Sitting at home on Saturday night, I reveled in the splendor of solitude, the rapture of peace and quiet. In the dark, on my "porch" loveseat I lay for hours, some awake, some asleep. One small lamp at the opposite corner of the room provided the only light. The day had been somewhat hectic, somewhat emotionally draining, ever so much clarifying and freeing.

There was a wedding. Two people whose relationship I have long respected had finally come to a point where they knew and would declare to the world that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives serving each other. Two people fully aware that their relationship with each other exists as but a shadow, a signpost, of their union with Christ. Two people dependent on each other, yet even more so dependent on Christ, knowing that while they will never be perfect in this world, HE was, is and always will be perfection. And He is with us and will not forsake us, though we forsake each other daily.

Half laying, half dangling over my loveseat, the day washed over me. The ideas of love as servitude, love incomplete in this world, love insatiable rolled like waves one after another, rocking me in silence, rocking me awake, rocking me to sleep. These concepts filled me with a sense of disturbed tranquility, fettered freedom. Throughout the stillness rang a conclusion dissonant yet harmonious. Though called to solitude for a time, alone we never may be.