He Waits

He has been waiting for me a long time, but his face is pleasant and unstrained as I appear at the door.  I can see, this man never wilts or withers.  His patience is like a glacier, ancient, immense, solitary.  It shines majestic and towering, transforming continents, sculpting mountain ranges.  

He has endured more than this wait. 

He stands as I enter, and I’m lost for words.  I barely recognize him from his picture.  In the photo he had looked manicured with delicate skin and shiny hair.  It really didn’t do him any justice, this earthy, confident man standing before me.  I am surprised but not at all disappointed.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t recognize you.”

My words do him no justice either. 

A classic Bob Dylan song plays in the background:

“My clothes are dirty, but my hands are clean,

and you’re the best thing that I’ve ever seen… ”

There is not a woman in this place who has not noticed him. This man who could have known a thousand lovers before me, yet somehow waits.

He has steady eye contact, not staring but attentive, self-assured.  There is an unapologetic honesty about him, as bold as it is true.

Ancient text:

 “I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war.”  Revelation 19:11

But there is no arrogance in him. This man doesn’t need to boast.

With one look I see his strength is immense,

                           but he only asserts it on behalf of the weak.

His mysteries run deep,                        

 but they are all good. 

I might feel threatened, exposed in his unyielding gaze, if it were anyone but him.  But his gaze only invites, affirms, embraces.

He looks down to stir his coffee and catches a glimpse of me in the reflection on the liquid as it settles, and smiles.  (He never takes his eyes off of me.) He is content to take a short sip. 

His expression has many layers, like a rich painting.  Beneath the immediate joy, there is a tone of sadness, set in compassion, fierce and resolute.  Humor and intelligence burst forth, tempered by calm delight.  The playfulness in his eyes attracts me.  And he seems to know a secret so good, so delightful, that it can barely be contained.  He is bursting with it, what he knows, yet he waits, embodying self-control.

He is obviously experienced at keeping secrets, holding confidences in the vastness of his heart - a space so wide it contains oceans, and ages.  I can see them, wild turbulent seas in a face so calm. 

He doesn’t fear the storm. 

I imagine he could sleep through it on a wooden boat for a thousand years, unshaken, waiting.  I wonder if he would ever feel lonely, out there on the boat, perhaps waiting for the voice of a friend.

Smitten, my heart sinks. There is poetry in this man too.

But as if he knows, he reaches across the table to take my hand, and the self-doubt melts away.  I can see he wants to be here.  He is so present with me.  It’s a vivid presence, almost luminous.

And now I see it.  I see, how he felt out there, alone with the storm.  But it’s not quite loneliness.  It’s a feeling much deeper, more complete. 

Desire. 

Not the kind of longing that grows from emptiness, but the kind birthed in wholeness. 

Love. 

It takes me a while to label it, because I’ve never seen it so pure before.  It’s the kind of love that takes nothing but requires everything.


But as I continue to look deeper still in his eyes, smoldering, like cool water, the memory of loneliness pierces through.  It bleeds from him, naked and vulnerable.  The comfortless loneliness of complete love completely scored. 

It is too much for me to bear, but somehow, someway, he does.  His shoulders bear it like a dignified robe.  And as he puts it on he is as majestic as the sun.

Ancient text:

…like a bridegroom coming forth from his pavilion, like a champion rejoicing to run his course. Psalm 19:5

I understand now, it is the garment of the king pursuing his lover.

Ancient text: 

 “On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written:  King of Kings and Lord of Lords.” Revelation 19:6

Exquisitely vulnerable, a handsome groom, standing before his guests and the bride waiting for her appearance, then hoping and praying she won’t turn back.  The vulnerability of this king takes my breath away.

It has taken me this long to notice his face is deeply wounded. The swath across his eye and forehead is severe and disfiguring. (Is 53)  At first I am startled by it, but it doesn’t make me look away.  It adds to the depth of his beauty.  He wears it like a laurel wreath, a crown. 

I don’t dare to pity him.

And I begin to understand.  He is waiting out on the sea for a voice to wake him.  He has been waiting there for me.  He wants to be woken because at that moment, when he responds to my voice and I look into his face, I will realize that it is not he but I who have slept and been so utterly alone, and that his dreams are more real than all my waking moments without him. 

Ancient text:

“Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16

He dreamed a dream of me.  And waits.