Where Is My Lover?

As I walked down that lane, I saw a man. His velvety red robe spoke of nothing but affluence. Why was he walking on foot? Why was he even out alone? Someone of his calibre should have tons of servants attending to him. With his head in his hands, he was hunkering down at the side of the road. He must have been robbed, I thought. This suburb was infamous for that. I walked up to him.

“Good evening, sir, are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes, please”, he answered, not looking up.

Please? Such formality. His accent further proved to me he wasn’t one of us.

“You sure?” I pried.

My mom would be mad if she ever heard of this. There have been stories of traffickers who tricked young ladies this way and carried them to Egypt, never to be heard of again. But I didn’t know why I was bothered by this man.

But He said nothing. I was about to bend down when he suddenly stood.

“Oh my”, was the gasp that abruptly flew out of my lips. Embarrassed, I immediately covered my mouth.

He was handsome! His eyes were deep-sea green; staring into them felt like peering into eternity, and his jawline seemed to be carved from a stone. 

His skin is so smooth, as though he baths in olives. I stared at him, lost as he towered over me. His nose? How can someone’s nose ridge be that straight? I couldn’t take my eyes off him. In fact, I devoured him with my eyes.

“Yes”, he replied, knocking me out of my dreamy land. 

His voice was silk-smooth but latched with a note of something I couldn’t describe immediately.

In all my escapades with men, I had met no one near as perfect as he is. There, I swore I’d have him to myself, to hell with the errand I was on. My mum would understand because she was no different.

As I continued to peer into his face, I noticed he had streaks from dried tears on them. That was when I realized the furrows on his forehead. He was sad and had cried. He must have been robbed of a very precious item, I concluded. And made up my mind to hunt down whoever was responsible for that.

“But you don’t look it”, I whispered as seductively as I could and tried to come closer to him. 

If all my years of learning and experience with men help me at this time, I’d be the luckiest daughter in Jerusalem.

He took a step back from me. As little as the move was, it sent a pin into my heart.

“I am looking for my lover”, He said.

“What?!”

I was so shocked that my thought escaped through my mouth. My mum had always complained about this— I had no control over my tongue. I was actually proud of it as I had used it to lash out at the scumbags who called themselves men. I had never considered it a problem until this instance. I covered my mouth again.

I gathered myself immediately; time is a factor in this game. I needed to regroup and cast the net.

“But sir…..”

“Yes, I am looking for my sweetheart”, he interrupted me as though reading my mind.

“She’s in this city. I know she’s here, but I can’t reach her”, he said. 

I could hear the ache in his voice and see the pain in his eyes. It was so heavy I could almost touch it.

Have I ever been loved like this?

The answer to that question was as glaring as light and as bitter as gall. And for the first time, I decided to forget about myself and care for this stranger.

“How does she look like?”, I asked.

“She was dressed in white the last time I saw her. But I’m guessing she must be covered in mud and dirt by now.” He gulped and winced at those words. “She is beautiful, with long black hair that cascades down to her shoulders. She has eyes that could drown a man. Oh, her voice, how I miss her voice. Her humour can jerk up a dead man…” he continued to describe her and all her exquisite features.

I wondered if this was really a human or a figment of his imagination, but his pain was real, true and genuine.

He stopped and looked at me. “Do me a favour. Help me find her.”

Then, he dipped his hands into his pockets and brought out a letter.

I was dumbfounded. I simply gaped at him, trying to make sense of all that was going on.

“You will find her. I know you will. When you do, give this letter to her for me, please”, he said, placing the letter in my hands. 

I was as equally stunned as I was amazed that he would entrust me — a total stranger with the task of finding his dear beloved. I had never been trusted before, even though all my earlier lovers proclaimed they did.

“Tell her I am waiting. She knows where to find me. Or rather, tell her I’ll be at our Rock waiting, waiting for her. Drape her with this robe when you meet her because she must be cold also”, he said as he pulled off his robe and handed it over to me.

“But why can’t you find her yourself?” I asked, bewildered.

“Because, no matter how I seek, if she doesn’t turn towards me, I can’t see her.”

I didn’t really understand what that meant, but I agreed to go and find my rival and return her to her lover, who has become my lover too, as we parted ways. How ironical life is.

As I walked back home, I itched to read that letter. I knew it wasn’t mine to open, as it had been sealed with a red dot, which looked more like a splash.

I made sure to walk far from where we had met. I rounded a corner, stopped under one of the streetlights and opened the letter.

My lily, where have you been? The house is empty without you. I brought you into the banqueting house because that’s what you were made for, and my banner over you is love. Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away, come to me. Lo, the winter is past, and the rain is over.
Oh, my love, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice, for sweet is your voice, and your countenance is comely. Come, come to the secret place where we once met. Come to the cleft of the Rock where we once dwelt. I miss you greatly. 
I wait for you.

— Your Rose of Sharon.

As I read through the letter, tears dropped from my eyes. I wished I had such a lover. How could she think of even leaving such a man and such a house? I was mad at her for breaking his heart.

I had not walked 50m away from the streetlights when I saw a young woman leaning on the wall, shivering and weeping. She was dressed in brown and covered in mud with patches of red and brown on her face that bespoke of beatings. I was moved by her suffering.

She was young and innocent. She wasn’t supposed to be out alone, especially at this time. I was an exception, of course, being an expert in the business.

As I got closer to her, she looked up at me and asked:

“Have you seen my lover?”

And with one look into her eyes, I saw SHE WAS ME. 

Immediately tears rolled down my eyes.

Beloved, If you are away from Jesus like me or have never met him before, your space is there at His table, vacant. He is waiting for you. No, yearning to be with you. Take that first step where you are now by bowing and coming to Him in prayers. Let Him into your heart, and He will fill you with His everlasting sweet PEACE.

He is your lover, has always been, and will always be. Come to Him today while He is knocking on the door of your heart.