine.
Her heart quieted,
her breath stilled
and she slipped into the other room,
where Love was waiting.
Lord, you have given us your all,
in exchange for our nothing.
What love, what extraordinary, extravagant love!
HLFA,
Jeff