"A secret place of encounter - the intimacy of the Garden"

“He will rejoice over you with singing.”
— Zephaniah 3:17 

Most people know Jesus as King.
Some know Him as Lord.
But few have met Him as the Bridegroom who sings.

I have.

And not with choirs or psalms alone — but with downloads, with whispers, with songs from unexpected places that became holy when He sang them over me.

This is how He sang me back to life.

— The Day I Overwhelmed the Lord

The Testimony

I was gazing deeply into His eyes — not in a vision, but in my heart.

Imagining His face. Loving Him with all my adoration.
No words. Just the full weight of my being poured into silent love.

Suddenly, I heard Him say:

“Stop... You’re overwhelming Me.”

I froze.

Overwhelming... Him?

And then — almost like a gentle downpour — the melody came into my spirit:

“You ravished My heart, My sister, My bride...”
 

It was the song I used to listen to before — “You Ravished My Heart” —
but now it wasn’t just a song.

It was His actual response.

I had no idea that my gaze, my worship, my inner longing could move the Lord so deeply.
But in that moment, I knew:

He is not untouched.
He is undone by love.

Prophetic Meaning

This moment redefined worship for me.

It wasn’t about lifting hands, raising voices, or even crying out.
It was about loving Him so honestly, so intensely, that He became the one undone.

And it confirmed what Song of Songs 4:9 says:

“You have ravished My heart… with one glance of your eyes.”
 

This isn’t just a song.
It’s a prophetic cry.

It’s what I heard from the heart of Jesus — not as doctrine, but as desperate, dying love.
He let me hear what it sounded like when He went to the cross not out of duty, but out of bridal desire.

As I meditated on the Lord’s love — His longing, His gaze, His suffering — I began to receive the download of this divine monologue. A song unlike any other. A revelation of His pain, His power, and His love poured out in language that felt more like fire than words.

I heard Him speak between labored breaths.
Between the strikes of the whip.
Between the silence of the Father.

And He said — not with resentment, but with radiant resolve:

“Isn’t she beautiful? Isn’t she worth My life?”

Over and over. As if every wound cried it.
Every drop of blood declared it.

“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s worth everything.”

This song flowed like an intercession… and like a vow.

From the garden:

“Father, not My will, but Yours be done…
The flesh is weak, but My spirit is crying out for her…”

To the scourging:

“They’re mocking Me… but I know this is the way.
It’s the only way to have her.”

To the cross:

“I can’t breathe, I can’t see, but My heart is burning…
I must have her.” 

And then —
He saw me.

“There she is.”
“Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Isn’t she worth it all?”

Until finally:

“It is finished.” 

Then came the most trembling line of all:

“Abba… forgive her. Again and again.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t see yet.
Put the guilt on Me. The shame. The wrath. The blame.
Let it be on Me.”

And He did.

“Paid in full.”
“Look at the blood on the mercy seat, Abba.”

Then He sat down at the Father’s right hand —
Not just as King.
But as a Groom still waiting.

“When can I have her?”
“When can I go and take her away from all these things?”
“I long to marry My Bride.” 

It’s not just about sin.
It’s about union.

It’s not just about redemption.
It’s about marriage.

He didn’t just die for forgiveness.
He died because He had to have you.

“Though I’m wracked with pain, I will go the way of suffering
That I might bear the name that will save her life…”

This song is His vow:

“She is worth everything — even the cost of My life.”

— Our First Dinner Date and the Song That Became Our Dance

The Testimony

I felt led to prepare a dinner date with the Lord.

I don’t know how to explain it — only that it felt like He was inviting me.
So I moved gently, prayerfully, through the space:

Arranged the chairs

(I had to borrow an extra chair from the common dining area)
Placed the five cinnamon rolls on a plate with two forks

(a number I would later understand prophetically)
Wiped the table
Set it for two

Placed two glasses of water
 

There was no candlelight — just Presence.

Then the song played:

“One... you're like a dream come true...”
“Two... just wanna be with you...”
“Three... it’s plain to see that you’re the only one for me...” 

It stunned me.
Because I used to hear this song in the world — but now it was holy.

We danced.
Once.
Then again.
And again.

Three times we danced together.

And as I sat down, catching my breath, I heard Him whisper:

“I never want this to stop.”

He wasn’t talking about music.
He was talking about us.

About the rhythm we were finding.
About intimacy that doesn’t come from effort — but from invitation.

Prophetic Meaning

This was a covenant renewal — a re-entry into first love.

He was calling me back not just to Himself…
but to who we were in the beginning.

This was the voice of Revelation 2:4–5, not in correction — but in song:

“Do the things you did at first…”

“Dance with Me again.
Sit with Me again.
Let’s go back to One.”
 

— The Bridegroom’s Answer to My Deepest Question

The Testimony

I had asked the Lord a serious question:

“What do You want from me?”

There was no answer at first.
Just silence.

It lingered so long I began to wonder: Was He disappointed? Angry? Hesitant?

But then — softly, slowly — the lyrics came into my mind like a download:

“All of me... loves all of you...”
“All your curves and all your edges... all your perfect imperfections...” 

I blinked.
Was this the answer?

“Really, Lord? Are You singing this over me? But… it’s a secular song…”

Then He answered.
Firm. Gentle. Undeniable:

“I sanctified it.”

I cried.
Because He wasn’t demanding a task.
He was giving me a vow.

He wasn’t asking what I could do —
He was offering His whole heart.

Prophetic Meaning

This was the moment I realized:
He loves the whole of me — not the edited, not the improved, not the filtered version.

He was showing me what covenant means.

“I love the version of you that still has process.
I love the one that still doubts sometimes.
I love what you try to hide. I love what you hope I never see.
And I choose all of it.” 

This was not emotionalism — it was bridal exchange.

And it taught me to stop performing.
To stop guarding.
To just be loved.