Honey.

We let the words drip from our mouths like honey from the comb.

Have you ever watched honey as it dripped from the comb?

It's slow and methodical. It lingers and clings to the congealed mass for as long as possible so as not to be separated from its birthing place.

That was the word for us. A mass of sweet and satisfying words that longed to be together and spoken and hung onto. They were our birthing place.

They came from a place beneath the tongue of God himself.

Never harsh.

Never cruel.

We sat in the candle lit room, speaking these words to one another, and it was then that we realized that we were speaking life to one another. We were doing much more than reading words from a page. We were feeding one another, by hand and by mouth, the life giving words of God.

They tasted like nothing we had ever had before. They not only fed us but they sustained us. They gave us what bread alone could not give.

Life.

Eternal.