Gospel and Your Spouse (A Proposal)

     This could happen beneath the spire of an ancient castle, or beside some gently running brook. It might occur on a park bench or in front of a crackling fire. What is about to be related may come about in any number of places and be proceeded by a multitude of various actions. These places and actions are determined by the localities, traditions, and personalities of the characters. This event has transpired innumerable times since man's creation. The characters in this story, or rather, the prologue to myriad stories, are always the same. One man and one woman. It is the proposal. 

     The words that follow are not borrowed from any real encounter. However, they are felt, if not spoken, in part assuredly, and more probably in great excess, by the players. The scene may be a snow laden cabin, a white sand beach, a moss covered log near a waterfall, it matters not. The real scene is the heart of man. 

     "I... I have something to tell you... something to ask," he says in faltering manner. She knows. She asks what it is anyway with a leaping heart. He looks intently into her questioning eyes. Though he need not look closely. He memorized them long ago. He did it because one night as he lay in bed recounting a pleasant afternoon with a certain young lady he was ashamed and astonished to discover he could not recall the color of her eyes. Three tortuous days passed until his remembrance was made whole by observation. He would steal glances of those eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. Later, when they had grown close, his gaze could often be traced across a busy room to where her clear eyes responded with a soft smile. Could it be those eyes were even more beautiful today. A feat he thought before as impossible. As he had drawn near her, he learned what was behind those eyes; the love, the kindness, the patience. Now, sitting so close he could feel her breathe, the riddle to the clarity and brightness of her eyes was revealed. It was the passion of her heart. That emotive center acted as a furnace that gave her eyes the intensity and luster of diamonds. 

     All of this flashed through his mind in a second. The occurrence of such thoughts was not rare. In fact, with her, every other of his thoughts was similar in nature. Her presence was such that it stimulated seemingly endless creativity in him, and all of the purest, richest sort. It was from this creativity he had endeavored to draw upon and from which he created the document he now pulled from a pocket with less than steady hands. 

     "I wrote you a poem," he said, feeling that was a very poor introduction. A few moments of silence followed while he plumbed the depths of his mind for something dramatic to say, but found his mind quite shallow. No reassuring words did she speak. For though her exterior was one of calm eagerness she was too elated to say anything. She feared to part her lips lest the cry of joy she was hiding in her throat escape and her elation be betrayed. Finding nothing better he continued, "I'll just read it." 

I like to think of life as one big story

From man in all his brokeness, to God in all His glory

A meta-narrative it's called by learned academics

It includes all inventions, books, battles, epidemics

There's a page for everything in history even if it's never printed

It reveals the lives of people at which historians never hinted

But it's more than just a history, it's a book written by His hand

It's the story of a fall, a promise, and redemption planned

It's the story of a triune God who created the whole universe

And how his beloved ones His name soon learned to curse

A novel penned by the providence of the infinite divine

By who's grace I hope that you will soon be mine. 

It's the tale of a mighty Creator, possessing wisdom without measure

The epics of the ancient ones are mere shadows of this treasure

Scarier than any ghost story, sadder than any tragic play

It never grows dull, though angels sing it a thousand times a day

It's a myth, not contrived by imagination, but birthed by truth

It lends to the aged the burning passion of youth

A musical score with more feeling than Beethoven, more depth than Bach

The one that is the root of children's play and philosopher's talk

The moon cries it in her waxing, and whispers it in her waning

It is the innocence of the new creation we are regaining

It is God made man

It is the Gospel!

It's the poem in the rustling branches of the trees

It is the power by which the blind man sees

It's in sunsets and clouds and the smell of fresh cut grass

In the crunch of frozen snow beneath your feet like glass

It leaps about in the flames of a roaring fire

It is the fulfillment of the orphan's desire

It is the glory of the Father, the passion of the Christ

The presence of the Spirit, by which the temple curtain was sliced

The Gospel!

The Gospel!

It is you and I, wretched, alone, and lost

Upon a tempestuous ocean of iniquity we were blown and tossed

Till heaven's gates were loosed, but no deluge would be our bane

A single ray of light broke through, a Lamb come to be slain

In the gap He stood, between us and the wrath of God

And in His righteousness the faithful ones are shod

The Gospel!

The Gospel!

It is pure and simple and bloody

It is grace poured out on the broken and muddy

Having taken on our punishment, having died and been buried

He was gloriously raised, and to His bride was married

For reasons quite beyond me, He has chosen you and I

To be a living, breathing picture of how He came to die

We will have all eternity to revel, sing, and dance

But we are only given this one hour to romance

Perhaps others to this gospel we might pull

By being to this world blood stained wool

I'm not the brightest one, and I'm certainly no sage

But, my darling, I think we are on the same page

I'm not talking about common interests, though that definitely is true

But in this story bigger than the both of us, the lines of my love were written for you

Take my hand, if you will, and join me on this quest

Rather pitiful in solitude, when together at our best

With a love more brilliant than the celestial fires burn

We will work and watch, for our beloved Savior's return