The moon wasn't quite full, but the sky was empty and there wasn't a man-made light around to drown out the simple glow she gave off. The trees were a few shades darker than the sky above, basking in the freedom of a clear background to show their majesty while allowing a few leaves to show the softer side of a silver lining. The stars were awake, engaging in a playful game of peek-a-boo with the trees, twinkling even more than the song alludes to. The porch was glowing, attempting to soak up every ounce of light the moon gave off to prove to the world that it too was beautiful. He had been with me all night, right beside me when I shared my thoughts, my fears, my shame. It was odd to feel him so close to me now, his breath on my cheek and neck. Whispering ever so lightly how much he loved me, how beautiful I was, and how he would always be there. His breath and touch were both cool and warm; a refreshing comfort that invigorated every sense while lulling me to sleep. I could feel when he came closer because every tree swayed in an antsy sort of way, trying to suppress the giggles that were on the very edge of bursting when he moved. I hated to watch him go, he left me wanting more, aching in my soul to experience him in every new way that I thought impossible. But he left me waiting with a smile, with the memory of a perfect night.
Intimacy.
A word that as a "good Christian," I will never experience until I've gone to that chapel they talk about and kiss a guy for a (hopefully) shiny ring. And yet I have this unnerving awareness that the intimacy the world knows is one full of shame; a terrifying, unrelatable, and beautiful mystery that every heart wonders about. Something that very few people have truly experienced. The passage above was not about some boy, it was about a Father, a Daddy I am trying to seek with every duct-taped piece of my heart. It was about my God. Right now it seems odd to relate intimacy with my relationship with God; that's a word set aside for couples, for married people, and a lot of times for neither. It's as if intimacy is forbidden from our lives and yet written on our very hearts; our souls crying out for it. I can honestly tell you, I have no idea how to have an intimate relationship with God, and I'm not sure I even know what that means. My idea of intimacy is what I see in the movies or really good commercials, and most of the time it involves some awkward sex scene that always manages to be slightly uncomfortable. The intimacy we know results in feelings of shame and fear that leave us degrading ourselves.
The intimacy we have come to accept is anything but intimate.
So how can I imagine that God wants to have an intimate relationship with me? First, it's weird. Second, talk about a long-distance relationship. Isn't intimacy physical and conversational? I can't hold his hands, or gaze upon his face in the tangible way that I think I need, and I sure don't hear him shooting the breeze with me on a slow Tuesday. Yet I have to trust that the intimacy he created us for is beautiful. That despite my inability to comprehend it, he knows all about what my heart desires, what my heart needs.
I truly believe that God wants to "court" me. That he has showed up the moments I didn't know how to look for him. I believe that my God is going to challenge every belief of intimacy and love that I have come to accept.
I believe that in 3 weeks, I'm going to start the longest "talking" period of my entire life.
