Sitting in His presence quietly waiting to hear His voice. I hear the whisper, “Beloved.” I know that’s just the beginning of what He plans to say, and yet I get stuck there, feeling my throat begin to tighten and tears begin to well as I ponder the privilege it is for Him to call us – call me – by that name.
I am His beloved and He is mine. I know this intellectually, but most days what that actually means barely penetrates the surface. I am My beloved’s and My Beloved is mine. I hear Him whisper, “Yes. Yes, My love.” I know He’s encouraging me to let this sink in deeper, to let it be more than simply a saying written in Hebrew on a ring that never leaves my hand. To know. To truly know.
“Papa, why is it that so many of us struggle so much to simply receive the love You’re pouring out to us?”
I hear His gentle reply, “The enemy has been holding a broken mirror in front of your faces for so long that one that is whole feels false. Your minds have calibrated the distortion to be truth. It throws everything else out of alignment because it is all based on a lie.”
“Papa help us to recalibrate. Help us to align with You, to align with Truth.”
And as though I can feel His warm breath carrying the gentle “yes” and His arms surrounding me. Olam Zeroa, the Everlasting Arms, gripping me tightly. Refusing to give up on me regardless of how broken or messy I feel. He is always there. He always is loving me. Truly I AM “beloved.”
Song of Solomon 6:3 (AMP) I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine…