Elixir of Love


“You smell good,” someone whispers, as we both move from hug to hug in the group gathering around the coffee and snacks table. It’s Tuesday night, and defying the tropical downpour outside, we pour into this oasis, thirsty for the kind of warm community that makes the soul feel seen and safe.

We thirst for peace to coat frazzled nerves,
For the touch of a friend in the midst of our loneliness,
For laugher to melt away our frowns,
For hope to breathe again on dying dreams,
For life in the hidden corners of the heart

And none of us has it to give.

That’s why we are here.

If this were merely social, we’d leave more parched than we came. Maybe for a season, someone could sprinkle enough to satisfy the drought inside, but as salty as our tears, human affection alone is like drinking from the ocean. The momentary relief would lead only to deeper dehydration and despair….

Been there, done that, and the agony of that thirst is excruciating.

So what makes this different?
What transforms a cracked and dry soul, who feels like an outsider watching others enjoy a feast from which they are excluded, to a gushing, generous giver?

I was that shriveled desert, desperately drinking as deeply as I could from whatever salty reservoirs were available. Dying.

Then she came, not another cracked pot, but a lifeline I could grab on to with my last once of hope. She didn’t water my drought with her own desires; instead, she led me to her own Source.

Her kindness dared me to trust His.
Her desires redirected mine to His.
To Him.

To the boundless splashes of grace, playfully, tenderly finding every nook and cranny inside me, drawn to the needs and desires with the strongest force in the universe….

In Him, the good, the bad, the ugly in me becomes sacred. As He drills through the hardened ground, extracting the precious from the perverted, the desert becomes a spring of healing water to others.

Then she came, not another cracked pot, but a lifeline I could grab on to with my last once of hope. She didn’t water my drought with her own desires; instead, she led me to her own Source.

Her kindness dared me to trust His.
Her desires redirected mine to His.
To Him.

To the boundless splashes of grace, playfully, tenderly finding every nook and cranny inside me, drawn to the needs and desires with the strongest force in the universe….

In Him, the good, the bad, the ugly in me becomes sacred. As He drills through the hardened ground, extracting the precious from the perverted, the desert becomes a spring of healing water to others.

That’s what smells so sweet on Tuesday nights. Different degrees of saturation now spill over from soul to soul. Not our own streams, but His. Sure, it’s mixed waters, mixed motives, and all of us are thirsty still.

But that doesn’t scare us anymore, because we lead each other to the Holy River where bitter tears become tears of relief…. toxic salt water becomes diluted, purified, satisfying – when He is the Source.

So we hug each other deeply, dearly, trying to squeeze out the lies and lesser loves, and as the scents of perfumes and lotions blend, we drink in the elixir of His Divine love. It smells good.

https://youtu.be/IKVHGi1iRLE


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