The Truest Love.

The truest Love:
A Love that harbors no ill will.
Thy kindest rebuke joyfully received, even craved:
Faithful are the wounds imposed by You.

The sacrifice:
My money, time, devotion, skill,
My all, consumed in the service of the Great King.
Seigneur Jésus, nothing is too much for You.

The ridicule:
Whispered in the heart, yet shouted shrill.
"If he were a prophet he would know who is touching him..."
My Lord, ma Lumière, no comment escapes You.

The stubborn soul:
Its Pharisaical plots to kill--
"Jesus is a Teacher, but not my Ruler, not my Refiner"--
Content to live through life as devils do.

The call to rest:
My Christ speaks. "Peace, be still.
Ma petite, watch and pray as wheat and weeds grow tall.
In time, behold, I will make all things new."

The truest Love!
The King Who nobly works His perfect will,
Who delights in the extravagant offering of the pauvre femme;
My Love, my Christ, how I love You!

-G.A.R.