It is true – I am but a servant to the Tyrant of Love, crushed in His torrents and breakers.   My body is broken and hurting, but my heart seems to be dancing in Love’s flames today.  I could try, but I would not say it better than either of the women below, so I decided to just share their beautiful words instead.  

A Great Mystery
By Anna Bunston (Mrs. De Bary)
 
  Camest Thou beneath my roof,
Shorn of all Thy royal adorning,
  Stripp’d of judgement and reproof,
The King of kings yet gladly scorning,
  Every plea but love’s behoof.
‘Can this be God?’ I said, ‘who enters,
  This be God who climbs my stair?
God sits high in heavenly centres,
  And though He hath us in His care,
‘Tis as His adopted children,
  Slaves redeemed from Satan’s snare.
 
God is mightier than the mountains,
  Far more majesty would wear,
This One comes like summer fountains,
  Hath no snow upon His hair.
With eagle pinions God will cover
  Those who seek for refuge there,
But these are dove-like wings that hover,
  God was never half so fair.’
Then with voice like falling water
  Viewless angels sang to me,
Fear not thou, O virgin daughter,
  Thy King desires thy poverty.
  
At that ‘Ave Maria’
  I arose and I obeyed;
O my King Cophetua,
  I, Thy blessed beggar-maid,
Who once lay among the potsherds
  Stand in silver plumes arrayed;
I, who lonely in the vineyards
  Morn and noon and evening strayed.
Now am wrapt in Thine embraces,
  ‘Neath Thy banner ‘Love’ am laid,
Made partaker of Thy graces,
  I, the outcast beggar-maid.
 
No excuse and no invention
  Makes me less unworthy Thee,
No prostration, no pretension
  Of unique humility,
But Thy glorious condescension
  Blazes through my misery,
And Thy love finds full extension
  In the nothingness of me.
 
Dark my soul, yet Thou hast sought her,
  My night allows Thy day to shine,
Thou the grape art, I the water-
  Both together make the wine.
I the clay and Thou the craftsman,
  I the boat and Thou the strand,
I the pencil, Thou the draughtsman,
  I the harp and Thou the hand.
 
But the world with envy raging
  Fain would snatch me, Lord, from Thee,
And Death and Hell their war are waging,
  Therefore go not far from me.
By the mystery of this housel,
  By this momentary truth,
By the love of this espousal,
  By this kindness of my youth,
By Thy promise of remembrance,
  By that sweet perversity
That makes my dark uncomely semblance
  Seem desirable to Thee-
Leave me not lest faith should falter,
  O! secure my fealty,
I the victim on Thine altar,
  Thou the fire consuming me.

In order to live in one single act of perfect Love, I offer myself as a victim of holocaust to Your Merciful Love, asking You to consume me incessantly, allowing the waves of infinite tenderness shut up within You to overflow into my soul, and that thus I may become a martyr of Your Love, O my God! 

May this martyrdom, after having prepared me to appear before You, finally cause me to die and may my soul take its flight without any delay into the eternal embrace of Your Merciful Love.

I want O my Beloved, at each beat of my heart to renew this offering to You an infinite number of times, until the shadows having disappeared, I may be able to tell You of my Love in an Eternal Face to Face!   — Therese of Lisieux

For the Lord your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God.  (Deut 4:24)

Place me like a seal over your heart,
       like a seal on your arm;
       for love is as strong as death,
       its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
       It burns like blazing fire,
       like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love;
       rivers cannot wash it away.     (Song of Solomon 8:6-7a)

May it be unto me according to Your word, my God and King.