She looks at the man standing before her and sees him as a boy. She thinks of him as the nine-year-old who used to creep up behind her and slip frogs into her pocket, making her squeal. She remembers when he would tug on the rope that secured the bottom of her braid and run away while her hair slowly unwound. She had found him a nuisance, smelly and annoying. He often interrupted her life while she was busy with her friends, playing house or painting rocks. She didn’t want to give away her attention to the boy who always seemed to demand it at just the wrong time when she was in the middle of a particularly important task, like stringing berries on a thread for a necklace that mimicked her mother’s treasured jewels.
But he kept showing up.
She remembers the day she was pulling dried linens from the line when he came up and put mud down her back. She was humming her favorite song, the one about love. In the song, a fair maiden waits for her beloved to come to her, for him to take her to his home to be his wife. She loved the yearning behind the lyrics, the agony of waiting in the woman’s voice, telling her beloved to hurry and not tarry. She was getting to her favorite lyric, when she felt the slippery muck slide from the nape of her neck to the small of her waist. She gave a howl and turned around. There he was, snickering at her reaction. She was so frustrated she began to cry. Large tears rolled down her cheeks before she could dam them up. The boy’s face suddenly changed from a look of indignance to one of remorse. He rushed toward her with his arms open, seemingly to try to hug her but she turned and ran. He was so mean. Why was she always his target? She rinsed herself by the creek and vowed the next time she saw him she would retaliate with her own slimy handful of mud.
But he disappeared after that.
It was as if the change in seasons had taken him away. Suddenly he was just gone. She wondered if his family had moved, but then, every so often she would catch glimpses of him around corners, the tips of the curls in his dark hair, or the curve of his backside. She was embarrassed to be noticing him. She eventually realized she was looking for him, instead of trying to hide from him. Sometimes she would spot him across the market purchasing oranges from a vendor or kicking a ball with a friend. Once he looked up from his game and saw her staring at him. She tried to hide her face quickly, blushing at having been caught.
She mined the depths of her heart. What was this feeling? Why did she keep looking for him? Why did she want his attention? Just a moment ago, she had been loathing him and his antics and interruptions, now she was longing for him.
She thought of the woman in the song, the song about awakening love, the love between the betrothed, the waiting of the woman who was ready to be married.
She tried to busy herself with her friends and her family’s flock of sheep, but her thoughts often turned to the boy. She would lay in the grass and stare up at the sky, the clouds would turn themselves into lovers holding hands. She would watch her sheep laying lazy in the shade in the heat of the day and wonder what the boy was doing.
“You’re in love.” Her friends told her. She had been trying to ask them about the boy nonchalantly. Had anyone seen where he took his flock of sheep in the middle of the day? She had asked her friends.
“Why?” They would ask, much more in tuned to her heart than she was, perhaps. “What do you want with the boy who has grown very handsome?”
Handsome? She thought. Had he grown handsome?
They were now past their adolescence. Did she think him handsome? She did. He had always been tall. When they were younger, his size had been irritating, as if he took up too much space in the world. But now his size was welcoming and comforting. He stood tall and strong like a fine cedar beam in the middle of the house, holding up everything around it.
“What do you want with the handsome shepherd, dear friend?” Her friends would giggle. “Do you love him?” They teased her.
“Do you think he loves me?” She had risked it all to say it out loud to her friends, the pounding question that she couldn’t quite bring herself to even ask herself, do you think he notices me? Sees me?
She held her breath, waiting for her friends to answer her. She almost asked again. But they replied with the line from the song that she remembered so well. “Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.” They said and giggled.
She almost spit at them in frustration. “But you didn’t answer my question, do you think he loves me? I need to know. Do you think he thinks I am beautiful? Do you think he could like me with the dark color of my skin? Have you seen him looking my way? Do you think we could awaken love together?”
Her questions went unanswered, and she couldn’t remember if she’d asked them aloud or just daydreamed them while staring at the sky when her sheep were resting.
But he had grown handsome, she admitted, very handsome.
She had desired his attention since he had taken it away. Should she tell him? That would be very forward, but she did love him. How had that happened? She thought of the mud that she had readied in her hands, to pitch at him when she had been so angry. Oh, how she longed for the time when he had been near to her, when they had shared breath in the same space. She longed for the time when his eyes were gazing on her. If only she had saved those moments in her pockets somehow, to have them for now when her heart had changed.
She decided that she would stop loving him. It hurt too much. It was too confusing. There was no reason to keep going knowing he was so handsome and other girls in their village were much fairer skinned than her. They were the ones who didn’t have to tend their family’s sheep and stand in the harsh sun. Surely, he would choose one of them instead. She would never be the maiden in the song. She had no beloved.
But now he stood before her on a very hot day.
The sun was high, and her sheep were in their usual shade. The clouds had been laughing at her as she tried desperately to pry the boy from her thoughts.
