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

Song of Songs 1:5–8 | A Journal-Narrative Reflection

“I am black but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.”
— Song of Songs 1:5
 

I am veiled.
I am dark—weathered by affliction, marked by conflict, misunderstood by those who only see surface stories.
Like the tents of Kedar, I have lived under coverings that speak of war and wilderness.
But I am also like the curtains of Solomon—sacred, embroidered with glory, hidden in royal chambers.

Inside me dwells a longing that refuses to die.
It is the ache of the Bride who remembers her origin—who remembers that love came before labor.
And that before I served, I was seen.

“Do not gaze at me because I am dark, because the sun has looked upon me. My mother's sons were angry with me; they made me keeper of the vineyards, but my own vineyard I have not kept!”
— Song of Songs 1:6
 

I served under the gaze of men—leadership that assumed, family that misunderstood.
They saw me as prodigal, when I was in fact pursued.
They assigned me to vineyards not my own—ministries I didn’t birth, burdens I wasn’t called to carry.

In the church, I felt pressure to perform:
Garments of servanthood without rest,
Tasks that pulled me away from the very Presence my soul craved.
I looked the part. I obeyed. But my vineyard, my inner life, withered.

“My own vineyard I have not kept…”
I was weary from neglecting the very garden where He waited for me.

“Tell me, you whom my soul loves, where you pasture your flock, where you make it lie down at noon; for why should I be like one who veils herself beside the flocks of your companions?”
— Song of Songs 1:7

I cried: “Where are You, Lord?”
Where do You rest? Where do You reveal Your face?
Why must I stand beside the flocks of others, watching You from a distance?
Why do I feel the ache of nearness unfulfilled?

My soul wasn’t rebelling. It was yearning.
I did not want only to serve. I wanted to abide.
Not just to labor in His name, but to lean on His chest (John 13:25).
To follow the Shepherd not from behind the flock, but beside Him—step by step.

“If you do not know, O fairest among women, follow in the tracks of the flock, and pasture your young goats beside the shepherds’ tents.”
— Song of Songs 1:8

And He answered. Not with lightning, but with direction.

“Follow the tracks.”
“Stay near My tents.”
“You’ll find Me where My presence rests.”

I see now—this journey of veiling was not rejection.
It was refinement.

He did not veil me in shame.
He veiled me in jealousy—His own.
He set me apart, like a lily among thorns, hidden from those who could not steward my fragrance.

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”
— Psalm 91:1

In church systems, I was misread.
They saw my wrestling as rebellion.
But I know now that it was the roar of longing breaking out from a heart born for union, not hierarchy.

“He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.”
— Psalm 23:2–3
 

He didn’t call me out of the noise to silence me.
He called me out to restore me.

When I left the platforms and routines, when I stepped out of the spotlight, I discovered the soft steps of the Shepherd.
He was not behind a pulpit. He was waiting in the secret place.
And I—weary, veiled, aching—was invited back into the vineyard of my own soul.

I would rather be veiled in His jealousy than visible in man’s systems.
I would rather be misunderstood by the crowd and known by Him, than affirmed by the crowd and distant from His gaze.
My isolation is not punishment. It is preservation.
My consecration is not exile. It is invitation.

And though the world may not understand it—
He does.
And He is worth it all.