But then he appeared, no longer a boy, but the man, standing between her and the sun, like the cedar tree he seemed to be. He looked down upon her.
“Hi.” He said.
“Hi.” She jumped up to stand next to him. She was suddenly very aware of her face. Did it look weird? Where should she put her hands? She laid them awkwardly on her thighs.
“Can I rest my flock here with yours?” He asked.
“Yes. It’s so hot today.” The words came out of her mouth without having formed in her brain, and she worried she may say something that would betray her. She may tell him that she loved him. That would be awful.
They sat down in the grass next to one another. She tried to take deep, even breaths.
“Do you remember the day with the mud?” He finally asked. “So long ago?”
“Yes.” She forced her voice to sound even and calm, suppressing the desire to tell him she thought of it every day.
“I am sorry about that.” He said. “I was foolish and mean.”
“Oh.” She said, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“When you cried, I felt awful.” He continued. “I wanted to comfort you, but then I realized I had just been the one to make you cry. I couldn’t bear to speak to you again. So, I just left you alone.”
“Oh.” She still had no words. Tell him you love him! Her heart said. No! Her brain said. He doesn’t love you. Don’t embarrass yourself. What would your friends say?
The sheep began to rise, the heat of the day was passing. It was almost time to move them to another grazing spot. Wait, she pleaded with the sun, stay high, give me a little more time with him.
She stole glances at him as he sat next to her. She tried to capture the moment in case she had to wait a long time for another one. She looked at his hand next to hers in the grass, oh to touch that hand, she thought and then scolded herself, moving her hand to her lap in case it decided to stage a coup.
“I—” His voice started again, sounding gruff, “I came here to tell you that I don’t want to leave you alone anymore.”
His words landed heavy on the grass between them. She stared at them as if they were tiny milkweed buds that had just popped up. She couldn’t believe their presence.
“I loved you when we were young,” he said, his eyes wide and fearful, the eyes of a criminal during confession, awaiting the verdict. “I always thought highly of you, even when I was doing silly things to get your attention.” He looked away. “I think you are the most beautiful of all women. I find your face breathtaking and everything about you lovely.” He looked back at her in earnest. “I want to marry you.”
She slowly raised her hands in front of her face as she listened. It was all too overwhelming. She had imagined it so many times, was this real?
“Could you ever love me?” He said to the backs of her hands.
“I think I could.” She whispered from behind the veil of her fingers. “Actually, I have.” She lowered them. “I have loved you too.” Her eyes wide, holding the same confession. He jumped up and lifted her to standing, twirling her around. He laughed like the boy he had been.
“You love me too!” The sound of his laughter rang like bells throughout the ravine. “Your father has already given me his blessing.” He said, slowing them down. “I have begun to prepare a place for you in my father’s house.” He pulled a string of berries from his pocket. “For you, my beloved, like the one you had made.” He put it over her head and around her neck. “I had hoped you loved me, but I didn’t know. Now I do!”
She felt like she had drunk an entire wineskin. The sight of him, the thought of him, the thought of their wedding day was intoxicating to her. She didn’t know how she would wait that long to be with him. She was the woman in the song, her beloved before her, her heart bursting with joy, the promise of their union, the beautiful agony in the waiting.
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The Song of Solomon is a book of love poetry, planted in the Old Testament. I have always found it to seem out of place, right after Ecclesiastes which reminds us that we are fleeting, and right before the prophets who begin to tell of Israel’s exile and God’s anger. It also seems to be a book that isn’t preached on very often. However, after spending more time studying it, I have found that it’s a beautiful gift, no matter its placement.
It’s about a woman and a man who are betrothed and awaiting their wedding day. They spend the entire time speaking of how much they love one another and how they look forward to being married and having sex (yup). So why shouldn’t we spend more time here? Especially since we are a romance obsessed culture. God designed marriage, passion, love and sex. “God’s goal is that romantic love, with all its potential pain and degradation, should be an arena of enjoyment for his redeemed people.” (From the ESV Study Bible)
I enjoyed crafting a story of how the lovers’ relationship might have begun, and I, of course, encourage you to read the book.
In centuries past, the Song of Solomon has been interpreted by many as the love between God and Israel or Christ and the church. Its imagery (in some places, explicit!) couldn't really be about physical love between a man and woman. Outrageous! Not surprisingly, this is one of the books that was debated if it should be considered scripture.
As for its limited use in preaching, I can say I have used it for marriage sermons.
Maybe I might use it some time for a different context!
I wonder how many boys have flirted with girls by shoving mud down their back...
What a lovely story, it seems to dance as you read it. Gentle and sweet, a reminder to me that the joy love brings does not change throughout the ages. I too, have wondered about this book's placement in the Bible. I wonder if our own insecurities and misunderstandings are what make Song of Solomon seem out of place?